Hati & Katrina

Perhaps this is actually a dream journal. 

I enjoy waking up and writing about my all night long, wildly vivid dreams alongside coffee and slipper feet. 

I find just being horizontal I can remember them- walking into a darker room, or even just tilting my head back and closing my eyes, letting my jaw go slack, they come rushing back like the tide, so much information filling in all the little divots in the sand. Soaking in, always the same, always new.

I go to great lengths to shield my psyche against most of the outside waking world. I decided when I was about 16 years old that I was the type of creature that wanted to be in the world, but not quite of the world, and should limit my exposure to mainstream culture, foods, sounds and environments that would clutter my psyche, and perhaps this is why I have this vast playing ground for nighttime dream worlds to run a muck. The textures and feelings and scenarios are so vivid. 

The histories of my selves and the characters are long and lush and complicated just like in waking life, but I know about them, in my dreams I understand why the people are doing what there doing. I have this inner dialogue with myself about it, and seem to respond to the situations with more empathy and grace.  

I am in Orlando Florida,  last night in the all-white hotel bed I, my hair stained the pillow case pink, I passed out after our first night of shows here.

In my dreams I was in a troll land that switched back in forth between being human and troll space. The whole structure of the cities were crumbling, we had to run for our lives, I was crying as I tried to pack my small bag with one costume, I had to leave my roller derby skates behind, they would eventually sink into the water as the flooding was coming fast. 

Cielo was my husband in the dream and he was a human when I was a troll person- we switched back and forth throughout the dream, never in the same place at the same time. 

It was impossible for me to tell when I was what, I seemed to be the only person not able to see my change. It wasn't that the characters looked that different, it was just a magical quality that changed there energy in this way, that you could "see" them, and the humans had harder edges to them, seemed "bigger", held space more like cut out paper dolls rather that closer to the earth and mossy vine-y, soil like energy... that the trolls had

As I walked up this one stairwell it crumbled around me. It was tight and spiraled up like the staircase in my old flat in the south of France. I was naked and was apologizing over and over about it. On the rooftop were other troll like people who ran and jumped off the rooftops and down into moving trucks and the undulating sidewalks . 

 I tried to collect my little sister who was little like a doll, my bag, my lover, in the end I lost everything. I was floating in the water, hanging on to a wrought iron rail on someones  stoop of their back door that was floating down the flooded city. I was hiding from the humans. Cielo was to remain human and me a troll. 

There was a dark beach and us refuge troll strangers walked down it, wet and devastatingly empty, watching the paper doll humans erect hard cornered paper-architecture where our magical spaces had once been, before all the crumbling and cold water flooding.