Jenever

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	Nederlands Dream 31-03-2003 I am rummaging in a big deepfreeze bin, one with a lid on top, and drink a small glass of whisky. I then dig up a big bottle of jenever and go on with it, upstairs. I remember having bought a packet of cigarettes too: Gold Leaf, and I am smoking one now. On the stairs I find something belonging to Katelijne, in two little heaps, and have to look out not to fall. Upstairs, in an elongated 'house', there is light, bulb-light, and Katelijne is doing something with it. I am surprised to find her there just now.
	Free Association 31-03-2003 It is a messy bin, reminding me of a film in which I fantasized about an old woman emptying a freezer to hide a dead body. As if I am rummaging in isolated areas of my head, in which I did not come for a long time. (See dream about Roman church, 20-05-2004: forgotten). Grandmother's time perhaps, something with bodies and dead people. Dried up tears and forlorn warm feelings.
	Grandpa, the father of my mother and so the husband of granny, smoked much, just like all the other men in my family. When the illness of grandmother got worse, grandpa had to smoke his cigarettes outside, at the door. I remember a moment I was sitting at the door, just sitting in the sun and because nobody to play with, when he came out to smoke. I looked at his hands and mouth and the burning cigarette as if it was with a microscope. He drew the cigarette and the glow lighted up, smoke in his mouth. He inhaled the smoke and kept it in for a while, the he blew it away. I tried to imagine what it should be when I did it. Later on I would try it and taste and enjoy it. The way he did it ensured me it was something very important and an intense experience. I had to wait yet for some time, because I was too young.
	A far uncle (I forgot his name) of my mother and aunts, smoked many pipes and drank a bottle of jenever every day. Hy drank and smoked himself to death, they said. But. He stuck it out for fairly a long time, much longer then people not doing such things, caring for everything and so, seemingly. As if drinking and smoking to death is good for health after all.
	We once visited the widow of the uncle who's name I forgot, aunt ... from whom the name I lost as well. There was a cistern, a square concrete bin, outside alongside the veranda, and I could not easily look in it, because I was too small. I was allowed to take a chair to look over the edge into the black water. The rim was a little bit dirty, and I could not see the bottom. I wondered if there was a bottom at all, and if it perhaps not penetrated dangerously deep into the earth. They told me to be careful not falling into it. Probably I could see my own head mirrored in the water.
	It reminds me of the magic mirror of Tolkien's Lord of the Ring, a smooth water surface, where it seems possible to see things as if it were a TV, to see far things, very romantic. You particularly should not touch the water, for then the image is gone. Somewhere I see clouds too, deep down there and high up, as of I looked into the universe with myself balancing in the middle of it.
	Looking into the mirror was for me a very fearful experience a couple of times, as if I became aware of my existence suddenly, as if I as the one looking at me from the other side of the glass, as if I came from nowhere within the outlines of my skin and stood there, insurmountable real, very vulnerable and finite. I am me. Uncle P. and aunt M., two other lost names, family of my mother, were terrible old too, and me very small. They also had a water bin next to their veranda, or, two bins next to each other with plants and fish inside. Probably I went only once to this old families. Now I remember the fishes. I never saw something like that and was surprised, and probably wanted to have some too.
	They also had a lamp in their living. A white opal dish with a cloth on top, like in the picture, but plain white. The lamp could be moved up and down by means of an egg with some rope therein. There was a rather musty smell there, and they died quite soon. An other uncle, Uncle Kazn I think, and his wife Mai, I think, had a daughter, and this daughter had daughters some years older than I was then. They were very important and played beautiful in the garden, they said. I was jealous of them without ever having seen them. Then I was allowed to walk in that garden too, but don't touch anything, eh. Shitty situation. Kazn also smoked a pipe, and the stench of it I could not place at all. Probably all this uncles and aunts were visited on the opportunity of new year. They had to pay New Year Visits, or go to the family at least once a year, and that was it for the rest of the year.
	From my fourteenth year on I began smoking too. In fact earlier, in the bushes and in the streets on the sly, bought with money we got for ice on Sunday. Four ices of five frank was enough for one packet of cigarettes, and that was good for a very long time. I smoked Gold Leaf some time, because my girl's name is (Gode-) Lieve, I think. The man smokes the cigarettes in accordance with the woman he has. My father smoked Laurens 48, when we lived in the K. Street nr 48, and North Pole later on. Perhaps the North-pole had something to do with the ice of my mother. I smoked for 25 years, and then stopped with it fortunately. As if I left the old uncles and my father behind me.
	Aunt Miss lived above her in-law's, in an annex on the first floor. It was a elongated structure, with a teensy kitchen, a living and a bedroom, everything as if it were for dwarfs. Downstairs Ko and Emily lived, uncle Leo's parents then. Ko was a retired constable and Emily always contented. They had a side entrance, for bicycles or so, and in summertime you always found swallows in it. The flew through a hole in a broken window on top of the door in and out. They also had a pig, eating potato peelings and powder with water. Grunt. And stinking it did. It stayed completely in the back of the long narrow garden in a small corral and a sty. Sometimes it was inside, sometimes it walked out, and everywhere straw and shit. From time to time it had to be slaughtered. There in the neighborhood they had one too. When the slaughter came to stick it, it screamed the whole neighborhood down. Terrible. Imagine they did it to me.
