Before I build my castle of words
let me say that this dream
I am about to verb-alize
is not really a story
even though it will begin, introduce
some tension and then conclude,
poorly.
Morever, this dream really happened to me
and it happened before
the tricky puns begin to eat at the froth of detail
left behind when the tide of my voice
falls back,
not yet expressions of my sexuality or
life choices or
perceived difficulties with networking at social events
where cheese is cut into cubes.
There is no sex, actually, or froth, or even
clean moist stacks of cubed cheeses,
only a few remembered moments which scratched an itch
before I could disarticulate the sensation from
The Word, the muscle from the hide.
So before I build this castle of words
let me say that this dream existed
before I skin myself like a rabbit
hung from a rafter exposed,
glinty, drying in the air.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Hi Dreamer,
Just wanted to drop a note to say thanks for being the first comment poster on that Brick Store Pub story. I dropped in a post to thank you publicly, so check it out if you like.
I noticed on here that this is your blog's one-year anniversary, so let me extend a hearty "Congratulations" to that milestone!
To verb-alize the dream changes the dream, it's true. We twist sensation into story, and then wring it out for meaning. Is it more honest to leave them be?
Perhaps, but that's not our way. We want to share them, disect them, hord them, stroke them, wrestle them into the shape we want, or the shapes we are afraid we want.
Maybe I should just speak in the "I." I don't know sometimes if i remember an actual dream or if my waking mind is sticking images onto what was actually a flipping rolodex of experienced emotions in the night.
anyway, I love my rolodex.
Post a Comment