13 November 2006

Recurring dreams of a baby boy

I feel like writing. Like it's supposed to save my ass. My ears are melting, I can feel it. But I've been listening to this sort of music for four hours now and I like it (with an exception to jazz).

I feel like I have to take care of something that doesn't take care of itself. It comes to my dreams every now and then in the form of a baby boy. A boy. The same damn baby in my dreams every other night.
If he's not in my arms, he'd be crying on the floor. I pick him up again.
If he's not being handed over to me, he'd be learning how to walk. I follow him so he doesn't fall over and hurt himself.

And if he's not facing me it'd be because something else has gotten his attention and he's trying to get to it with all his might. Even if it's running to the middle of the road chasing after a beat-up truck. And I?
I find my hands gripping him tight so I don't lose him!

So I don't lose him.

I feel like I don't know what to do. In general.
All that I am doing and done: thinking about the pride men carry in themselves that takes forever to erect, but a mere scratch to demolish.
I have also prepared more than enough ideas for my upcomming artworks wondering what meaning each is supposed to bring.
And lately I am detesting the things I come across in the media, online, and in life that will leave the 'child' I speak of above shaken like there's no tomorrow.

It's just waiting to break my heart.

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