Frustration. I dreamt that I bumped into my youngest brother in the street last night...or rather,early this morning...yesterday morning...My words are so tiresome, I read back through the weeks and months,and years...finding spelling mistakes, grammar errors...kicking myself for not being even close to as intelligent as I wish to be.
The dream. Does it mean anything, it means nothing-not really. I haven't seen him in 13 years,or maybe 14...it's my other younger brothers birthday soon...it's just my subconscious playing tricks. Leading me into gloom out of habit perhaps. There are so many little boxes I cannot help but keep opening up.
Sat on the train this morning, staring out of the window. Watching the seagulls swooping ,enviously- "what could be worse than losing your children?" I thought. The perils of the commute to work without a book... "But his children aren't dead..." I have to concentrate on the shard in the distance. Change the music...breathe. Getting off at Bank I think " maybe it's easier for him having none of us, rather than just me..." And just like that...into the crowd, my mind clears. Like a bin turned upside down.
I don't know whether writing has helped me put my thoughts into some kind of order.
Or whether the sense of ...harmony(?) I have is due to experience...age...or this overwhelming sense that nothing actually has any real meaning-any use. We try to find importance in everything.
I can't quite fathom it. The more that I read the news,...or just walk down the street...watch people's faces. I do not become desensitised to the gore that we create as people. It gets worse. Hurts deeper. I feel this helpless tension grip my muscles. As though there is something I must do.
I was 8 when my first younger brother was born. He was around 8 when I last saw him. Funny the way the world works. Funny the things we cannot change- the things that make no sense.
Tonight's film, Blue Valentine.