Wednesday, December 16, 2009
If a dream is powerfully emotional, could it perhaps slip somewhat into being? Could it be that those after-images are not tricks of the mind, but things which almost exist? Things we feel so deeply we are half able to pull them through to this plane from another? After all, who's to say the dream world is not actually a reality we only catch glimpses of? An alternate reality. It is bizarre because it doesn't follow the rules of our world, but perhaps we are just as bizarre and impossible to them. Could there be a world of wild aspirations and what-ifs?
Perhaps in dreams we see our own heaven or hell. Sense does not come into it. But in reality do we ever experience such pure happiness or horror? An irrational emotion is the strongest kind.
Or perhaps the dream world is a sticky earth-ball, being made of bits of everybody's strangest, most gruesome, beautiful, delightful, mad imaginings - a glutinous, undulating world with rolling fat waves of bizarre. And by the nature of this dreamscape, we sometimes stumble into others' dreams. One's foot goes Sploosh! into the mud of someone else's strangest thoughts, and down one sinks, choking on someone else's most inhibited desires, until Pop! - one comes right out the other side, emerging from the clear pool of a child's pure fantasy.
Oh, but I'm merely torturing myself! I can only dream of dreaming - I am imprisoned in reality by vicious insomnia.
"And in my sleep
What dreams may come
Before I'm woken by alarms
Put on my riot gear"
Monday, August 31, 2009
Today in the post, I received a package. Oh, dear, thought I, what have I accidentally ordered? The internet is entirely tooclickable.
But then I noticed that the package in question was from Amazon.
I rushed to the calendar. 2 June.
Not just any book. The book. Her book. It had finally come.
Sarah Rees Brennan's The Demon's Lexicon.
(If you do not know who Sarah Rees Brennan is, go here. She is beyond amazing.)
Then the ripping began, and the shrieking, and the petting, crooning softly to it, rubbing it to my cheek, and more shrieking. I am afraid the neighbors may be under the impression I was being brutally murdered. Meanwhile, I was dancing like a wild thing on the loose. Somehow the furniture survived my cartwheels of glee. I phoned Meg and shrieked at her a bit, as she is the only one who would understand what I was raving on about. As usual, she was calm and understanding. She is much like me, but without all the hyperventilating. To calm myself, I made a cup of strong tea. With the tea close to hand (but not so close as to be knocked over in one of my many fits), and under the mood-lighting of a stormy sky, I began to read.
Here, in my trembling hands, I held Nick and Alan and Mae and Jamie! As I read, the characters spun by Sarah's words lifted themselves from the ink, blossoming from the pages like shifting shadows to play their story in my sitting room. Everything I love about Sarah Rees Brennan's writing was here, especially her signature wit, which I cannot imagine her writing without. She combines a dark, sometimes terrifying, adventure with quirky, real characters, with real flaws (none of this sparkling perfection nonsense), who I instantly fell in love with, and adds to it moments to make you reel with laughter. These moments allow you to relax, while subtly tightening the strings of dramatic tension. Nothing could be more true to life. Who ever feels only one emotion? She confuses and dazzles you with comedy alongside the Very Serious, like writer Cassandra Clare and filmmaker Joss Whedon, until you are whipped into a whirlwind of emotions - pretty much the way you feel about life.
Now, I must confess, I have not finished it yet, but I have a very good reason! As you can see from the photo above, I do not read books. I devour them. I am a bibliophile. But I do not want to treat this book the way I treat Christmas chocolate - that is, I eat it all in one sitting, make myself sick, and the next day I have nothing but sweet-smelling wrappers. I want to enjoy it slowly, savouring every unique flavour. So I will wait. I will make myself wait.
I hope Nick does not mind being nibbled on. He is just so scrumdiddlyumptious.
I imagine I will be saying, "Many people think I'm a blueberry scone." for years to come. I immediately began quoting out bits of it to my confused, but tolerant, father, who chuckled and said it was just my kind of humour. I hope that Sarah Rees Brennan will agree someday. For, when I become a published author, I will beg my agent to arrange a play-date with her, and hopefully she will not say, "I thought I was a bit mad, but you, madam, are a true lunatic," and brandish something sharp at me.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
A word of advice: do not live in the past. "What if"s only incur agony.
A years-old poem:
It's funny only afterwards you turned out the lamp
I nuzzled my cheek against your burning neck
And traced lost words on your palm with my frozen fingers
And let them dance along your spine
"I want to sleep next to you," I breathed into your safe embrace
You covered me with the blanket, because I get so cold
(Even though you love to see me naked)
And clutched my hand and sang softly in my ear
While stroking the curly strands at the base of my neck
Moonlight and shadows
You opened the window and lit up
The ones you'd saved for tonight
In the density of the clutter of your minimalist bedroom
The glowing end of your cigarette was the only light
Friday, May 15, 2009
The world imploded.
Hardly anyone knew it was going to happen. One earthling fortune teller had predicted it, but she had long ago given up on the idea of being believed, and so she had tucked herself away in a filthy corner of the planet and was never heard of.
It was a rather sorry sight, all that glitter and dust and life folding in on itself, curling in like flaming parchment, and eventually becoming nothing but a tiny speck.
Two systems over, on a planet whose name is irrelevant, a distinctly non-humanoid life form, with a very long telescope, entered the data into an impossibly vast network, and that was the last anyone, anywhere, ever thought of Earth.