What is it to worry?
Do I have time to worry?
Why should I even care?
I can worry all the time or not at all.
While I don't worry, I can build a sandcastle.
The castle will house all my broken dreams safely in its solid form, carved from the joining of ocean currents and rocks, rocks that have been ground down to less than pebbles over many years.
My dreams will take up residence inside this solid mass, shaped of a castle.
They may enjoy the view.
The view is of an ocean, long and flat, blue or green, with or without fish.
The fish, if they are there, will watch as the castle is slowly washed away.
My dreams will roll along the currents with the castle.
The currents will jostle my dreams around, maybe taking them past a jellyfish or two, or hundreds, assuming that such things exist.
The speculative jellyfish will ponder my dreams with their lacking eyes and wonder why they are rolling along the currents, potentially bound for Australia.
Australia will await the arrival of my dreams, but they will never come.
My dreams will in fact not go to the southern hemisphere, but remain quite north of the equator, settling finally in the icy waters of the northern Atlantic Ocean.
An orca might see one of my dreams, a dream of seals and sea lions, and try to eat it.
The orca will go hungry that day.
My dream, undaunted, will catch up to the rest of my broken dreams, and it will head towards Sweden, which is the topic of one of the dreams, a very talkative and convincing dream.
The talkative dream convinced all the others that Sweden is quite nice in the winter.
My dreams are stupid, and will long for warmer weather.
The warm weather is in a non broken dream, which did not enter the mass of sand known as the castle of broken dreams.
I hold onto that memory of warm weather, in my head of non broken dreams, and I think of how nice that weather is compared to Sweden in the winter time.
Though, I hear that the country is beautiful when it snows.
My broken dreams are now off the coast, wondering if there will be a castle for them to put their broken dreams into.
Their world is the dreamscape.
They want to find a landscape.
They want a room with a view, like the one they had in their second home, the sand castle.
Formed with buckets, that castle washed away.
I thought that when the castle washed away that I would never hear from my broken dreams again.
Little did I know that they would indeed contact me.
I recently recieved a postcard from them, sent from the Swedish town of Sundsvall.
The post card was very nice, not fitting of broken dreams at all.
They always did have a sense of humour, those wily dreams.
They often played cruel tricks on me, as a boy.
They kept playing tricks on me, as a man.
That's why I went to the beach.
Maybe someday they'll make it to Australia, where the Kangaroos eagerly await their arrival.
An Aboriginal man wants to walk with them in the Dreamtime.
The man wants to talk these broken dreams down.
The man wants to give them therapy, lie them down on a couch while he talks about their fragmented childhood, and why exactly it was that the dreams had to make themselves feel better by being so cruel to me.
When the dreams are mended, when they are not broken, they will travel around the globe.
They'll take the long way.
They'll apologize to the orca, they'll make amends with the jelly fish.
I'll be in my room when they arrive, reading.
Awkwardly, they will enter the room.
"Been a while.", I'll quip.
"Look, we've been through a lot this past year. Maybe we can make ammends?", they'll all jive, in unison.
"I would like that.", I'll say, dryly, whilst sipping a martini.
"Can we drink too?" They'll say, looking at my glass.
"I don't like you when you drink. Can we just stick to the subject matter?", I'll say, irked, knowing deep down inside that any good host would offer them a drink.
"Fine. We want back in. Our castle washed away, and though Sweden is nice, it is cold. We learned a lot in Australia, and now we want to show you we've changed.", they all say, snidely.
"Well, okay...as long as you promise to play nice.", I'll say to them, playfully at first, but then I'll somberly think to myself, "I wonder how I'll live these mended dreams, and if I should really let them in?"
Sensing my hesitation they chime together sing songily saying, "Don't worry Chris. This time, things will be okay...they'll be okay..."
I split my skull, and they come inside.
The non broken dreams, the old ones, offer the newly mended dreams a martini or ten when they come in.
My dreams are much better hosts than I am.
-ccm
Do I have time to worry?