	In the annex they had a chandelier with candles and shades on top. When the lamps were on, they reminded me the dovecot of my father. He had a carbon-filament bulb in one of his first cotes. Once I bought a whole box of them for the illumination of our shop-window. Nobody found it really special, what surprised me. Now it became antique objects, giving more heat than light it's true, but ... Pa built a dovecot on top of a platform, the roof of small storage-places and the toilet. One day I could go up with my father, alongside the ladder (ca 4 years). My father covered me with his strong arms, and I climbed myself upstairs. When we arrived there, halve a century later, my father helped me stepping out and getting into the cote. The smell of fresh white-wash and the yellowish glow of the lamp overwhelmed me. Wow. Or course we had to hold an eye on the young doves, otherwise they would fly away, and it was getting dark already. A lot of doves behind bars, where the females were breeding on their eggs or something the like. Also a couple of small planks with other pigeons on. Blue ones, and brown. They looked at me with an amazing expression in their eyes, questioning me: who the hell might thát be? They also wondered if and what my services could mean for them in the future. Just like visiting old uncles and aunts, but now with the vague question whether I was important or not. It were also moms and dads. Sometimes the dads were put into the basket to go out working.
	The moms stayed at home, an then the dads hurried to come home again, longing for their wives. Dad did not tell me that in such simple words. He spoke about widowers and in-basketing and difficult things like that, but at least I got the thread of the story. The cote also was divided into two homes, a compartment for the elder and one for the young. Then all the way back via the ladder. Ma wasn't content, much to dangerous, and take he falls off, and he is much too little, and in that cote... When I was very young, my father had a carbine, to fight into the war or so, and it stood in the cupboard in the kit hchen - dining room. Ma was cared of it. Once upon a day my father tried to shoot a cat. Cats and my father, yes. Sometimes his little doves were caught by a tomcat, and he really could not stand that. Then, a day, there came such a bastard walking in the garden, looking for a little bite to eat - a kitten or so - and my father went for his gun, kneeled and aimed at the beast. I stood just next to him and that was really exciting. Bang. It was a near thing, but he missed, shot a hole in the corrugated sheet from where under the false eyes were blinking, and the cat disappeared in a flash. Pa rubbed his finger over the hole and regretted the waist of the bullet. Since then I never saw the rifle again. When I asked my father for it, he raised his shoulders. I think mom ordered him to do it away. Should have caused trouble, she thought in me.
	Katelijne's cat was a tomcat, and not any more now, because of castration. I wonder in the dream where on earth that beast comes from. My father wanted to kill it for its catching dove-kittens, and could not stand aggression from pussies, but he himself shot them when he had it in his mind, if only he aimed just next. His rifle had to be removed, and he got rid of it, all be it with the tears in his eyes, so to say. Freud used to speak about castration and Oedipus. Lacan about the Phallus, being the name of the Father, representing the law. From the inside of my body I never understood the symbolism of castration very well. There was something wrong with Willy, but it never felt as loosing some of it. There has to be something as living with the existence of the desire, and I often had to say that to people (clients). It is not a good idea to try to fulfill all wishes, just being aware of them is more than enough. It comes into my mind to say that in fact I had nothing to loose, because simply I did not have anything, and that it is not difficult to keep my desires without the need of satisfying them, because there never was much satisfaction. The sky is a little bit cloudy yet, and I will wait an other moment. Drinking alcohol and smoking cigarettes seems an other example of waiting until something valuable will come along.
	Ma told me I never held my pacifier in my mouth for a long time. I simply spit it out. Probably I was inconsolable for the loss of the real stuff, being mine for only a single day. The feeling of sadness and loss is always in me. Possible it is something like not really having, or having had. My father did not seem to have balls. Freud's father probably had them, and being a Jew had circumcision too, and Lacan's grandfather was the boss of a big vinegar factory.
Freud and Lacan	They certainly will have a reason to fantasize about Phalluses and so, and organize a competition to try burning the flag of the ugly old customers, to see in the end that it is impossible, and then having the impression of being castrated for the ban from going to bed with mom. My father never put up a fight, was never proud of himself, and my mother could not stand me nor him. My father too had a big vinegar factory in the person of his wife. I imagined later (when I was about 10 years of age), when I heard them making love, that I would do it with her too, should I be my father, but that in that case I would insert mine much deeper than he did. Of course I don't know how deep my father's went in, but I imagined then that he just used the tip. The more I never wanted to do it with my mother herself, because she was to old and ugly. Even girls of 12 years I then saw as oldies. But perhaps I turn around in wide circles here, not knowing to grasp the core of the problem. Probably it comes from much earlier, 2 - 3 years of age, but at the moment I don't find to talk about it in the right way.

	References Jenever : http://www.hooghoudt.nl/ Lamplight : http://www.biophys.leidenuniv.nl/ruijter/foto's/Parijs/ Kroonluchter.jpg Deepfreeze : http://members.aol.com/scissorfish/imarch.htm Cigarette : http://www.wzzr.com/timages/page/smoking.jpg Pipe : http://www.cigarwebshop.nl/pijpen/ Child and mirror : http://www.godandscience.org/apologetics/answers.html Looking into the mirror : http://www.langham.org.uk/OurSchools/Pre-school.htm Goldfish : http://www.richwoodwv.com/gallery9.asp Lampshade : http://www.vandykes.com/subcategory/160/ Gold Leaf cigarettes : http://www.letitpass.com/cigopoly/01_goldleaf.html Annex with bed : http://www.allcapeaccommodation.com/bnb.htm Chandelier : http://www.cardana.nl/easypage_2.html Carbon filament lamp : (http://www.cityofnewberry.com/services.htm) Doves on a bowl : http://www.priscoracingpigeonloft.com/breedingpairs/ breedingphilosophy.htm The ladder : (http://www.region5rcc.org/region 1/Region 1 home.htm) Tomcat : http://www.spectracomputing.com/macro/eyes.html Dummy : ? Freud : http://www.loc.gov/loc/lcib/0002/year-rev.html Lacan : (http://www.francia.org.mx/debates/vfrench/freufrench.htm) Pigeon basket. (http://www.boglinmarsh.fsnet.co.uk/fancy-variety-s.htm)
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