A Collection of City Thoughts


Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Burn Burn Burn

Last night I dreamt I was somebody else. It was a nightmare of sorts. The kind that is fuzzy and grey and alarming and perplexing and you wake up feeling stunned and restless. I can only remember these things:

1) Looking into a mirror and seeing another woman's face I couldn't recognize.
2) Running around a strange town.
3) Running away from people in a strange town.
4) Trying desperately to find my face.

A dream doctor might tell me I am going through some identity crisis. He might ask me, "Laura have you been feeling depressed lately?" And I'd reply, "I don't think so? I don't think I really know what it feels like to be depressed." And he might say, "Well you might want to consider doing something to reconnect your self to your inner child." Something hokey like that.

So this morning I blared some music in the studio for a couple of hours - Cat Stevens, The Beatles, Radiohead - threw on a dress (I never wear dresses) and danced the shit out of myself (of course, being mindful of my injured knee).

And as I danced there, wild and ravenous, paying no particular attention to technique or form, I decided what the dream meant. The dream was simply just a reminder. A reminder to stay true to everything I am. Simple.

One of my favorite quotes is from Jack Kerouac. It sums up everything I feel and yearn and believe.

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!”