Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Story 2

It seemed, at first, like a great idea. My room was sparse on decorations and my life a bit sparse on inspirations. I'm not really up for any bird killing but it seemed like the right time for a good rock.

So I rounded up pictures. My Pictures. Pictures of Moroccan sunsets, of my family, if my closest friends, of a beach somewhere far away. I printed each photo with a white border, glued them to neatly cut black posterboard and strung a wire across the sloping wall of my room just below the attic of my two-story house. On the wire I hung each photo, spaced the equally and crossed to my bed on the other side of the room to survey the work. Perfect. just before I put my head down to rest each night I could look across at the photos and grab a little piece of all these wonderful places and magical people.

In some uncharacteristic and hopelessly romantic way I had hoped to divert the uncontrollable currents of my dreams into the photos. Maybe, just maybe I could pick a one out of the lineup, stare into it just a few minutes before sleep and find myself careening down a familiar ski slope or thousands of miles away.

But what happened next was some mutant baby of my idea. I would look at the pictures, my eyelids would grow heavy, I would switch off the lights and my dreams would take me away. Their destinations, however were always those of their own design. The photos made an appearance, just not in the way you would expect. I would be off piloting a vessel in the north pacific, waves crashing over the hull and for a brief moment I would look down to the ship's steel deck just long enough to see the string of photos, still on the wire, lying evenly-spaced at my feet.

I would be two thousand miles away at the foot of some skyscraper and rather than crane my neck to see the top I'd bee looking down at the photos on the ground. And worst of all there would be that epiphanal moment(it's my blog and I'll make up words if I want to) when somehow the subconscious me stand there inside the dream inside my own head laying in my bed across from the true photos would think out loud, "Fuck. Well there's the photos. I guess they made it in my dream one way or another."

And of course that moment never fails to be followed by the next moment when my eyes snap open just before i can grab the steering wheel of that dream and take it out for a ride.


Blogger david hayes said...

I just wanted to say that it's nice to see you're back at it.

You're still as good as I remember.

2:46 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home