2005-05-09 - 12:40 p.m.
Last night, I had a dream that my father was sobbing over me, I think it was my dead body.
The meat of the dream, was the way he was sobbing bloody mucous onto me. I couldn't lift my head at all, but I could see the blobs settle and slide off my torso. This happened for a while.
I sobbed without making noise. My dad could breathe with labor, his sobs were so powerful. I wanted to tell him that I love him, but I couldn't.
I was looking at a symphony schedule on Thursday, and there was a picture of a man playing the cello. He is stout and wearing a suit just like dad's Sunday suit, with suspenders. His eyes are closed and his expression is pained.
I cut him out and put him on the wall of my cubicle because he looks just like dad right before he breaks into a gutted weep. The way his eyes are closed lightly, but his face is contorted in an expression of tragic wistful pain.
Sometimes he cries this way when he is moved by an exquisite sentiment.