Saturday, September 09, 2017


I woke after bad dreams, read for a while and slept again, bad dreams stealing back.

When I woke again I found I'd sweated through the top sheet from bad dream writhing.

The dreams were a fusion of old family and new and old work; blended in a horror smoothie---or sweatie in this case. The plot fled on waking but it spawned a few loopers during the day. Not where I cried as I talked; just lost in frosted silence.

But then shards of joy pierced the sombre and I instead got lost in something special.

I can't control what I dream but I can try to steer its impact on waking; to avoid reflections in a dark pool.

So if I can see myself darkly staring back, trapped in a loop, I will recognise it, I will choose a direction, fire and move.


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