Why should I even care?
I can worry all the time or not at all.
While I don't worry, I can build a sandcastle.
The castle will house all my broken dreams safely in its solid form, carved from the joining of ocean currents and rocks, rocks that have been ground down to less than pebbles over many years.
My dreams will take up residence inside this solid mass, shaped of a castle.
They may enjoy the view.
The view is of an ocean, long and flat, blue or green, with or without fish.
The fish, if they are there, will watch as the castle is slowly washed away.
My dreams will roll along the currents with the castle.
The currents will jostle my dreams around, maybe taking them past a jellyfish or two, or hundreds, assuming that such things exist.
The speculative jellyfish will ponder my dreams with their lacking eyes and wonder why they are rolling along the currents, potentially bound for Australia.
Australia will await the arrival of my dreams, but they will never come.
My dreams will in fact not go to the southern hemisphere, but remain quite north of the equator, settling finally in the icy waters of the northern Atlantic Ocean.
An orca might see one of my dreams, a dream of seals and sea lions, and try to eat it.
The orca will go hungry that day.
My dream, undaunted, will catch up to the rest of my broken dreams, and it will head towards Sweden, which is the topic of one of the dreams, a very talkative and convincing dream.
The talkative dream convinced all the others that Sweden is quite nice in the winter.
My dreams are stupid, and will long for warmer weather.
The warm weather is in a non broken dream, which did not enter the mass of sand known as the castle of broken dreams.
I hold onto that memory of warm weather, in my head of non broken dreams, and I think of how nice that weather is compared to Sweden in the winter time.
Though, I hear that the country is beautiful when it snows.
My broken dreams are now off the coast, wondering if there will be a castle for them to put their broken dreams into.
Their world is the dreamscape.
They want to find a landscape.
They want a room with a view, like the one they had in their second home, the sand castle.
Formed with buckets, that castle washed away.
I thought that when the castle washed away that I would never hear from my broken dreams again.
Little did I know that they would indeed contact me.
I recently recieved a postcard from them, sent from the Swedish town of Sundsvall.
The post card was very nice, not fitting of broken dreams at all.
They always did have a sense of humour, those wily dreams.
They often played cruel tricks on me, as a boy.
They kept playing tricks on me, as a man.
That's why I went to the beach.
Maybe someday they'll make it to Australia, where the Kangaroos eagerly await their arrival.
An Aboriginal man wants to walk with them in the Dreamtime.
The man wants to talk these broken dreams down.
The man wants to give them therapy, lie them down on a couch while he talks about their fragmented childhood, and why exactly it was that the dreams had to make themselves feel better by being so cruel to me.
When the dreams are mended, when they are not broken, they will travel around the globe.
They'll take the long way.
They'll apologize to the orca, they'll make amends with the jelly fish.
I'll be in my room when they arrive, reading.
Awkwardly, they will enter the room.
"Been a while.", I'll quip.
"Look, we've been through a lot this past year. Maybe we can make ammends?", they'll all jive, in unison.
"I would like that.", I'll say, dryly, whilst sipping a martini.
"Can we drink too?" They'll say, looking at my glass.
"I don't like you when you drink. Can we just stick to the subject matter?", I'll say, irked, knowing deep down inside that any good host would offer them a drink.
"Fine. We want back in. Our castle washed away, and though Sweden is nice, it is cold. We learned a lot in Australia, and now we want to show you we've changed.", they all say, snidely.
"Well, okay...as long as you promise to play nice.", I'll say to them, playfully at first, but then I'll somberly think to myself, "I wonder how I'll live these mended dreams, and if I should really let them in?"
Sensing my hesitation they chime together sing songily saying, "Don't worry Chris. This time, things will be okay...they'll be okay..."
I split my skull, and they come inside.
The non broken dreams, the old ones, offer the newly mended dreams a martini or ten when they come in.
My dreams are much better hosts than I am.
-ccm
posted by CCMAS | 1:07 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home