touch

On some mornings I woke up in a dream: I touched bodies I always wanted. And it was at least so real as the reality itself. And I could imagine whom I wanted...

It happened on some mornings after each other, but on the last one I haven't dreamt with the desired bodies, but I touched the ground. The very ground.

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No wonder. I was already busy with the analysing of these feelings: I feel here in the Netherlands my whole life so artificial. Perhaps not because of the modern society, artificial food, drink etc. The nature, the blades of grass, everything looks artificial for me. I once even dabbe in secret with my finger the skin of a Dutch guy I slept with: if it's from a strange material.

I often felt as I left Transylvania and Hungary: the heaven is also other. And I have to touch this ground as Antaeus from time to time.