My dream last night was eyeopening; set in a store with a mock double bedroom on a shitty side of town, inside of a mall, with another couple in the bed beside us. The sign on the outside of the store was “Erotica.” I am still trying to make sense of it, but I remember it required reading a book, independently, with your lover laying next to you in the same bed, also reading. There were two telephone booth-sized closets and a guy coming in and out of the adjoining room to check on us, hand us another book, etc. The books were pretty normal books – it almost seemed like a library made for me of a full range of interesting, artistic, but still well-rounded books with public interest-style relationships written about. They were not romantic by any account.

So here we are sitting in a double-bed reading, with people next to us in the bed doing the same, and some weird guy coming in and out of the room and the noise of the mall in front of us. Hardly an erotic set up with the typical sea of colorful and bright, sexually fantastical moments.

Waking up this morning, I didn’t feel warm, but I did feel contented. I don’t know why it was called “Erotica,” but I think it leads into the post on the American Dream and the 1950’s mindset of sexuality. Or maybe it is based on my inability to read as of late, due to distraction. Thoughts are welcome.



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