Impossible Soul

Reasons Why I'm Emotional

Thesis

When recovering from a two-week bender, emotions may run wild. In the event of tired introspection, do not subject yourself to Purple Rain, late night doses of Sufjan, or early morning sessions with Bon Iver. In an act of folly, I am listening to Bon Iver. And it's pre-noon (a time I've experienced less than I'd like to admit this summer). So, why the long face? Well, it's not exactly long. All of this summer's "change" has been cause for occasional emotionality, which makes my usually short face get long in the wake of things like intense cinema, gorgeous music, or nightmares.

Wouldn't you know that last night's sequence of events were as follows:

> There Will Be Blood (my second, but nonetheless shocking, viewing of the movie)

> The Age Of Adz ("Now That I'm Older" spelled the demise of my composure)

> A nightmare (Based God help me)

Acrost the pale meridian

So, dreams. The only art that is always effective. How sweet that we create it! Mine run the gamut from inexplicable and slapstick to poignant and surreal. The best thing about last night's is that it unearthed moods and sentiments heretofore unacknowledged or forgotten. The worst is that (like all dreams) it is inexpressible. My writing is yet to arrive at a Woolf or McCarthy, and even then wouldn't be able to evoke what happened while I was asleep last night.

This is probably why dreams are so Important to me, and also why I'm impossibly frustrated when someone tries to tell me about their own. They're exclusively personal experiences even more so than waking memories. But I still like to hear about your dreams. It's a good cause for my imagination to run wild, and fun to offer off-beat psychoanalysis. Maybe give mine your best shot:

It was late autumn, began in a cafeteria hall (high school or some school), and soon became a winter battlefield resembling the long stretches of plain and dessert from There Will Be Blood (but not exactly this). The horizon was obscured first by dust, then snowfall. A war broke out between two anonymous forces, and at my brother's side I killed several people (with a Macbook as my bludgeon? I'm a PC while awake). The war ended (read: disappeared). As the dust settled, I relived some forgotten childhood conversation with four too-tall and blurred-out figures. I then checked my phone, and was devastated (read: the saddest I've ever felt) that I hadn't tweeted in four months. And

9:38 AM

So, waking up. I tweeted. Then (folly!) listened to Bon Iver, Bon Iver (let's be honest: twice). It's been a very sincere morning. I'm usually only this sincere when with close friends or when drunk. But dreaming is sort of like being drunk:

You're somewhat out-of-control, exposed to your own ridiculousness, and later have trouble remembering what exactly happened. Of course, this level of dreaming (drunkenness) tends to be rare. Unless you just turned 21 and have yet to settle into an effective drinking style. Mine so far has verged on and often surpassed, to borrow a phrase from Sufjan, "Too Much." But I'm still within birthday grace period. Nevertheless, I've probably made things harder on my head and my body than need be.

I Would Die 4 U

Now that I think about it, the entirety of Purple Rain is reminiscent of dreaming/drunkenness. The Kid faces obvious personal demons that effect his family, friends, music, and lover. All of these relationships eerily parallel one another, and there's a sense of inevitability in each scene. The Kid's demons can only be overcome with the Perfect Song ("Purple Rain," the actual Perfect Song). How dreamlike that all of the conflict is resolved in a single performance - the fragmented scenes of passionate foreplay and dramatically-lit closeups from before are both fully realized and made irrelevant in the finale's climax.

Of course, none of this seemed relevant or even true when I was enjoying the movie with Hay. I guess none of it seems true now that I see it in writing. Still, a hard night's sleep and an emotionally-turbulent morning gives rise to this sort of #METASWAG.

Conclusions

Luckily, the day ahead will prove less arduous. Sunshine and work. Easy things. Easier than a wintertime battle. Did I really just write about dreaming, being drunk, and Purple Rain? Without irony? Don't let me blog before noon ever again.

In the following scene,

Me, The Blogger : The Kid

You, The Reader :: Billy & Jerome