dead drunk dublin and other imaginal spaces
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There seemed little difference at all, when exhausted from a long, mid-week day of manual labor, I called it quits while still light, showering, & hitting the sack without a page of a book or the papers. Window open, & bed welcoming as ever. By the time she followed suit the light had changed, but no Time passed. She walked by in that classic summer dress of nothing. If we acknowledged each other, it was with that pure, intuitive intimacy, where even gesture & touch remain silent in lieu of years of devotion. In other words, like a dream. A short while after, with the sheet drawn halfway up under a cooling stream from both fans, a rival arrived. I struggled against doubts & insecurities. Worried & jealous, yet the light of the dream held the same reassurance as the light just before sleep. All of a sudden the rival for her attention revealed himself with a smile & confident visage in which I recognized my own rare, better, more sober Self.



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