Do you see me?
When I dream I remember all my other dreams. I just woke up and I remember them all and I must write down what I have seen before the memory fades.
I fly, like always. It is not winged flight; it is a strange, halfway swimming-like flight, close to the ground, dipping low. It's slow, I am not in full control. Almost always I am inside some building or some structure.
I always fly but nobody acknowledges the act of flying, as if it was completely normal.
I crave the recognition of the act of flying, I want someone to say: 'You're flying! My God!'
Instead, I ask the same question, always, night after night: 'Do you see me?' I sing this desperate line, over and over, I croon it.
Tonight I was in a movie theater with someone else. I don't remember who it was, the pictures fade fast. But there was a THING near the floor, like a seahorse, a withered rootlike body, a single stalk, a head with tight yellow skin and metallic burnished orange-yellow eyes, flat. It blinked once and I thought maybe it saw me.
I sang to it as I floated past, dipped once, touched the floor. 'Do you see me?' I tried to catch a glimpse of recognition within those orange-yellow eyes.
I woke up.
I fly, like always. It is not winged flight; it is a strange, halfway swimming-like flight, close to the ground, dipping low. It's slow, I am not in full control. Almost always I am inside some building or some structure.
I always fly but nobody acknowledges the act of flying, as if it was completely normal.
I crave the recognition of the act of flying, I want someone to say: 'You're flying! My God!'
Instead, I ask the same question, always, night after night: 'Do you see me?' I sing this desperate line, over and over, I croon it.
Tonight I was in a movie theater with someone else. I don't remember who it was, the pictures fade fast. But there was a THING near the floor, like a seahorse, a withered rootlike body, a single stalk, a head with tight yellow skin and metallic burnished orange-yellow eyes, flat. It blinked once and I thought maybe it saw me.
I sang to it as I floated past, dipped once, touched the floor. 'Do you see me?' I tried to catch a glimpse of recognition within those orange-yellow eyes.
I woke up.
3 Comments:
How's the writing going, Mr. Pig? And where can I purchase your musings?
Hope all is well. You are missed.
Well, yes, where can I buy your stuff? (titles, month of release, publisher please)
uhm, send me an email and I will give you the data... I don't want to blurt out my secret identity... as I am publishing under a pseudonym.
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