2

(Friday)
　
Woke from dream where the Johnston House was also my workplace. My boss, F__ was there, and also Mom and A__. There was a killing of some kind, and a boat I was on, motoring through the reservoir adjacent to the workplace’s land.
I thought about how beautiful it was, the Difficulty of it all, and saw this beauty in the scenery around me.
I was in my room at the Johnston House, talking to F__, defending Mom’s weird actions, explaining to him that I come from horrific and that was the end of it, and the only end I took responsibility for, my end.
He said for me to _Do whatever you have to do._ to free myself of her, as if he were my supervisor, some kind of mediator, letting me know he understood.
I woke up wondering how on earth I could have defended such a person as Mom to F__.
When you’re Real, you’re just pretending to be pretending.

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The next time I forget, I will see the word on my shoulder: REMEMBER. I might wish I had been sacrilegious enough to write the Truth down. Then I will come across these words. In the end I will finally realize them to only be markings on paper, and it will mean I have remembered again.
I remembered what that dream had been trying to tell me, the one where I had been awaken from by the phone ringing.
It was about how I liked it that dirty, and what ‘dirty’ really meant. It meant the primal peace required to mount someone, to put them in such positions, to insert a small part of my body in one of their orifices, and to do it with total peace and naturalness. To put my lips in such places, my tongue, and feel fuel by the not-dirtiness of it.
Last night I watched this show called Cougartown. The episode was centered around the concept of men and women being friends, and exactly what that meant or even if it were possible.
At the end of the episode Courtney Cox’s male friend finally explains it: He says: The reason we’re friends is because we have an underlying sexual attraction to each other, but we both know it would never work, so instead, we became friends.
I recognized the truth in what he had said, but also wanted to add that the same might be true about all friendships, male male, female female, male female.
I catch myself worrying about this and that. I then remember that all that Life is, is sex. As long as I’m in that place, I’m Him. Remember, it’s why a fly will live only one day, and die in sex, because he has missed out on nothing.
I’d rather die that to not be Him. I’d rather be alone, sexless, tortured than to not be Him. That’s what makes me a Soul. That’s what makes me Him.
As long as I’m genuinely in that tender-intimate-sex place with someone whenever I’m with them, then maybe it’s okay to be in love with more than one person at once.
Maybe I wouldn’t let myself feel how badly I wanted to touch them, because of my crime of Trevor: Eric, Sing ..

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13MAR2010 Saturday
　
Woke from dream involving the show Vampire Diaries, a show I flipped to a bit last night during commercials. The show centers around two brothers. In this dream I am with the old brother, Ian something.
It was a sex dream that never cumulated because in the dream I was busy noticing how the world can’t be Real unless it’s scary, otherwise it lacks something soulfully important, also, that the boy is the supreme judge, and I prefer to be judged by him. Then I awoke, still trying to articulate the vague insistences of the dream.
I came down stairs, ate an omelet, but then felt off centered, so I went back upstairs to try and Remember. I fell asleep and slept all day though a series of dreams where I am with Paul Wesley, the other brother.
A hunger is required, or it’s not sex. A hunger for the other person’s body, skin -- Hunger. Also I noticed that when it’s someone my age, and my size, I can get intimidated. It was different in the dream with the Hollywood celebrity because he’s younger and smaller, though very muscular -- a twink, I guess is what they call it online. I get that now.
I haven’t left the house in over a week, but to go running. I hadn’t noticed. I don’t feel affected by it. I don’t feel stir crazy. Huh.
For the last few weeks I’ve been going to sleep around five thirty a.m.

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Sunday. (slept through the day)
　
Had a dream where I’m a Camp ____, where I went for two weeks in the summer as a boy; it’s steeped in memory so I keep switching between being the boy and being me, grown now. I keep trying to find the boy, to save him. I become a camp counselor, I find ways to stick around, check everything out, remember.
Mom, A__, and H___ kept their silence because they felt that since R__ had already been raping me I was ruined and the best thing they could do was let him finish the job. That’s how they chose him over me. Listening to me yelling help me, help me, from the bathroom as his semen is pumping me in the face and mouth, them refusing to hear me.
Had a dream where I was a teenager, sentenced to an island facility. I escape and ask another kid if he wants to come with me, we just have to swim a long way.
He’s smart and tells me the way. I go that way but the islands we run into are actually buoy boats. The facility counselor is a young man who runs after us along all the buoy boats.
They are a long chain of floating buildings that runs for miles. The adolescent with me gets caught first, and falls into the water. I keep running, the guy catches up with me.
Why don’t you want our help? he asks accusingly. Do you really think you’re okay? When me and the other adolescent -- a blonde, quiet kid -- were in the facility, waiting for the counselor to show up and show us our rooms, we found everyone was having sex.
That’s why I chose to leave. That’s not sex. Sex is Soulful. The guy has to be Him first, the girl has to be Her first. The blonde adolescent believed me.
I tried to fight the counselor off but couldn’t remember Violence. I woke up to remembering. I do know violence, I know exactly how it works. Cause I remember R__ beating me. I should have fought the counselor earlier in the dream. I went back to sleep.

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