Waking Up Early

Those witching hours before dawn, from around 3:30 to 5:30 are the ones made for me.  I go to sleep when I can, but naturally, without sedative or weights of depression, I awake from wicked dreams to the quiet hour when I can own the time. Last night's dreams were of being somehow stranded on some South Pacific island named “Christmas” Island, where the people were all perversely rich and had a way of speaking, not just the accent but the dialect was so polite that it was impossible to be sincere. I broke some precariously set advert for something or other, an ad that was paper placed in a glass platform on my table.

The service was like bad service in France, or in a cafe in Italy where you have to pay for things you don't expect to persons you don't expect in methods you don't intuit. After I threw this glass thing on the floor, smashing it, I walked out, a direction I felt was East, but it's an island and you can only go so far.

I found myself at a squat inhabited by rough fucks, and my girlfriend who shifted between the longer relationships in my life, was worried because I had disappeared for days. I felt bad for leaving her in the rough, but any of my girlfriends would have been able to take care of themselves well enough. The one that maybe wouldn't, though I can't tell, then appears. The lesser imp daemon Evile walked me up a street on this island where things were beautiful. There was something I meant to mail her but she wouldn't give me an address. So I figured I would mail it to the general area and if it got there, great.

I'd done this before. When I was in prison in Brixton, I mailed University of Edinburgh, the Russian dept. I think and they pinned my letter up on a bulletin board. The recipient found it. That was a good bit of luck. There's something special about throwing a message into a bottle and tossing it in the water.

So I'm still stuck on this island until I hear “Shhh!” and I wake up. I can't tell if my girlfriend woke me up because I was snoring and bothering her or if I dreamt that part. At least I wasn't angry. There have been instances where I dreamt something and woke up and was so angry because the in the dream the girl did something horrible and I didn't separate the dream from reality. It was unfair, and I later felt bad, but it takes some doing to get from being angry to feeling bad. It's a natural progression, perhaps, but not without some work when you wake up and have to separate your suspicions, your dream, and reality in bed at the time.

I try to go back to sleep, but it doesn't work. I pull myself together and press the coffee button. Then, my time to set my mind is go. These hours are so dark and beautiful. So eerie and quiet. My favorite time of day.