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.