smokingboot

We're not there yet, but close by. A couple of friends invited me to see this little mini-exhibition of art from female Irish artists held at the European Commission House. It was based on the theme of St Brigid, Candlemass, crosses etc, and featured much magic. I should put little glimpses here, because one does get a tiny book with it full of photos of the pieces, but I am easily irritated by trying to put pictures on dreamwidth. I haven't quite worked out in my head why taking photos of photos from a booklet seems fine, while photographing the art directly and then uploading it seems rude. And even this latter rule isn't consistent. Frankly this cold has advanced to the point where it's making a nonsense of my thought processes.

I came home, pretty much collapsed in bed, and had a dream. R and I were on some kind of camping site, quite extensive, and at one point we were near woods on a river. Across the river I saw a man sitting between trees a his face in shadow. He was masturbating. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I could see behind him a group of people in various stages of undress having sex. Looking away I realised that every gap in the trees revealed something similar, people in the dark copulating. There was a black guy, he was the only one who saw me observing. He wasn't having sex but was leaned forward leering at me, and each time I looked back to him his grin grew wider. I found the sex grotesque, not because of the way it looked - it's never been a spectator sport for me - but because too much of anything that's all the same can be sinister.I went away. Much later, R and I were at the camp which seemed to be some kind of nudist colony. Seeing a column of girls and women wandering across a field, it occurred to me that I was the only person still clothed, my dress was nice but tight and sweaty, and I would like to take my clothes off and go walking on the hills by myself. However, first I was going to get back to the tent and put some make-up on. Even my sub-conscious is vain.