so i had this dream last night. there is a dead poet up a tree. a man hits the poet out of the tree with a large stick. a bystander says, 'well, if he wasn't dead already..."
according to one theory of dream analysis (by the way, note that the root word of analysis is anal) every aspect of a dream is the dreamer. so i am the dead poet, the man with a stick, the bystander, even the tree. cool!
when i walked out this morning a light mist enveloped the city. the air smelled of fresh bread, a warm, summery, yeasty scent, like cotton sheets hung on a line. i went to see the two baby bunnies in the park. i would love to pet one, but even if i could, i might get fleas. that is the problem with us humans. we have an unnatural fear of nature. but we ARE nature. therefore we have an unnatural fear of ourselves.
and that is why we have to knock the dead poet out of the tree.
8 comments:
in other news...i have tried to create a third damn blog in which to serealize one of my novels, but i keep experiencing tech. difficulties. and when computer time begins to outweigh nature time, i go insane. plus i am the slowest typist ever. honestly. twenty words a minute...
Now that was a totally cool- and true- post!
Interesting dream Miss Angel-Star! Have you see the Dead Poet Society?
I think it's time if you haven't ;)
anne...years ago i saw the movie...someone in taos just emailed me that Dennis Hopper recently passed away and was buried in Taos on Wednesday. i didn't know, but she saw this post as a tribute to his, and all, poetic souls
and thank you, john...i love truth
very neat post! loved it!
thank you, gypsy
After knocking the poet out of the tree, it might be wise to bury him... I haven't been remembering my own dreams lately; your account makes me wonder what I've been up to in the Land of Nod. Thanks for following "Doing It With Grace". I'll keep an eye on your dreams.
thanks for visiting and your comments, banjoan
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