The Fourth Factor

I seem to be back in my old house in M---, in the dining room/weight room area (an odd combination that is actually true to life rather than your standard oneiric mash-up). I'm reading a poem that is supposedly by Heine. It’s a sort of varied, complex, allusive thing that somehow manages to be beautiful while also having real matter to it. But as incredible as it is, there’s also a real sense it which it doesn’t speak to modern people anymore. That means there’s an opportunity for a modern take—which is an intimidating prospect since whatever I’d write would inevitably be held up next to this one.

While pursuing this line of thought, I’ve gotten up and started walking towards the front door. The part about the different Chinese dynasties—well, no question what that would have to be now. In the original, it was totally an indirect criticism of his government—you had to be indirect about it in those days.

I now seem to be packing for a trip I’m going to take with some friends. The next part I remember clearly is being in a train station rather like the one in Kassel, waiting for my train. But I notice I haven’t brought my heavy coat with me, and since we’ll be camping, I could really be missing it if the weather turns cold. I also have some plastic boxes, one of which is filled with cheese? Why is this even here?

Looking at an analog clock, I see I still have 20 minutes left before my train arrives, and that’s enough time to pack more sensibly since I only have to go down a hallway to get to my house. I picture the hallway: it’s reminiscent of the one between Penn Station and Madison Square Gardens in NYC.

There seems to be another shift here: I’m now watching a video— like animated drawings, black and white. It’s about three girls, one of whom I know is me, although they are all represented identically. There is also music in the background: a bouzouki playing a cheerful melody.

According to the narration, the three girls created a world together. But this doesn’t seem quite right to me. The images are definitely showing them doing it one at a time, but the narration seems to be referring to it as a single event. Perhaps the video is just showing it that way in order to make the levels of ontological priority clear? No, the video clarifies, it really did happen three separate times. The one who is me did it the first time, and then, a while later, each of the others—but it was somehow harder for them because each time, it had grown colder there.

And now I actually seem to be there, walking through the scenery as it’s snow falls. There are graves there, marked by headstones—the graves of the two other girls, I realize. This does not compute—especially the incongruity with the background music, which has failed to reflect the dark turn this scene has taken and is continuing on as cheerfully as before—and I wake up.

But the last phrase of the music was still clear enough in my memory to where I was able to record it:



As of waking up, it was on its second repetition. My guess is that this isn’t an original creation. It just seems so familiar—but then, so many things in dreams do.

18.3.18