September 15th, 2006, 10th Anniversary of nothing

This one's for J.A.P.
Maybe it'll get read, and sink in...

A song by Sting...
"I was Brought to my Senses"

Alone with my thoughts this evening
I walked on the banks of tyne
I wondered how I could win you
Or if I could make you mine
Or if I could make you mine

The wind it was so insistent
With tales of a stormy south
But when I spied two birds in a sycamore tree
There came a dryness in my mouth
Came a dryness in my mouth

For then without rhyme or reason
The two birds did rise up to fly
And where the two birds were flying
I swear I saw you and i
I swear I saw you and i

I walked out this morning
It was like a veil had been removed from before my eyes
For the first time I saw the work of heaven
In the line where the hills had been married to the sky
And all around me
Every blade of singing grass
Was calling out your name
And that our love would always last
And inside every turning leaf
Is the pattern of an older tree
The shape of our future
The shape of all our history
And out of the confusion
Where the river meets the sea
Came things Id never seen
Things Id never seen

I was brought to my senses
I was blind but now that I can see
Every signpost in nature
said you belong to me

I know its true
Its written in a sky as blue
As blue as your eyes
As blue as your eyes
If natures red in tooth and claw
Like winters freeze and summers thaw
The wounds she gave me
Were the wounds that would heal me
And we'd be like the moon and sun
And when our courtly dance had run
Its course across the sky
Then together we would lie
And out of the confusion
Where the river meets the sea
Something new would arrive
Something better would arrive

I was brought to my senses
I was blind but now that I can see
Every signpost in nature
Said you belong to me
I was brought to my senses
I was blind but now that I can see
Every signpost in nature
said You belong to me...
______________________________________
that one...that one
is just too perfect.

In dreams?

So, I'm sitting here, wondering what the point of it all is, wondering what my contribution is, wondering how everybody else who's a creative professional is making it. I wonder, because of course, I would love to get paid to dream.

Like the guys at Pixar, the amazing talents who make amazing things come to life before your eyes. Guys like Robert Rodriguez, who makes his kids fantasies into movies, just because he can, because he's got the tools, and he gets paid to dream.

So, here's me, remembering the dreams I've had, the actual dreams, the literal dreams. I've had a few doozies lately, not necessarily good dreams, but memorable, memorable in snippettes anyway, such is the ephemera of dreams.

I usually have a couple name guest stars that make appearances, people you'd know, people you'd recognize, why, well, my theory is that these are the people I see more often than people I actually know, so they get to be in my dreams, it's as simple as that.

So what's the point? Well the point is, "getting paid to dream" so, I've been thinking about turning those dreams into a sort of comic strip, a dream journal in comic form, with editorial commentary, the overvoice, my the concious me, much of which would probably be explaining who the hell people are, and why I think they are in the dream. Sounded interesting to me, but then these are my dreams, and they say that dreams are always more interesting to the people who have them, and not to the people who have to listen to them.

So, now, I have to decide how I want to create the thing, on paper with pencil, or the virtual equivilent, a more maliable digital form. I'm leaning towards the digital, since I have all the requisite equipment, and should really htink about putting it to some good use.

"And when the bad dreams come?" when the bad dreams come, they'll be a part of it won't they? They have to be, since they may be the majority of the content, sad, but true.

I think I'll leave out the dreams where I'm searching for a bathroom. Those are the dreams that usually come right around six a.m. right when I've reached about maximum bladder capacity, and the brain is trying desperately to tell me to wake up, before I hurt myself.

So when I get enough of these little gems together, I suspect I'll try to find some way to get them published, and get them out to some unsuspecting readers. That is, if I can stop dreaming...well, you know...