hanging brain

For the past week, former loves have sprinkled the REM moments. Maybe it was a mild LSD trip taken that sparked it, but the dreams started days before the drug. They have now become an every night occurence, and they trick a person into sleeping on the couch, like it'd somehow be more comfortable there. The emphasis in this state has been placed on touch, on physical contact, though not clearly sexual in intent. There is not much to make of these dreams, and the sole indication is one of solace granted. Sleep has forgiven in the past, has accepted apologies, has brought a nod with a subtle smile.

During the last days, it has brought me to them, mind-traveling to casually exotic places, specifics either I've forgotten or aggrandized, and it has brought them to me. I wonder if I understand it now like I did then. I think I understood it better before, though not as sharply. I have a formal outline now, of the things you do and give, and the things you receieve. When you X, then he Ys, and that total (greater than the sum of its parts) means that XYZZTop. Or Xamine Your Zipper. I'm not sure about what comes after the equals sign. I'm sighing loudly; how pointless and boring. Searching for meaning is lame. The last thing I need right now is an existential crisis. That's what she said. Sartre's last words. I was only going to pick one of those last two sentences to land on, but I didn't.