Recurring elements in dreams 2: foreign rains

Bedtime stories for not such good children, part 2

Soundtrack: The Kingston Trio played at half speed

PS. nightmare edits to the story 0601109

Friday after dark

Paul Simon / A poem on the underground wall
The last train is nearly due
The underground is closing soon
In the dark deserted station
Restless in anticipation
A man waits in the shadows.

His restless eyes leap and scratch
At all that they can touch or catch
Hidden deep within his pocket
Safe within his silent socket
He holds his colored crayon.

Now from the tunnel's stony womb
The carriage rides to meet the groom
And opens wide and welcome doors
But he hesitates then withdraws
Deeper in the shadows

And the train is gone suddenly
On wheels clicking silently
Like a gently tapping litany
And he holds his crayon rosary
Tighter in his hand

Now from his pocket he quickly flashes
The crayon on the wall he slashes
Deep upon the advertising
A single-worded poem comprised of
- four letters

And his heart is laughing, screaming, pounding
The poem across the tracks rebounding
Shadowed by the exit light
His legs take their ascending flight
To seek the breast of darkness and be suckled by the night.

closed until morning

You will see the stars if you click on the pic

Spring, illusion, insomnia

As well as the distortion of time that happens at low light, there is another quality to the landscape at night: One can not say for sure if the images captured then are from a dream, from a waking reality, or whether there is an area in between …

I was thinking about this on Tuesday. That morning, I caught a tram, arrived at university, sat down in the studio and worked at my bench as usual, until late in the afternoon. Then I woke up at home. I had dreamt the whole day in real time.

My mind must have been willing, but body too exhausted. Seasons are changing again, insomnia is here, circadian rhythms reshuffled or disturbed, however you look at it. This unpredictable time before the still, heavy, stable warmth of summer.

In Finland, a long time ago, the melting of snow from the branches of trees marked the arrival of early spring. On clear nights I lay awake and watched the newly freed forest sway in the wind, casting slowly moving shadows on my bedroom wall. It was hard to stay indoors then, everything outside was calling.

Here, with the first spring moons the restlessness returns.

Yesterday, I went out and walked around, late (in our family this is normal), unable to sleep, unable to do anything else useful. Night is such a gentle friend, it lets you see, but at the same time, feel invisible and at one with vast spaces, with the movement of air. No ceilings of blue skies or clouds, just endless, expanding deep above. Room to breathe, not having to talk to anyone or be seen by anyone. Quiet, only few people awake. Close to freedom, but still close to home.

i











Home, seen from the street, early Thursday 08/10/09

– Click on the images to get a better sense of space –

A las cinco de la tarde

"At five in the afternoon"

life

crow's fall

When Crow was white he decided the sun was too white.
He decided it glared much too whitely.
He decided to attack it and defeat it.

He got his strength up flush and in full glitter.
He clawed and fluffed his rage up.
He aimed his beak direct at the sun's centre.

He laughed himself to the centre of himself

And attacked.

At his battle cry trees grew suddenly old,
Shadows flattened.

But the sun brightened—
It brightened, and Crow returned charred black.

He opened his mouth but what came out was charred black.

"Up there," he managed,
"Where white is black and black is white, I won."

Ted Hughes

Night fishing

full moon 04/10/09

Darling, who's been drawing trees in my notebook?

photo by unknown

As part of commemorating 200 years since the birth of Charles Darwin, the readers of New Scientist magazine were invited to imagine "Things you would never have heard Charles Darwin say about evolution."

I don't know about you, but I thought some of them were hilarious.

Especially as I recall that one year my dad bought 20 copies of The Origin of Species (naturally, they were on special), gift-wrapped each book beautifully, and sent them to our religious relatives.
Happy holidays! : )

From New Scientist, 7 March 2009, p. 56:

Finches, eh? Seen one, seen'em all!
Kris Halls

Nah, it's only a theory – I don't think it should be taught at schools.
Rob Buckland

The whole evolution thing was dictated to me by Chief Red Feather, my spirit guide.
David Ridge

Cor, when I publish this I'll be more popular than Jesus.
Gary Simmonds

And you promise me, God, they'll never know we organised this prank together?
Dave Baldock

To the captain of HMS Beagle, "What do you mean the bones of the Yeti, Bigfoot, and the Flying Spaghetti Monster got swept overboard?"
Dave Baldock

It all started with something Wallace said before he left for the East Indies.
David Leibniz

Actually I think I've had a better idea, it's all the result of something I'm calling "morphic resonance"
Penny Lynch

Dearest Samuel, I have dashed off a few lines which should court sufficient controversy to keep us in port and pies at the Club for quite some time – little point in making monkeys of us both by publishing The Unravelling of the DNA Helix just yet. Yours from the Beagle, Charles.
Iain Doubleday

FATTEST! I said "Survival of the fattest!"
Dave Andrews

Evolution: You wouldn't Adam and Eve it!
Joshua Azizollah

Damn, I drew it upside down!
Malcolm Muckle

Evolution? Well, children, I told your grandmother that I was just popping out to the pub, so when I returned five years later I had to come up with a whopper of a story. I just wished I'd picked something a bit more believable.
Alex Feakes

Hey Pope – 100,000,000 Lira or I publish the book.
John Robertson

During all these years of mental anguish and physical distress, how often have I looked back on my wasted youth spent wandering the heaths in search of beetles, and wished I'd paid more attention to all the watches I came across there.
John McKenzie

...On the 14,776,259,821st day God created another proto-giraffe with a longer neck than its predecessor, bestowing upon it the ability to reach higher leaves. On the 14,776,259, 822nd day He created a butterfly whose wing pattern looked more like a pair of predatory eyes. Then it was Sunday. On the 14,776,249,824th day …
Alex Johnson

Darling, who's been drawing trees in my notebook?
Matt Tucker