Wednesday, April 23, 2014

A Midsummer Night Dream

7/14/12 This is one of my favorite dreams I've ever had, It was so real, yet surreal. It makes me want to base a novel or series on it. If only I could be this creative while awake. If it has some symbolic meaning, it beats the hell out of me what it is. I was probably just binge-reading Terry Pratchett novels again.

It's my birthday. About 10 of my friends are gathered in the barn, lit only by the colored lights on lines, zig-zagging across the walls and ceiling. It was so nice of Eoin to put all this together for me, I think as I survey the room. A lovely selection of traditional party fare is spread out against the upper wall of the lower aspect of the L-shaped barn. The tablecloth somehow contrives to hide many boxes, arranged on the table to make a nice multilevel effect, the better to display the food. There might be music playing but I hardly notice, engaged as I am in watching my friends interact. Is it odd that I should stand separate at my own birthday bash? Shouldn't I mingle with my friends? Eventually I'll talk to them each individually, but for now I take great pleasure in just watching them enjoy each other. This moment of contentment is crudely interrupted by the entrance of someone whom no one notices but I. If you could see her, you would swear no woman lives as beautiful as this tall, buxom brunette. One by one, her siren sisters materialize out of the air or walk through the walls of the barn, until my friends are outnumbered by these blazing beauties. Still, no one takes notice but I. I shuffle nervously over to Eoin. "E, what are they doing here around the humans?!" Eoin looks sheepish, but before he can answer, the first belle says, "Don't worry, dear, none of them can see us. Remember, the things in our heads? You don't think we'd miss your birthday?" My face assumes a resigned countenance and I glance around urgently. Good, no one saw me talking to someone who isn't there. It just looked like I was talking only to Eoin. However, this is likely because, in the darkest corner of the barn, one of the siren sisters is flinging Mardi Gras beads around her head. While the guests might not see her, they certainly see these apparently disembodied beads. Now another and another of the lovely ladies join in this fun, whirling the beads around their necks and arms like hula hoops, until the barn is practically filled with beads seeming to spin themselves erratically around. The guests are filled with wonder, showing plainly on their bewildered faces. Some seek strings or some other mechanism by which this magic might occur. Most simply watch the spectacle in bewilderment. One shouts, "Wow! Good show y'all! How'd you do that?!" Before I can think of some excuse, I notice that there's a rather tall prone man growing out of the ground at my feet. In fact, he's no man, but an elf, and he's not so much growing out of the ground as arising. Just now only his face and toes are above the sod surface, but he smiles at me with his cat-like countenance, and says in voice smooth like skipping stones but strangely hollow, "Hello, lovely lady. I heard it is your birthday." Now his shoulder-length blonde hair is above the surface, now his whole being, and now he stands, even taller than Eoin's 6'3" frame. This is even worse than the gaggle of gorgeous women. His elven brethren are popping out of the ground all around us like dragon teeth warriors and, while elves are generally friendly, they don't really understand how their mischief can affect mortals. Oh my, well, at least the humans can't see them either, and perhaps the sirens will keep them busy. At this point, the barn is nearly full to capacity. Not that the humans notice, not having left their corner by the food. Nor do they seem to notice my distress as I glare anxiously around the barn at my supernatural guests. I turn around to join my human companions and there, standing as tall as any elf, is a giant pink anthro-rabbit. "Harvey! What are you doing here?" Ironically, the humans can see Harvey and they all rush over to check out his "suit". Harvey, of course, stands mute while they rudely examine his ears, whiskers, paws, tail. Embarrassed, I usher him over to the refreshments, hoping -correctly- that they won't follow. Behind me, I hear one of the guests ask Eoin, "Dude, why'd you hire a dude in a bunny suit?" I think Eoin makes some excuse about not having planned it and "You know how hippies are. He probably just thought it would be cool," even though Eoin knows full well the pink fur is no artifice. Before I have time to get my story straight in my head about Harvey, I turn towards a high, papery voice arguing with Eoin. Oh no. It's Johnny the Homicidal Maniac... in 2D black and white. I really don't know how to explain this. I guess I'll just tell my friends he's just very pale, very thin, and very short. Maybe I can make up some disease to explain it. Goodness, I hope he doesn't kill anyone. To forestall this unfortunate likelihood, I rush over and, not even knowing what is wrong, immediately begin the litany, "I'm so sorry Johnny. What can I do? Are you alright? I'm so very sorry, Johnny. It's okay. They're just humans. Yes, I know, they don't understand. There there. Maybe you should go home and have a nice laydown. I'll call you when there aren't any humans around." This appeases him and he slips out of the barn -miracle of miracles!- without killing anyone. And now Harvey is the center of attention again, being the most interesting thing the human guests can see. The belles and elves seem to be entertaining each other nicely. Maybe I can finally relax and enjoy my birthday. Alas, all is naught, for I wake up.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Rusty Trees


The autumn leaves on manicured trees fade red to green, as if their tips were dipped in rust, the better to be seen.

