Sunday, April 26, 2009

The Script

I woke up from an early morning dream. It was a confounding sleep with thoughts spooled on a scratchy film of fumbling actors in low cinema. There was the narrative of a B western where men shoot men, where women and hard whiskey mix with the night. Do I dispel a myth with a myth? Do I dismiss an untruth with a truth? I sit up in my bed, my mind wracked with confusion, my heart pulsing nervousness through my veins. All that is me has become caught in a dream like an old script. I need, I think, to see clearly what I am. I need to shine light on my psyche the way a bulb projects celluloid onto a distant screen. But maybe this is for the good. For it is out of this confused self I mold my creative thoughts. It is out of this confusion that I find the need to blog, to post late night hopes and early morning tales. So it is that repertory dreams play inside my head. I can live with that. I can sleep again. Once more I look forward to life.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I like this one SC, has the fractured meanderings of Kerouacian introspection. It is said that the reason Hemingway's Old man and the Sea was so exhilarating a read was because Hemingway knew first hand the calloused hand jockeying with big fish out in the testing waters of the sea and could recount the details of the sensations to the readers. Dive deep into the experience, force yourself to do things everyday that you can, and most importantly, write about later.