Freewriting thingmajingies

[Zadown]

Not sure what the rules are except to write fast and not to go back to edit it? Yui was aiming at 25, don't think I'll do any set number myself.

 

Well, anyways...

 

1)

 

One thing I remember really well is an old animation where they realized they were living in somebody's dreams, and that the person would wake up in 5 minutes. They did research, built and tinkered, and managed to finally make a dimensional portal with which they kidnapped their sleeping god, dragged him home so he'd never wake up and make them go away.

 

In three minutes his dream changed to chaos of flamingos, and the clever dream civilization transmuted into those pink birds and was forever gone.

 

What if we all have those dream civilizations inside our heads, waiting for us to go to sleep so they can work their magic, research and tinker some more on loaned minutes that stretch to years for them, like dreamtime does? What if they are communicating there beyond the veil of dreams, their ideas breeding with each other, a thousand dimensional portals, a thousand kidnapping teams ready to haul us away so we'd never wake up?

 

Should we start to dream about flamingoes, while we still can?

[Zadown]

2)

 

I think the objects in my apartment are stealing my life. This ice tea carton fell down without any wind to do that, without tremors; it must've jumped and stumbled. Glasses are not where I leave them and they stare at me, smugly. Spoons are even worse, eyeballing me with their round faces like they were royalty! Sometimes when I sit perfectly still, I can hear them walking around and around and around, but still staying at one place to fool me.

 

But I can feel my colors fading, my senses receding as they drain and leech and sip - and laugh, afterwards, moan and groan with huge mouths at me, taunting and saying "There you are, not much left in you, while we get fatter every day. Soon you'll be the one skittering away in the dark and shadows, hiding from us as we rule this place." Not with those words, of course. They haven't stolen enough to talk yet.

 

Or so I say to myself, muttering in voices so much like the spoon's I do wonder. What if? What if ... WHAT IF!?

 

3)

 

There are moments, when I wish I had a camera. Then there are moments, when I _really_ wish I had a camera, weeping, nearly, to the visions that are destined to die unrecorded. A summer morning, wind utterly still (having a holiday), transparent ethereal mist squirming over water, sunlight truly golden dancing over white ships, blindingly white fleet of them in the harbour; and an empty beach, some forgotten child's cry waiting in the air above it, too early for it to show itself.

 

And the birds, they circle and cry, seagulls, or just sing their repetitive but still beautiful tunes over and over again, louder than the one or two cars marring the serene soundscape. I can smell hyacints and other flowers enjoying the short summer, the long long days and non-existent nights, an hour of dark and 20 of light, three of shadowy blue dawn and dusk, or even more. We pay the price during the winter, of course, but Finland can be so beautiful, so right, during summer.

 

I walk forward, trying to at least scavenge a poem out of the vivid, beautiful, dying vision of a summer morning, but each step towards the computer jarrs a word away from me, and I leave a trail of bits and pieces of the picture behind me as I walk. Something for the other morning walkers to find and cherish, a few superlatives, words like 'golden' and 'eerie', but in finnish, of course.

 

I cannot write poems on empty papers in english, the same way I can't write short stories on those same empty papers in finnish. So cubersome, but there it is. Nobody ordered me to have two languages, or to go watch the already risen sun at 4:30 am.

 

These things just happen.