Sunday, April 08, 2012

what a sad horse

What a little tease this subconscious of mine is. Its almost tragic to be living when the best I could do is bring myself somewhere to the fringes of the dreamworld that I find myself visiting almost daily; nothing beats it, as an impromptu survey on my daytime obsession finds me piecing together the facts, and (mostly) a deeper fuss into the conscious input behind the digestive after-effects of the subconscious.

It gets annoying. Googling for the meanings is futile. Either someone is trying to make a business out of our dreams, or trying to push their own moral code behind our visual imagery, or just quoting Freud-types who generalized deductive logic, or just trying to copy (needless, crappy) content to their pages.
A horse symbolizes freedom, power, and sexual energy. Very well. But what when the horse is spraying me with bullets from his Colt, or trying to kill a dog that I just rescued, or in collusion with a mutt who would devour me once I'm hit by the pheromone capsule that the horse keeps for alternate ammunition? [in the end i cleverly trick the horse into aiming the capsule at himself - now the mutt’s unleashed on its own master]

It is, however, entertaining trying to work it out with friends, much like a puzzle. Their unsatisfactory take and your unsatisfactory take combine into great ridiculous mutations. Slapping Freud and Jung around. [wish the army would rather be into this than their excess drinking on weekends] I remember a (single) friendship taking seed from this engaging activity, but then I also see that my persistence in my active group would, conversely, lead to loss of many.

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