Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
year 3
I had a dream last night.
Well. Most nights, but rarely do I remember the details to this extent.
We stood in a field, a number of us. I knew no one. But I wasn't me. There was a road, a path. I knew people. Bill Murray was there. Maybe it was Bill Maher. They look a bit alike. The point of view shifted between a young boy, and Bill Murray/Maher. Hundreds walked along the path until a blue bubbly city began reaching up over the horizon, from a forest, seemingly. It resembled the Emerald City as far as skylines go, but it was a deep blue and the ever-growing tentacles (that looked like buildings until they curved in towards us) could only be described in shape as the predetermined paths everyone follows in Donnie Darko. Someone screamed. Bill took the boy by the arm and thrashed his way through the crowd in the direction opposite the one-way path. The urgency was that of trying to outrun a dropping bomb. The blue enveloped us. Creatures stood over a number of people, picking out a few at a time. We tried to remain unnoticed. Those who were chosen were subjected to an apparatus that took something from them. Soul? Life-force? It was important. A few tried to escape. They were quickly chosen. The boy stood behind the leg of the massive creature, still unnoticed. He ran. I awoke.
Well. Most nights, but rarely do I remember the details to this extent.
We stood in a field, a number of us. I knew no one. But I wasn't me. There was a road, a path. I knew people. Bill Murray was there. Maybe it was Bill Maher. They look a bit alike. The point of view shifted between a young boy, and Bill Murray/Maher. Hundreds walked along the path until a blue bubbly city began reaching up over the horizon, from a forest, seemingly. It resembled the Emerald City as far as skylines go, but it was a deep blue and the ever-growing tentacles (that looked like buildings until they curved in towards us) could only be described in shape as the predetermined paths everyone follows in Donnie Darko. Someone screamed. Bill took the boy by the arm and thrashed his way through the crowd in the direction opposite the one-way path. The urgency was that of trying to outrun a dropping bomb. The blue enveloped us. Creatures stood over a number of people, picking out a few at a time. We tried to remain unnoticed. Those who were chosen were subjected to an apparatus that took something from them. Soul? Life-force? It was important. A few tried to escape. They were quickly chosen. The boy stood behind the leg of the massive creature, still unnoticed. He ran. I awoke.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
will never
I must confess (or rather reflect,
seeing as I doubt very much your
discovery of this or any
other of these) first my tendency
to keep or fail to discard any
of the things I have ever come in
contact with. This realization of
character is only a matter
of understanding where I have come
from and where it is I am going,
an understanding I have not come
to, myself. This all to point out still
another revelation of self
and more probably, relationships;
less probably, the casual meaning
of the word. My ability or
lack thereof, an inability
I should say, as I have formerly
admitted, has carried itself to
the digital age, effectively
packing myself into electric
warehouses stacked with cardboard boxes
of previously important art-
icles in the broadest sense I can
describe. These boxes, I must admit,
are subject to idle sweeping at
any moment of any day and
this is the reason I am writing.
To diverge, I've discovered just now,
that You can be a number of You's,
each changing drastically the meaning
of this letter. Whatever it may
bring, you will likely be unaware.
On idle sweeping: I've come across
a number (hint) of past works that I've
read time after time, not through lusts or
desires, and not through adoration
or favor, but through a genuine
interest in the pieces. Seeing as
its been a recurring theme in my
sweeps, it must be concluded and it
must be thoroughly concluded at
that, that it will be important that
I know you and the improbable
way we met will be worth repeating.
I can only say this in respect
and awe that we are who we are and
we were who we were; with only the
hope that we will be who we will be.
seeing as I doubt very much your
discovery of this or any
other of these) first my tendency
to keep or fail to discard any
of the things I have ever come in
contact with. This realization of
character is only a matter
of understanding where I have come
from and where it is I am going,
an understanding I have not come
to, myself. This all to point out still
another revelation of self
and more probably, relationships;
less probably, the casual meaning
of the word. My ability or
lack thereof, an inability
I should say, as I have formerly
admitted, has carried itself to
the digital age, effectively
packing myself into electric
warehouses stacked with cardboard boxes
of previously important art-
icles in the broadest sense I can
describe. These boxes, I must admit,
are subject to idle sweeping at
any moment of any day and
this is the reason I am writing.
To diverge, I've discovered just now,
that You can be a number of You's,
each changing drastically the meaning
of this letter. Whatever it may
bring, you will likely be unaware.
On idle sweeping: I've come across
a number (hint) of past works that I've
read time after time, not through lusts or
desires, and not through adoration
or favor, but through a genuine
interest in the pieces. Seeing as
its been a recurring theme in my
sweeps, it must be concluded and it
must be thoroughly concluded at
that, that it will be important that
I know you and the improbable
way we met will be worth repeating.
I can only say this in respect
and awe that we are who we are and
we were who we were; with only the
hope that we will be who we will be.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
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