Cienfuegos ~ A Dream Reincarnation

 

This morning I woke up because of my own sobs, and despite all the ultra-joy I had the days before. Most of the times this happens to me with laughter, sometimes I wake up with my own laughter, but once in a while I dream of someone dying, perhaps, I cry and I wake up of that, and then I calm dawn, because I realize it was a nightmare and the person is alive, and I realize better how much I want this person in my life. This morning, instead, it has been a bit different: in the dream I was crying because of a death already happened, and waking up I had to acknowledge on a deeper level of awareness how this death is sad to me. When she passed away suddenly, in that motorcycle crash, I had somehow enough "sane distance" to elaborate the loss. I love death as I love life, and I'm maturing a golden connection with the whole cycle. But, as I grow, I wonder about how you could have grown too, how many things I would have liked to share with you, to do with you, to ask you about. What would have you think of this? Would have you liked to join the same crazy ideas I'm exploring in the new pages of my life? Would have you visited me somewhere, in The Netherlands or in Hungary? We would be talking so much again about politics, philosophy, art and love, and I'd tell you how much I feel back in the same hopeful eyes we caught each other when I was thirteen and you were fourteen. You'd love so much to hear that I'm back fighting for a better world, for good, after all those years I had lost much of optimism. I'd sending you all the new Italian progressive rock I'm finding and I'd want to know everything about how you imagine the revolution of our school system. I'd ask you to work together, again. And if we'd disagree, we would have the most tasteful and stimulating discussion!

So, this is missing, I guess, bloody hell. I miss you, my friend, and I didn't know the way I would have missed you, when all this happened, almost four years ago.

But I love the funny way I bumped into you in this dream, this morning.

(Was that an intentional and planned visit, my friend? Shall I thank you?)

I was crossing a bizarre bazaar somewhere, together with some friend, and I could not stop turning my head back to that majestic lady selling oriental piercings, bracelets, pots and carpets, with that nose some like mine, and that elegance proper of the best beasts, with the pride of a crane and the chill of a lazy, cold and indulgent giraffe. I just knew she was not busy only with some selling, I knew for sure that this lady had an adventurous past and was probably feeling her life as a mission – as you did. A burning, mystic and mysterious mission. I could not stop turning my head to this magnetic lady, and I was about to find the words to apologize with my friend and explaining that I had to go and to kiss this lady's hand. And then, then I really saw the hand! Those hands, with those charming gloves and that unique way to address the body on their way, that was you! It was you, reincarnated in this long, long body, confident in your new life as a wise old woman can be, and you were carrying around this beautiful turban just as a supernatural crown. And that's when I started to cry, because I understood that I miss you, and I remembered your death. And then your favourite literature teacher from our Art High School came to me, to console my shoulder. She said, 'She was special, wasn't she?'

Then I told my whole dream to my Great X (someone you'd adore the art from), and I told her that weird, weird thing, that you always asked me to write your biography, if you were dying before me, you did it throughout our teenage till the last time we met, in our early 20s, just before I left Italy, in 2012. And I told Great X that I had never expected your biography to be so short, though, and I had wished to have many more things to tell, as your life would have collected. So Great X said this: that perhaps I should imagine the life you would have had.

Visions before the sleep

When I was a child and my mummy still could convince me to turn off even the light on my night table, close the novel and start to sleep, my little mind, still awake, was used to ride a trick to let digest nicely the idea of sleeping to my fears: let's have some visions and get lost in them – this was what my pillow whispered to myself every moon time. So, having a great visionary exercise before the sleep was one of my favourite habitual activity – the cherry on the cake, the gift at the end of the day, every day.

But when I became a teen ager, I lost this great habit… because all of my mind, in any spare time, was lost among damned love thoughts.

Now I'm glad to notify that I'm getting a bit older and wiser, my mind is calmer and the love I feel is not anymore interested in turning me into a labyrinth of blades and blood, so, here we go, my spare time is free again to fly on my visions. Still, usually I let fall my body on the blanket only once I'm totally exhausted, so I just straight to sleep tight each time; but I know it would be lovely to try to sleep a bit earlier sometimes, to enjoy my free visions.

…Anyway, two nights ago it happened again, I went to the bed with still some energies in my mind (thank you, Do), so some visions came to me.

Some of those became thicker and kept to stick to my fluffy neuro-arcade: later I found 'em into my dreams, probably insisting to gain a role by my pencils. The day after I found some hours to grab my pencils and draw them. They told me they wished to be better, but they still thanked me for seeking that time.

