dreamwrite 1
there is the winter bleedin’ comin on like old man’s knees all bent and broke and arthritic cracking in pain. rarely now these little ministers of otherlight can shjiield me from the blacking darkness, blather on about work day and mindful thinking thoughts and instead i just sink. down.
there was a place back then, a quiet and untroubled place, resting, but it is not now, disturbed and everunquiet it murmurs and whidpers plack nothings in my ear about what silence used to taste like and how eemptiness is a feeling like the settling of dust that has finally stopped its drifting fall
i can’t find my way in here
said the lampost to the blackoutstreet
you can’t walk about anyway, what matters if your blind?
i think it matters quite a lot my eye is all i am, said it
but you are not a thing that sees and less a thing that movesmy friend, your sight is all about the out and none about the in
oh but there you see you’ve misperceived it is i that cause all seeing sought, for looking out i make the seen that others then behold
you are a liar but a pretty one
said the street to the lampost blushing
i like your silver detail work and the gaslamp that rests atop the pole
you’ll never guess who just walked by, illuminator like a godj
and shuddery shivers down the metal the lamp is lit again
i blanet you in a billowy dark, but it is over soon enough and then we just have one another waiting to see it through
where is it that we’re going now, but i don’t know anymore than you, this place is full of queerly shaped little stones like theyu could turn into little men if i was very very good about watching where they looked when i turned my head
but sneaky rocks don’t twist or tell and i never see them gremlin, but their tricker faces dodon’t let them lie the way they would like to lie
so just for now this morning here
look out the window fair and bright and blue
and wonder with me what god or gods could give more than this to man
i hate such sentimental claptrap
mutteres the rest of me that’s really me, but the part that thinks the sky is pretty says hush and let me see
from here huntil i finish this i’m watching all the time
and waiting patient simple for there is nothing else to pass the time
daily there’s something wrong but you never tell anyone what it is
just come in here and throw your things down and give dirty looks to everyone who passes by
you must give all of them up if you want freedom
in our heart you must kill everyone you’ve ever loved and every human thing that makes you more inclined to fail and falter and hesitate at the wrong most cruicial moment
swimming my dreamface is haded toward our shore, the soudn of water and thud of dreams in my ears i’m watching hearing something i had nt expected and it’s beautiful. so much more than other else. trees look great n teh
don’t think you witenessed what didn’t just happen as it happened, it’s slpped through my mind more than just a few tmes, but only asa i get more used to recofnising situtations like this.
fake drea minterrupted me again, something about a drun
thesse lapses into sleep are amazing. like i can feel the thread being dipped in water, the thoughts become strangely ben from the day to day. i love it. i i think i found these wee tehe oones i’ve seen annd what they saidi’m ecausted, and must sleep.
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