Saudades for Gomez

I never remember my dreams. On the rare occasion that I do they really stick with me. I pick at them and turn them over and over in my mind, and the longer I do the longer they tend to accompany me as the Universe continues to spontaneously unfold all around me. Because they’re so rare these dreams stay with me like a friend, sometimes for an hour, sometimes for a day, sometimes longer, before dissolving silently back into the consciousness from whence they came. On this quiet, rainy morning among Cherokee ghosts the presence of last night’s dream is more assertive than most. Here’s to hoping that by writing it down it may stay around for longer than usual. Komuso for life.

Komuso Collective.
Komuso Collective.

Dreamt of you last night. Or should I say this morning. Woke me up at 5. I was at some soul-sucking work thing on a Saturday morning somewhere and you picked me up when it was over and we were just driving around, talking about jazz albums and I was showing you my new phone and we were figuring out what to do and where to go. It was the real deal, though – I hadn’t seen you or heard from you since June, so there was that in the car with us as well. You were driving a blue 1980s Cadillac with plush blue upholstery all over, even on the ceiling and shit. Then you stepped on the gas to beat a red light through an intersection over some train tracks and I remember some other car waiting there just watching. Then everything was blue as if it was pre-dawn; no lights were on anywhere and the palm trees were silhouetted black against the barely-blue sky and we were cruising along Sunset Cliffs with the ocean on our left. We were talking about taco shop for lunch and driving through a rundown and recognizable but unidentified landscape somehow into the familiar and the unknown. Then I woke up.

Tried to get back to sleep and had another dream about you; it started off wandering through like a storage-space place that became like an empty burned-out third-world market place. I knew you were there but I couldn’t see you and I realized I was a ghost, like a spirit, just floating there but invisible, then I turned around and I saw you but you were a child, like you were reborn into your next life as a small boy in Africa and you were turning the corner and walking toward me but couldn’t see me, but I was there and we were alone, and I knew you and knew who you were and knew who we were and I knew that I was just waiting for you to realize that I was there someday, maybe far off in your future, and I knew I’d be there like a ghost in your consciousness just waiting for that day to come.


Komuso for life.
Gomez Sanchez Melendez: Komuso for life.

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