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Dream 7-29-15

August 1, 2015

I was in a large building, with many floors and rooms, and lots of people doing various things [but I forgot the details of all that, as soon as I woke up]. I had to use the restroom. There were other people in the restroom, both men and women, and toilets out in the open. That didn’t seem to matter to anybody—but I was the only person using one. Nobody particularly noticed me, until I reached for the toilet paper, in a dispenser, and it came out in a large wad full of shit. My shit. The image was impressive for its visual and tactile (but not olfactory) vividness, quite rich. The stuff had originally come out of me, but now kept coming out of the dispenser and even back out of the toilet. People did seem to think that I was making a mess and should do something about it; but every time I reached for more paper, to clean things up, I simply got more wads of paper full of shit. The situation was impossible and I woke up.

[The feeling tone was not nightmarish, it was just a feeling of surprise and then of exasperating inability to do anything but make even more of a mess. In light of some of Hillman’s thoughts, I think this is simply a normal situation that the soul finds itself in! and I think the image is a powerful comment on the psychopathology of American democracy (the subject of this novel)—but maybe I’m projecting.]

From → dreams, soul

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