After my midnight anxiety attack, when I finally went back to sleep, I dreamt that my sister showed up in my flat bearing a huge cardboard box and a legal document that turned out to be the will of a very famous man. The very famous man was not specified, but he had something to do with poetry. The box was for me. It was filled with small siguls; a brass sword, a landscape carved from rose quartz, a key, a deed, a pen made of bone. Everything was covered in very thick dust. When I began cleaning the landscape (a cliff scene, overlooking a tropical beach) it began to grow, gaining colour, texture and detail, until it consumed the horizon and I found myself standing outside of a locked gate that curled with vines and tendrils. The key opened the door, the deed proved that this place was mine. I followed a lush green-lined path to the edge of the cliff and looked down to see a rose-sand beach and violet water. The water was full of animals that came in three varieties: duck, wombat, and archeopteryx. They all could speak and they all got along. Considering the way that my night had been going up until that point, the change was welcome.
Posted on: Mon, 07 Jul 2014 08:58:25 +0000
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