|Summer Interior - Edward Hopper, 1909|
I read that Sigmund Freud would have his patients lie on his couch and exercise what he called 'free association'. He would have them speak of anything that came to mind, as a way to let the contents of the subconscious, thoughts normally suppressed, surface and communicate with the consciousness. Lying in bed yesterday afternoon I tried it for a few minutes. This is what surfaced (after some editing).
Two books currently on my nightstand include Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass and Jostein Gaarder’s Sophie’s World which may explain the nature of some of the content.
If you find poetry or the imitation of it tedious (as I usually do), just skip this post.
Kisses, embraces, and nowhere places,
Forgotten faces, not my own
I believe, but what is belief?
Reality exists and is what it is,
Who can change it, not me?
Curtains and laces and blended faces,
Abandoned places not my own
Maybe ours, if only for a summer past,
But certainly not forever gone
I see you there, and here, and everywhere,
But nowhere, not my own
I miss you, I hate you, I may actually love you,
My perpetual indecision is known
Oh, when will I be free?
Of these cages and wages
Of war against nature
Of Unbearable Lightness of being.
Rhyme and meter and picky eaters
And fishing in the sea
Or lake as the case may be.
Cheese and tomatoes,
Green beans and potatoes
All of it I see
Or will see
Time is playing tricks on little old me.
No one to beat me but he
Oh, how I long to be free
Secrets, where is he?
Lonely road, Where is she?
Warm hands, soft lips, wet tongue,
Your tongue on me…
Sensitive places, tips and spaces,
Maybe sensation will set me free.
‘Exit here,’ I wish it said somewhere
Just exactly how to be
Gone, this inertia of ennui.
Self reproach, self-abdication;
Emotion, you treason of reason,
Leave me be!
It is transcendence I seek,
Sweet, and unencumbered~