dreamstate writing 1 May 2018

This dream occurred sometime in the early hours of this morning.

A dark-haired boy and what appeared to be his father were sitting next to a water-filled channel running across the descending edge of a sand dune. Beyond and below them was a flat beach upon which a few dozen bathers lounged. As I was walking up the mound toward them the boy climbed onto the rim of the channel, which collapsed, sending him tumbling head over heels into a trough of water at the bottom of the dune. I yelled at the father to alert him of his son’s plight, but he never turned to look, instead sat facing away from us the whole time. Swallowed instantly by the trough’s quicksand-like substrate material, the boy disappeared until only the very top of his head was showing.

Clawing into and digging away at the golden liquid sand, my efforts hampered by freely-flowing water, I managed to free the boy’s head, then finally after more frantic excavations his whole body. His eyes were closed and his face and neck were turning blue from lack of oxygen. Gathering his rag-doll body into my arms, I picked him up so that his head rested to the right of mine and his limbs draped around the right side of my torso. Standing up, I shouted down to the lounging bathers, who seemed unable to understand me. I tried different languages, saying things like Police, Polizei, Polisi, call for help, ayudame, rufe einen Krankenwagen, and tolong sakit.

Then, the scenery changed and I was ascending a tall tower of glass and steel, still holding the unconscious boy, mounting flights of stairs and riding upward in elevators, climbing ever and ever higher into the sky. Upon reaching some sort of top-floor control center packed with blinking computer terminals and walled in with slanted slabs of glass, I was approached directly by a small blond woman who finally offered to help me revive the unconscious child in my arms.

[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]

haiku 16 Nov 2017

Baby monkeys grasp
Holding on tight for dear life
Kittens get carried

[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]

Woman, mother, “Has things sewn up nicely.”

Reading from a prepared statement to an unsuspecting crowd of her siblings and other relatives who had gathered in commemoration of one death or another, Violetta D. Juk, 28, mother of two girls and a boy who now lives outside of Wilkes-Barre Scranton, Pennsylvania, said, with due gravity and poise, “Yes, you all heard correctly, and this is not a hoax or a joke, nor is it vainglorious bluster. I, little old cousin Vio – buddy, crying-shoulder, and confidant of yore – I have reached a plateau that I have been striving for for some years now, and things are nearly completely sewn up.” With a nearly invisible flick of the hand, Violetta signaled to her two girls, who swept in from a side room – where they had been obviously waiting – carrying their toddler brother, Fredirik, on a chair between them, paraded with him around the table of seated and perplexed adults, and exited without explaining themselves or making much in the way of unnecessary noise.

“Do you see?” Violetta said into the void left by her children's nearly silent passage. “Do you all get it now? I am telling you guys, this is what I have been trying to make clear to you all these years. It is, truly, possible, and, do you all see how very happy I am? How well Hildebrand and June managed with their little brother on that chair? Yes, dear family mine, yes, it is all coming together nicely.”

After the get-together had broken up, while everyone was packing up their cars and generally getting ready to disperse, Violetta was waylaid by a certain Uncle Darius, who was more interested, however, in obtaining her recipe for light and flaky pie crust than in listening to her nuanced, mysterious, and apparently sewing-related proclamations.

場黑麥 mentiri factorem fecit