Saturday, September 15, 2007
Stumbling back to wakefulness the dream already fading into nothing, just fragments, like shapes seen through thick mist; eyes blear and head and body feeling the muzzy numb that comes from over sleeping. I had dreamed of a house that was, in some way a poem, written by a poet who had killed herself for love, long ago. The coffee in the percolator is stone-cold. I pour myself a cup-full of dregs anyway, put it in the microwave and set the LED for 70 seconds. As the coffee goes round in the little metal box, I realize that the poem in my dream was both beautiful and true, and that it was genuinely important. I feel sleepily proud of myself. I add cream. The house was the poem. I remember hovering disembodied about the house's exterior, while the sonorous words licked around me in marvelous mellifluous cadences. The coffee is foully bitter, but it serves to drag me further into the waking world. Transitions. I was about to find a pen and scribe the poem down, when it occurs to me that I’ve lost the words. I don't even know what it was about. Oh well, easy come, easy go. I don't know why Sam Coleridge bitched so much about his man from parlock: he got 55 killer lines on paper before he got distracted, didn't he? And the stuff you bring back from the dreaming is free. "And wide this tumult Kubla heard from far ancestral voices prophesying war..." later I was unable to categorize the events that followed. Certainly I smelled gas. But by the time I smelled the gas I was already running through the bedroom, towards the fire escape. a sudden feeling of sheer disbelief as I realized that I had grabbed my wallet from the table, and that I was already shielding my face with my arms, as I jumped...a shattering of glass. I landed on the fire escape, my face stinging, my right arm wet with blood (the pain would come later), and over the side, hang down as far as i could...and then let go. Smash down jarred and shaken, to solid ground, bones aching, skin all scraped, bleeding and just run for dear life, and just run...just. Shit. That was too close...adrenaline-giddy, i stumble into the supermarket. Clothes first. Then shoes. Then out.