FREUD:

The interpretation of dreams is the royal road to a knowledge of the unconscious activities of the mind.

§  The Interpretation of Dreams (1900), from The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, translated by James Strachey.

§  At any rate the interpretation of dreams is the via regia to a knowledge of the unconscious in psychic life.

Georgie Puppy here, folks.  Hard times for me.  I know I can count on your support, though….

……………………………………………………………

  Uncle James says I am suffering “an Oedipal crisis, rather typical for a boy, a human boy, but you are a dog, so that makes it even more visceral, and confusing, I would think…”

  Oh,it has to do with this New Man who keeps company with my Momma, much to my ambivalence. I like the guy, but when he comes over to the house—my house---I jump on him, and jump, and jump, and I smack him good in his gullet sometimes….I cannot  help it…gosh, I am just so darn glad to see him..mmm……….yes well, not really, but sort of......

…………………………………………………………….

 Thank God or Jesus or  Buddha or Low Sue or Confusion (or all the other Masters James  tells me about) that I have my Uncle …he is more like a father than an uncle, but I can’t call him Daddy (which is what I so want to do!) because he says it would be inappropriate, as my Momma is his sister.  I certainly will never call New Man daddy.

 I am what is known as “a fatherless male”, a “Momma’s boy”, and this is why I have so many problems.

……………………………………………………………..

  Uncle James spent the weekend with me. We had some pretty good times, from my perspective. I sure hope he did, too:

Oh,a lot of walks, plenty of chew bones, some darn serious tug of war with my toys, fetching balls and frisbees, eating human food, and sleeping with my head on Uncle’s bottom.   He let me watch him pee, and allowed me to supervise his showers, and even some poops   of his, on that big white water dish...

 And when I pooped , he gave me cookies. This makes it tolerable to poop in front of people, to get a treat when  you do it out in the grass. I wish I could get some privacy on this, but then again I enjoy watching & smelling Uncle & Momma poop, I dunno why…

………………………………………………………

  “Uncle, “ I said, “ Why do I dream such awful dreams?”  We were out on the backyard deck, catching some sun. Uncle is extremely white and likes to glow red once in awhile.  I don’t give a..shit, hee hee…how white his face is, but he seems to. I am black. Which means I absorb all the heat and light with ease, unlike uncle.  Poor guy, he is always cold. That’s why I snuggle him, in bed…and during the day too….to warm him up.

I am always warm. I make sure of that! Whether it takes vigorous play or enthusiastic walks or serious cuddling  , I make sure I am  never chilly. This is because I am a “mammal”, Uncle says. Like him.   Which makes us related, as species….

  “What are you talking about now, “ James said. He was stretched out in a lounge chair, my face in his groin, warming him, as we conversed, or “shot the shit” as he says.

  “I dreamt I bit the New Man in his throat, Uncle, “ I confessed.  “Then his blood came out of his gullet and out his mouth and I drank it and it tasted good, and why would I dream that?”

  Uncle pushed me away from his penis. He doesn’t approve of guys getting really well acquainted. I learned this when I brought out my tongue to lick him after  he came out of the shower this morning, and he freaked.

  “You are envious, “ Uncle said, putting down his book, the next decade  , by George Friedman , and sighed.  He was gonna teach me something, so I re-adjusted by ears to filter out all the other stuff going on, like the bitches next door teasing me by standing at the limit of their electric fence & giving me the eye and an occasional yip.

  “But Momma is so happy now. I can smell that. Why can’t I feel happy for her?”

  Uncle made one of his pronouncements that I had to go into private space, far away from him---2 or 3 feet---curl up, and think about…

 
  “Georgie, you are eventually gonna be fine, once you find your purpose in life…and according to Mr. Friendman, whom I am reading here, or..trying to…and attempting to get a bit of color in my lily white face..uh, He says , we need ‘an unsentimental  understanding of the situation, to understand power and principles and their place, and a mature American culture, shit… he says it is not hopeless…”

I was dumbfounded. “who is ‘we’?” I said.

“America, you idiot. “

“I am an American?”

“Sort of. Now shut up. “

I wanted to bite him, but the feeling passed. Instead I said, “ I am an American puppy boy, Uncle?”

   “Yep. Red white & blue, shit head.” He put his eyes back in his stupid book.  I thought about eating it, when he went to take another poop.I will eat it with vigor. I will decimate it!Damn book...Instead, i caved and said,

  “Thank you Uncle. For your wisdom.”

  Uncle guffawed . He looked me straight in the eyes, like he does, and said, “You are learning, boyo. Now go away…”

    I went off to  eat birdseed. I love birdseed.

"Properly speaking, the unconscious is the real psychic; its inner nature is just as unknown to us as the reality of the external world, and it is just as imperfectly reported to us through the data of consciousness as is the external world through the indications of our sensory organs."

pSYCHO THERAPY for beginners..freud.