Here you zoom, if you like…

(«See you at their bodies about 5 pm!»)

• zoom! •

(I desire so badly to create a longer story on this idea, but my list of project calls me up for something else. This is just a sketchy expression of all the pictures that I got today after reading a dream… Uh, the dream isn't mine, I do steal, yep, but I guess that is fine, as long that playing with the strangers consciousness it is too!)



… So, tonight your lesson is: next time that you have to take a flight, you do your check-in, you finally, tired, you seat in the waiting area and you feel unbelievable attracted by that stranger there, well, answer you where is from your feeling; there are strange powerful beings here around and inside, you better watch out!
Or enjoy randomness and serendipity.



(I wish you go for this one 'cause is pretty confortable to me, actually… Thank you a lot in advance.)

Birds. Birds. Birds.

I'm very fascineted by all the different shapes of the birds and of the nature. But I'm fucking afraid of the vulture in the middle: I've found him in a scary surreal lucid dream.

Un enorme "non lo so"

Francesco De Feo ha pubblicato su recording dreams un altro pezzo della nostra chiacchierata.

La verità non esiste e la vita come la immaginiamo di solito è una rete arbitraria e artificiale di illusioni da cui ci lasciamo circondare. Sappiamo che esse sono il semplice risultato di accidenti o punti di vista, ma non abbiamo nulla da guadagnare ad abbatterle. E infatti, è straordinariamente insensato voler abbattere con un forcone da stalla un miraggio che non è mai esistito. Penso che all'uomo assennato convenga scegliere le fantasie che più gli aggradano e crogiolarvisi innocentemente, conscio del fatto che, siccome la realtà non esiste, non c'è niente da guadagnare e molto da perdere nel buttarle via. Ancora, non esistono fantasie preferibili ad altre, perché la misura del loro valore dipende dal rispettivo grado di adattamento alla mente che le contiene.

Howard Phillips Lovecraft

Il sogno in animazione

Quando ero un metro e un carciofo, avevo un sogno ricorrente che m'ha accompagnato per tutta l'infanzia. Ne sono sempre andata fiera.

È una cosa mia, molto intima, quel tipo di cosa che dovresti proteggere nel tuo scrigno e confessare solo a voce alle persone che meritano questi segreti. Invece eccomi a parlarne qui e a dare in pasto al web altri pezzi di Mini Eta... Il fatto è che quando c'è qualcuno che ha buoni propositi in testa e ha dentro l'inquietudine della ricerca, io fatico a non supportarlo. E, per l'appunto, Francesco De Feo sta facendo un'operazione molto interessante. Non voglio ingabbiare la sua operazione dentro delle definizioni, quindi lungi da me tentare di spiegarvelo, andate sul suo blog, il cui titolo è piuttosto esplicativo: recording dreams. E, se avete un qualunque tipo di riflessione o racconto legato ai sogni, sappiate che, per ora, lui è in quella fase spugna in cui raccoglie tutto, quindi non esitate a contattarlo.

Pubblico qui il video che ha pubblicato lui del nostro incontro. È solo un pezzo, quello riguardante il sogno ricorrente, appunto.

E già che oggi è Santa Lucia e sono qui alle prese con i ricordi del mio passato, mi faccio scappare una foto troppo buffa di quando avevo sette anni (credo). Ero tutta esaltata, perché con la scuola stavamo facendo questo laboratorio in cui ci avevano dotato di questi cappelli tipicamente da stereotipo di pittore da strada parigino! (Ai tempi era uno dei quarantamila lavori che volevo fare... Pariginità inclusa! Presumo per colpa degli Aristogatti...)

Questo disegno qui, invece, che mi spunta tra i capelli nel caos terrificante che avvolge la mia camera, credo di averlo fatto a sette anni. Rappresentava mia mamma. Me li ricordo bene quel rossetto rosso-oro e quell'ombretto verde smeraldo!

Pensando a tutto ciò, mi stava venendo il desiderio di rifare i miei disegni preferiti di quand'ero piccola.  Ma dopo un istante mi sono accorta che il mio cranietto mi stava imbrogliando, spacciando per mia un'idea stupenda che però è già stata realizzata: in Potente di fuoco, Ericailcane ridisegna a distanza di vent'anni i suoi schizzi di bambino, mentre The Monster Engine è un progetto che parte proprio dalla domanda What would a child’s drawing look like if it were painted realistically?.

Torno al mio working.

Ma ripasserò presto da queste parti, scusate, ma sto vivendo compleatemente al gerundio!