Elsewhere in Dreams

Cricket sing atonal lullabies
to houses falling asleep
as a starscape revolves overhead;

I am sifting the beach through
my fingers. Ah, this is
familiar, losing things.

This is my last post for about a week; I’m off to South Carolina on vacation with the family.

Tonight has become a quick
tour of the moon’s dark side,
the ink of which is
letters, words, phrases,
all to say I’ve missed you
and how you orbit
your grand dreams.

Today I am building a rocket
to bridge the atmosphere
between us, in elliptical
memory of how you moved;

how you are still locked
above me - always
at the corner of my
eyes -

you still
sway my heart like
tides.

Here, for your listening pleasure is short song I wrote, something I might possibly develop someday. I blatantly stole the title from Nickel Creek.

Why Should the Fire Die? [MP3]
Why Should the Fire Die? [Ogg]

I have a well-thumbed book
by Eugenio de Andrade in my car
and another beside my bed;
I go to Portugal daily,
running into the sea with
my mouth open;

and that is how I want the poem to be:
born in joy, laughing with the wind,
toes for sand and tide and
firewater.

Last night I had another work-related dream wherein one of our larger suppliers washed their hands of us. It was not a pleasant dream. But it sure solved my employment problem. Then I woke up and was still employed.

This is why I ask, what exactly are dreams? Do they have significance? Do they mean anything? Or are they merely the brain trying to make some sort of mental sense of life? Or even just sorting and filing things? Why must a person have REM sleep to live?

On an unrelated note, I broke another drumstick; I seriously need a new supply of these things. I had five pair, and I’m down to two pair. Please don’t read that out of context.

Now for lunch: a delicious salad of the leafy green variety.

As it turns out, the latest round of recording has finally produced - gasp - a song. You can click the links below to listen. I’ve uploaded it in MP3 and Ogg Vorbis format. Again, this is a pretty rough cut. Cut me some slack, will ya?

Mourn [MP3]

Mourn [OGG]

Enjoy.

Edit: fixed those links.

Edit 2: on an unrelated note, I think I may have tiny little crush on Riot Becki of the Pipettes. In Britian and in a manufactured indie pop band (when did that start happening?) nevertheless, I fear it will be a short-lived thing. I just can’t get past the polka-dot dresses.

I have installed (thanks to my wordpress.com API key) Akismet. So not I have Spam Karma and Akismet running, which should also take care of trackback spam, most of which slips right through SK’s filters, though I suspect Dr Dave simply hasn’t written SK to take care of trackback spam. Edit: I suspected wrong, as Dr Dave maintains he did indeed write SK to take care TB spam.

Sheesh. I still fail to see who actually buys anything presented in a spam email anyways.

• Google Spreadsheets is pretty neat, when it comes down to it. I have a guest invitation (as does everyone else in the universe?), and I’ve tried it out with a little data of my own; it’ll be nice to have a place to collate data that’s available not only to anywhere with an internet connection, but also to those collaborators I choose.
• I wake up before seven every morning, alarm clock or not, weekend or not. It appears - and I don’t want to jinx this - but it appears I have fallen into some sort of rhythm.
• The way Ontario’s government is dealing with the native standoff in Caledonia distresses me. Not to put to fine a point on it, the Liberals look like a bunch of meandering pansies. Are they really interested in settling this dispute? Then the “natives” should be off the land, cooling their asses in jail. And the precident! My goodness.
• Only three more days till I go vacationing in South Carolina. WOOHOO. Or something. I’m not given to great outbursts of joy.
• I really have nothing else to say. Treasure this moment, it won’t last.

You in the dark corner
lighting matches;
askance, I
see them.

It is not so hard, you say, to shift.
Never before a banker.
Or difficult, I reply, to weigh and find wanting.
Never before an accountant.
Hug, good life (I am lying), good life (you are lying, also);
threnody: ah this we recognise.