dream_woman epitome of incomprehensibility Her name was Elise, though she didn't look like any Elise I knew. Throughout the dream she retained a fairly consistent appearance: brown straight shoulder-length hair, pale skin with pink undertones, and green-grey-blue eyes like water, but kinder. Water can be fairly indifferent. I wasn't just attracted to her because she had four breasts sometimes, the second pair under the first - no, I was in love with her because I was in love with her. She was Elise. I was in love with Elise. It was a fact of the dream. I was curious about the breasts, though, and she was willing to give me a look. Then I remembered David, so I invited them both into what looked like a bathroom without a toilet, upon which he proceeded to initiate a discussion about philosophy. His eyes said, "Look, you told me threesomes would be awkward in real life." Mine: "Which this is clearly not? I mean, we could at least make out a little?" (Fine, talk about Merleau-Ponty and pointillism, but I think you're just putting those two together because of alliteration.) 220227 ... e_o_i I'm sitting with David, looking at the night-bright lights of the city in the distance and trying to remember the name of something music-related. "Sabaton" is what comes out. I laugh because whatever I'm thinking of is completely different. "No, not Sabaton; they sing about World War 1." (Our_song, too.) I look hard at a distant office building, rectangular like a ruler or like the old-fashioned music cabinet that David turned into in another dream. Suddenly I have the uncomfortable consciousness that I'm lost in my own thoughts and he'll think I'm absorbed in myself, think I'm not paying attention to him. But the scene changes. I'm in bed - my bed, but bigger - next to a woman. She's no one I've met in real life, but I know her name is Bella. Her black hair goes down about to her shoulders and she has turquoise eyeshadow on her lids. These eyes look at me with such trust. Adoration. Tenderness. Such that I'm convinced I must be in love with her too, even if I didn't know that before. I turn and kiss her, leaning into her. This accelerates a feeling of desire but also a sense of losing myself. Odd. I turn back. Her turquoise-fringed gaze, loving. A thought pops up: "...and she's 12 years younger than you..." I look at her. How? She can't be only 23. It's not just the idea that East Asian people look younger than White ones; it's that I know her, and she's around 30, and she can relate to me: those eyes say everything. And then I realize: of course. The minds and bodies of David and I have melded into one person, so she's 12 years younger than him. Obvious! That's why I wasn't worrying that I already had a partner. We're here, together. We're one person, for the time being. (Some angel or demon must have taken my line "I'm too uncoordinated for threesomes" and been all "...but, but metempsychosis!" Is that you, James Joyce??) 231229 ... e_o_i ...or "awkward in real life" from my first blathe. That works too. Freddie Mercury: "Is this the real life? ...No. No, it isn't." 231229 what's it to you? who go blather from