Ohio. Temperatures in the thirties and everything is coated grey. I scan the forecast for snowflake icons, but no luck yet. I’m craving a good snowstorm like a favorite food.

This morning I came across a koan: When I breathe in, the universe is breathing out. When I breathe out, the universe is breathing in. At the time, this sounded incredibly necessary and profound. But looking at these words on the page now, I recoil. Why is the vocabulary of spirituality so tacky? Maybe because it’s dealing with vapor and there’s no room for concrete detail.

Last night I dreamt tangled, deeply plotted dreams about rotted airplanes, teeth in the street, and a gigantic man who knelt down to tell me he was raised by a mountain and that I did not understand how to live. I asked him if I could bum a cigarette and he tossed me into the sea. I swam into the dark until I was rescued by an inflatable child who cried like a ticking clock.

I woke up wondering if I would live my life any differently if I measured my age in days or hours instead of years.

Windy & Carl – Fragments Of Time And Space (Instrumental Demo, 1995)

Unreleased Home Recordings, 1992-1995 | Bandcamp

Essential dream music.

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