Psychoanalysis Please Mr. Freud.
It has been a while since I have last invested in indulging your expedition through the murky waters of my mind. Dear reader, let it be known that unless I am absolutely God-ridden, I do not even enter their dreamy depths myself, as I feel that at times their cunning arts and ephemeral nature will let me believe in fantasies that do not exist. Yes I am a day-dreamer and it is that skilful art of fantasy that allows for the illusions of grandeur that has often allowed me to wantonly break my own heart. Needless to say I have hence with decided to vacate such meanderings for reality.
Yet, I fear that my once preferred solitude has made its way into the peacefulness of sleep. Yes dear reader, I had a dream.
I have been plagued by the same night-time phantom of a person I rather not dream about. Yet when morning breaks and the sunlight shakes me from sleeps embrace, THE FACE, is the last thing I see. Its is as follows;
A figure walks the misty ground of some unknown cemetery. Its gait unsure and its movements riddled with fear. From the dark I watch and wait as my victim struggles to be free from the wicked silence of the forgotten graves. Ravenous desire beats deep in my veins as I hear the beating cockles of the alien heart that calls my name. I am the uninvited yet I feel wanted. I let out a howl as my wolf-like form leaves my solitude and my victim runs in anticipation. A chase ensues. I begin to wonder what ever fancied this creature’s mind that it believed that it could outrun me; I, who have treaded these fields so fluidly and so mysteriously and so cunningly for two-and-a-half decades.
The chase ends with a seminal leap of victory as I pin the form, below. Suddenly I am a man once more, naked and bare, and the alien before me is alive with deep longing and fear. Its face sweet and bitter yet its eyes hold rapture. I feel redeemed and anew.
I then hear the little birds stir outside my window as day prickles at my neck and the intruder’s face is etched in my mind as I awake. It remains locked in place until I see the person later that day.
Dear reader, I fear that in me lives a beast. A somewhat scorned monster that aims to torture its prey. Yet all that the beast means to do is to love unreservedly. What would the Good old Freud say as the master of dreams analysis?
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