. . . the dream . . . cold, minus forty prairie night . . . brilliant clear sky, stars dazzling the driifting, deep snow . . . on an endless highway, maybe the yellowhead, driving a white suburu sports car . . . Imprenza . . . not really white . . . a horrible mint green the sales rep called 'new' white . . . speeding free and easy . . . northern lights dance above like that black and white picture on the fridge my dad took in the fort churchill days . . . on the right a deer runs parallel with me . . . fast . . . snow isn't as deep as imagined . . . wow really fast . . . then see the wolf tracking right behind her . . . take eyes off the white line to watch wolf close in and leap teeth bared . . .



... I'm careening out of control . . . car hit a patch of black ice . . . off the road into a telephone pole . . . through the windshield flying . . . blood . . . Awake . . . jeez that's not even my dream . . . my son shared that dream while on a greyhound bus travelling the 401 from Toronto to Ottawa about this time last summer . . . he recounted waking up at night and recording his dreams on a sony mini voice recorder . . . often couldn't remember recording the night dreams but what scared him even more was in the morning playback couldn't recognize his own voice . . .



. . . ten am . . . jackson pollack died in a telephone pole car crash . . . this summer feels like1965 . . . free from school with nothing to do . . . secluded . . . ferociously reading, riding my bike, writing, planning life projects and being hassled by the police . . . sometimes late night tv . . . only forty years later . . . could listen to the same music if i wanted . . . read the same books . . . parents kept everything . . . an easily accessible box stored in the basement with assorted pre-teen and teen books . . . harry potter in forty years . . . black panthers, crawdaddy, hesse's glass bead game metamorphosis into al-Qa'ida, rabble.ca, rss and pattern recognition . . .



. . .ten-ten . . . back pain . . . can't get out of bed . . . can't shake image of kafka police invading . . . can't . . . cell tones text message delivered . . . reach over to flip open: "Where r u . . .

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Heart Play

My thoughts are wounds in my head. My brain is a scar. I want to be a machine. Arms to drag legs to walk no pain no thinking. (Heiner Müller , 'Hamletmachine' ) Heartplay A May I lay my heart at your feet. B If you don't make a mess on my floor.. A My heart is clean.. B We'll see, won't we.. A I can't get it out.. B Would you like me to help you.. A If you wouldn't mind.. B It'll be a pleasure. I can't get it out either.. A cries. B I will remove it surgically. What have I got this penknife for anyway. We'll have this sorted out in no time. work will keep you from despair. Right, there we are. But this is a brick. Your heart is a red brick.. A Yes, but it beats only for you.. (1981) A beats B to death with the brick.. (Addition, July 1991). ------------- Heiner Müller ----------------- from Heiner Müller Theatremachine translated and edited by Marc von Henning
Read more

Dobong

Image
 ... moved into a new place ...  ... first night there in a deep sleep was visited by a short middle aged man ... well dressed in a black suit ... seemed to be Korean but not sure ... although silent the figure's presence was so strong i was pulled out of dream to fully awake ... as I lay in bed the after image of him remained standing silently in the hallway just outside the open bedroom door ... he wasn't really looking at me but i felt he sensed i was now aware of his presence and didn't wish to startle me ... finally assured he was a dream figure i fell back to sleep ... only later to be visited again ...  this time not in dream but upon waking saw him standing fully in the doorway ...  a serious, calm face he looked directly into my eyes ...  ...  i knew he was an apparition  & examined his demeanour ... he was likewise examining me with a gentle questioning look ... oh a previous owner of the apartment i thought ... he didn't move or speak ju...
Read more
* The teacher rarely tells students what he thinks. * Generally, he does not accept a single statement as an answer to a question. * He encourages student-student interaction as opposed to student-teacher interaction, generally avoids acting as a mediator or judging the quality of ideas expressed. * His lessons develop from the responses of students and not from a previously determined "logical" structure. (Postman & Weingartner, 1969, p. 33-36) * Generally, each of his lessons pose a problem for students. * He rarely summarizes the positions taken by students on the learnings that occur. He recognizes that the act of summary or "closure" tends to have the effect of ending further thought. "* He rarely summarizes the positions taken by students on the learnings that occur. He recognizes that the act of summary or "closure" tends to have the effect of ending further thought." ( Teaching as a Subversive Activity: Book Review ) (via Incorporat...
Read more