Dreams. Endless streams of parallel lives I never lived, outcomes of present and past situations, all glimpsed through that numinous mist, at the same time so fuzzy at the edges and so vividly bright. All the journeys I never made, the houses I never lived in, the people I never met, the solutions (so clear, so obvious) to problems I never knew were so pressing but which vanish on contact with the waking world.
flaviomatani: (dreamscape sepia)
( Feb. 21st, 2017 07:16 am)
Waking up at 4:15 when you have to get up at 5:20 is not all that much fun -mostly because you anticipate what the day will be like, running on four hours' sleep. Try to recover that hour of sleep by listening to Brian Greene doing a Ted Talk on why there are multiple -indeed, infinite, universes. That doesn't help much as it sets me on a train of thought about what energy can possibly be and about string theory and my almost non-existent mathematical foundation which means my understanding of any of those things can only ever be in prose. And so the alarm goes off and it is time for shower and coffee and yawning and checking email and collecting the things I'll need for my teaching day away, all the big thoughts of universes and elementary particles washed down the washbasin together with the odd dreams of houses and lives I've never lived in places I have never been to.
Another suburban train, another school teaching day ahead of me. Not enough sleep, not enough dreams or time for the brain to flush whatever it is it has to clean overnight as we sleep, if it true that , as they say,that is the function of sleep and not that of a communicating vessel between universes, between differently instances of you in unreachable places, if places they are, in contemporary tines far away, if contemporary is a word that can make sense when talking about universes that go along different narrative tracks, along different timelines. Four hours’ sleep. Not enough.

I only had time to have a small peek at another place where I had lived all my life –instead of this newly autumnal London, that small sunny town in Northern Italy where I have never been. Didn’t get to make it to the house I live in, which I share with some other musician whose face or name I cannot recall. I was on my way there, finally, after long murky journeys, when I had to get up and put out the alarm. Yes, 5:20 am again –it must be a Tuesday and it must be a school teaching day in Watford for me. Does it get more difficult each time, each new iteration of the cycle? You bet.
flaviomatani: (dreamscape sepia)
( Jan. 14th, 2014 07:11 am)
Had been trying to sleep for hours, having to get up early on Monday -early, but not quite as early as today. I can now testify that Nytol doesn't do anything at all, at least for me; maybe someone will come along to tell me that I wasn't taking it in the prescribed manner, one hour before going to bed and after taking a shower, drinking a glass of hot milk and counting five hundred thousand sheep. I was trying to think of nothing, to evoke landscapes of distant beaches with surf hitting the reefs or of alien planets with rivers of methane and purple rains. To no avail.... well, that had been the previous night. Last night was different

One way I found to finally go to sleep was to start an iPad app that produces a white noise in the manner of beach surf. That was a good idea, I slept and had beautiful dreams and woke up shortly before the alarm clock to that soothing seaside noise. Only electronic imitation seaside noise, you can tell if you play it at a loud volume but not at the very quiet level I needed it in order to fall asleep to it.

I dreamt of that noise; there were a group of people, a choir, who were going to try and record a vocal imitation of those sounds. They were comparing the sound they were producing to the one from the machine, which in my dreams wasn't the tablet but a large contraption a bit like a US mail-box. The noise from the choir was very different to the electronic surf but quite beautiful in the same way. Maybe I should attempt to write a piece of music using that idea. I woke up at the obscene hour I have to on Tuesdays but strangely refreshed, with the torpor of mornings but also as if I had just returned from a satisfying travel.


flaviomatani: (Default)


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