I have started a notebook of dreams inside a little red-bound daybook I was gifted with in the middle of 2007. My subboss gave it to me. I accepted it immediately because it was beautiful. Then he explained, a graphic had offered it to our publishing house as a luring complimentary treat and he wanted to pass it along. Not to waste it.
I took it home and tucked it in the middle of the other books. I admired it. I had no use for it.
I already had a tiny notebook for quick notes; a light, compact daybook; and a stenography notepad I like to hold with the left and write with the right. Each was appropriate for one determined use. No need for yet another carry-along bunk of sheets.
Then I remembered an old project of starting a notebook of dreams and retrieved the little red-bound daybook turning it into a nightbook.
I wrote in the first page: CHAIRMAN SIMONE'S RED BOOK.
Then in the second I wrote an epigraph by Sao Paris:
I was silly.
I gave you my notebook of dreams.
I was so silly.
I thought that you'd write on it.
But you, you lost my notebook of dreams.
You lost it in a place
that you'll never come back too.
Eu fui silly.
I was boba.
I was boba is so tiny that's just too much; it gets me misty.
Then I wrote my first dream. I can remember just about everything and pretty much narrate it in a linear fashion until there is a break in the dreamline, which makes me happily aware of my odd ways and possible dormant insanity.
I dreamt of she-stormtroopers making splits and other girly stuff at a gas station. I was one of them.
Then, colorful action movie. Chinese underwater bomb defusers, the girl in the team with her face painted green for some reason.
Squarish, crystal-like, black-and-white-traced explosions just before I awoke.
link to this post ~ 2:19 AM
|blog_sibylla (English version) - by Simone Campos|
Don't bother to buy any of it, it's all in Portuguese.