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When I wake up in the morning composing sentences I believe I should honor the unconscious by writing them down. Maybe you think this superstition. I believe in the power of language, however tenuous, to work its magic of naming, and then to back up and feedback through the language-making channels of our perceptions.
Dreamed we found new names for GHW Bush. In my dream he became Woodhouse, and we so named him, and the natural world surrounded him with forest and put him inside.
Woke up, and Woodhouse was only the name of a Jane Austen snob, and her hypochondriac father.
Half asleep, I knew, W is Walker. (Texas Ranger, vigilante -- I've known other Texans named Walker.) Maybe he will just walk. Take a more pedestrian pace. Put on his walking shoes.
Ain't going down that big road by myself.
Dreamed we found new names for GHW Bush. In my dream he became Woodhouse, and we so named him, and the natural world surrounded him with forest and put him inside.
Woke up, and Woodhouse was only the name of a Jane Austen snob, and her hypochondriac father.
Half asleep, I knew, W is Walker. (Texas Ranger, vigilante -- I've known other Texans named Walker.) Maybe he will just walk. Take a more pedestrian pace. Put on his walking shoes.
Ain't going down that big road by myself.