dream - 11o124: eternal exit

Back at my aunt's house, my great-grandfather's house, the house I can't seem to escape dreaming of.  The house I used to run to, despite the pervasive basement chill hinting at lonesome futility.  The home away from the home that abused me.  In the dream I'm even aware that refuge is why I preferred being here.  Because at least this sorrowful christian estate, with its dust-laden recesses of mystery, wasn't where I was being raised in fear.  It was near to fear but it wasn't living there.

Sig is with me, trying to help me leave.  I'm not being helpful in the exit.  Because I'm aware that this is where it starts & ends, in my internal eternity.  Sig's trying to shove my bike in the back seat of the car, having one hell of a time.  The cushioning is snagged and the bike seat has broken in two halves.  I'm sure it's cut him, but he's exhausted and not receptive to my ministrations.  He just wants to get away from this place that isn't a place.  He needs me to escape its gravity.

I take over maneuvering the bike and he climbs into the front seat, casting impatient looks at the old home with its peeling paint, forest green sunbleached to faded jade.  Sig's phone keeps pinging with fresh notices from friends.  My phone, the old broken one I use strictly as an mp3 player, is playing some pod about Grant Morrison.  Even on the level of our appliances & crutches, we're disconnected and in unrelated states psychologically.

I climb back in front.  Maybe we will leave this time.