I had a dream. I was in a bookstore that reminded me of one of those banks gangsters in the 30s used to rob in NYC and all these people were waiting and fighting for a particular book. I saw the book. It looked different each time. It was thick and thin, and it had a leather cover with gold lettering, and, sometimes, it was hardcover with a jacket that was pastel landscape of a new England beach. The interesting thing was, no one seemed to have, or rather, own this book. They were fighting for it, and clerks would show it, and when asked for one it would disappear like it had a role in a street magic act and the clerks would look confused and hand someone something else or nothing at all. Then the scene shifted to a dark room and a dead woman with her eyes open like a doll. She was slouched in a wooden chair and all she was wearing were silk stockings and her legs were spread and the only light source that seemed to be in the room came from her but it was sort of above her but not strong enough to be a spotlight. It was more like a symbol that was telling me pay attention. I woke up with the image of the womans thin face with full and high cheeks and glass eyes that I needed to be bobbing for the kind of dramatic impact. The title of the book was clear but then it was practically gone by the time I woke up. It was a title with one to two commas in it and these are the only words I can recall or imagined. I remember Ts and Ws and I think the other letters shared the characteristic of having high points and low points in their shapes: They, That, Where, Were, Were, What, Us.
Posted on: Wed, 26 Mar 2014 12:26:35 +0000
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