I love dreams, and I hate dreams. They are supposed to make you feel good, but instead they only make you feel... harder. When you get caught in the acoustic bubble of a dream, any sound - a whisper - is like thunder in your ears. You end up deafened by your own heartbeats. The colours are more delightful, distracting the mind from the petty, mundane laws of cause and effect. Thus the cages of logic bend - and your contradictions are soon unconstrained, free to do their damage (but what a fascinating, fearful sight!). Also, the delicate wheels operating the appetites of your heart spin erratically in a dream. You find yourself tightrope-walking above a pit of starved emotions, each and every one eager to plunge its teeth deep into your flesh. They leap and bound, biting at your feet and whispering their seduction in absurd words (all irresistibly convincing). Perhaps the dream only actually begins once you finally give in and and let yourself headfirst down the pit.

"What if you slept? And what if, in your sleep, you dreamed? And what if, in your dream, you went to heaven and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower? And what if, when you awoke, you had the flower in your hand? Ah, what then?" --- Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

"Goodnight kiss in your nightgown /Lavender in your bed
So innocent as you lie down /Sweet dreams that run through your head"
You look so lovely in your sleep.

Daydreamer's Treasure

I have, you see, an excellent memory. I can recall very tiny details of certain events years after they take place. I remember the rusty spot on the van that used to drive me off to kindergarten when I was three. I remember what shoes I was wearing when I met my yet-to-be first girlfriend, fifteen years ago. I remember things I did not understand then, suffering with it the slow torture of belated comprehension. Thus I've cursed my extraordinary ability to remember (and oft wished for a small mind with little room for thought), but on occasion ...

Every now and then you may catch my eyes sliding sideways, as my mind spontaneously drifts into its own dimension – dragging me through a random, endless set of tunnels and twisted alleyways in which ghastly scenes replay themselves in quick succession as they see me pass. Somewhere, however, deep within that place – where my fantasies, enduring dreams and wishful thoughts have also chosen to build their nests – I've found a recently carved niche, strangely well lit and warm with daylight. On the arched entryway to this unlikely refuge someone wrote “Treasure Every Instant”. Since then, I’ve been compelled to obey the mysterious instruction with disquiet and diligence; and constantly I am inexplicably drawn to that now fully inhabited haven – by thoughts irrational with cogent arguments – where fascination holds me hostage and time is measured in loud heartbeats.