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'Spent and sighing with a look in your eye.
Spent and sighing with a look on your face, like
sweet revelation, sweet surrendering.
Sweet revelation, sweet.'
"In the land before sleep and waking,
I can feel her hands tangled in my hair,
and the warmth of her body next to mine.
My dreams of her taste of milk and honey,
and the smell of her perfume
is the smell of my home."
“The study of dreams is particularly difficult, for we cannot examine dreams directly, we can only speak of the memory of dreams. And it is possible that the memory of dreams does not correspond exactly to the dreams themselves.
If we think of the dream as a work of fiction — it may be that we continue to spin tales when we wake and later when we recount them.”
' The world around me I could see with new eyes, unburdened by sleep. Walking to my door, I felt the sun on my back, the air around me orange, the scent of leaves and rain. I remember when you used to pick me up those early mornings, and I had the distinct feeling of otherworldliness about me and all around me. Something like a tickle, like a storm of butterflies inside me. Songbirds and long mornings watching the moon vanish and the sun rise, winking at each other from across the sky, during the one instant their eyes meet.
I wonder if I'm always going to measure time in increments of being with you and not being with you. I wonder if I'm always going to be counting the moments since we last spoke. '
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Posted by Leanna - Wednesday, June 10, 2015 - 7:00am
“When the starry sky, a vista of open seas or a stained glass window shedding purple beams fascinate me, there is a cluster of meaning, of colors, of words, of caresses, there are light touches, scents, sighs, cadences that arise, shroud me, carry me away, and sweep me beyond the things that I see, hear, or think. The “sublime” object dissolves in the raptures of a bottomless memory. It is such a memory, which, from stopping point to stopping point, remembrance to remembrance, love to love, transfers that object to the refulgent point of the dazzlement in which I stray in order to be.”
— Julia Kristeva, Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection
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Posted by Leanna - Wednesday, June 10, 2015 - 4:47am
