|The House of Lovers Past
||[Jun. 1st, 2005|08:31 am]
|||||Back To You, John Mayer||]|
I hate this place. It shows up in my dreams more frequently than I would like: an enormous, echoing hulk, mouldering and shabby, with roof leaks and dry rot and the improvised furnishings of the very poor. Sometimes I visit it with a particular lover from yesteryear; last night several were there (transforming back and forth from one to the next). Some helped build and improve (or at least cover over the worst damage), some merely looked the other way, or tried to convince me it was fine as it was while I pursued my own dreams (last night I was speaking in front of some of my clinical professors, voicing a rebuttal to a movement one had started).
Hell of a metaphor for such a legacy of damage and decay. I’m sorry, Brent; I know you probably don’t want to live in that place. I certainly don’t. Perhaps we can burn it down and build a house of the future, without any of the ghosts of the past. It would at least be worth trying; that’s an awful lot of baggage to carry around.