It was much better when I wrote it yesterday, but I can't remember what I wrote now, so this is my second string reproduction of inspiration gained and lost. =( ::sigh:: When God calls, answer right away and don't just tell Him you'll call Him back later!

Monday, April 14, 2014

What doesn't bend breaks

1/4/13 Observing the trees in front of my office. This was not the original version of this but I couldn't remember what I had originally thought by the time I got a chance to write it down. I love the description "windblown and unbroken". The rest of the words only exist so that those can.

Graceful evergreens grow westward, swooping towards the setting sun.
Windblown and unbroken, bending gently, every one.

The Birds and the Bees

As you may know from my last post, I will be resurrecting some blogs from the old MySpace. This is the first of my adventures back in time. The posts here will have the same titles as the orinial MySpace posts. I will preface each with the original posting date and probably a brief word on what I think of it in retrospect.

This entry is from 5/31/2013. The "poem" is down right terrible, although I still personally relate to the nostalgic images of a better time long gone. However, I like the thoughts that follow the poem, which might not make much sense out of context. In case you haven't noticed yet, my favorite subject is SYNCHRONICITY! This entry offers a good example of how, sometimes, things happen for reasons other than what you might have originally intended. In this case, I wrote a poem not for the sake of beauty but because it helped me realize how to help my friend.

When I was younger
My mom made the car dance
And we didn't talk of tire tread

When I was younger
Ladybugs hitchhiked hence
Carried carefully on my head

When I was younger
Strawberries were sweet
And sold at county fairs

When I was younger
My friends were afraid of bees
Because they ruled earth and air

When I was younger
The lake was a brief vacation
For the swans on migration

When I was younger
You could see at night
By the firefly light

When I was younger
Everything was a painting
It was all poetry


So, this is my second attempt at posting this. In my last attempt I wrote (to the best of my recollection):
"Not what I was looking for. I was trying to be less structured, but my mind instantly saw the patterns and wanted to put them in order, to twist the portions to fit the pattern.
I think words have a mind of their own. I think words want to be in order aesthetically. I think words are offended when not arranged carefully."

The irony of this is that what allowed me to remember what I had written after it was erased was the relationship between the words. The very structure I was fighting is what allowed me to resurrect it. Aha! And now I know how to help someone I know for whom I previously had nothing useful to say regarding the problematic situation! Blessed serendipity!

Back to the work at hand, it might yet be a good base idea. Sometimes I write something terrible but come back to it later and write something better. It does at least convey what I want it to say.

Sometimes the way to say more is to say less, let the others fill in the rest.

So that was that. Hopefully tomorrow I'll have something better to share with you. But this does have deep personal meaning for me. It is not only a longing for my youth, when I didn't have to worry about wear and tear on tires and tie rods. It is also an expression of the desperation with which I view the apparent destruction of my world. The bees, the fireflies, the ladybugs are all disappearing. The strawberries are sour because they have all had the sweetness bred out of them in favor of looking plump and red when they finally make it to your grocery store from God knows where. The famous Pungo Strawberry Festival is a disgusting mockery of our once great agricultural heritage. Last time we went there was only ONE vendor with anything even relating to strawberries. Day by day, year by year, I watch our agricultural land destroyed and replaced with Walmarts and McMansions as the increasingly imaginary "green line" gets pushed further and further south. I see the Sunsations invading the Outer Banks. I see our local culture disintegrate, as the Jewish Mother, The Heritage, the 31st St park are all sacrificed to the "if you build it, they will come" catering-to-imaginary-wealthy-people-over-the-REAL-interests-of-the-community school of thought that reigns supreme on the City Council. Finally, it is about the death of a spirit. The death of the ability to see the magic in every moment. I don't see dragons anymore.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Faithful and Fearless

Prepare yourselves blogosphere! I just got the download of my old MySpace blogs and will be posting most of the content on -hopefully- a daily basis!

PS Faithful and Fearless, the title of this post, was my screen name on MySpace. It is also the attitude I try to abide by on the daily! What is/would be your epithet or motto for adopting a positive daily outlook? Let me know in the comments!