if . . .

North of Sleep At night,  my body is a compass swinging to every direction: past borderlands,  the ruins of unknown,  empty streets  en route  to elsewhere, slipping into rooms  where bearings  jolt me to a  wakefulness of frigid air and dormant train tracks  wait to halt traffic  twice a day. By morning,  I approach nausea, relentless calls  to speak some truth, a light with no shadow  but a heaviness.  The howl, dragged  from northern lights I couldn’t even understand. I stop, let my soul  go on ahead. Show me. (Shouting now.) Show me. (Frightened now.) The flaked ceiling points  to a bitten fingernail scratch   throwing grief across the back as a one perfect window  diffuses time. Noodles & coffee:  in a fractal tell a  haunting dirty knot  of restless  grime & eyes  bleed...

I am lost in a foreign city. Usually the city is  in a state of ruin. Though I meet people from my long ago past am unable to find my way & never make it to the airport. The panic wakes me up. My university degree is revoked as it is discovered I neglected to hand in a required essay. My car is broken into and ransacked. I'm mortally sick unable to die. :: Note :: ... after a four year absence Oblivio : Stories and such by Michael Barrish returns ...  in the early days of blogging before twitter & facebook and the whole notion of social media he was a favourite ... his quirky humour & wit, clean & minimal look with what I believed to be a deeper sense of purpose inspired me  ...  the reason I love a good rss reader is a subscription may lie dormant for years & suddenly come to life ... as in the past   Four Recurring Dreams   inspired this post of mine ... I missed you Michael ...  much like the etymology o...

He dreamed. I was assigned to be an intern with Gurawski, a young stage designer with Grotowski. The Theatre of 13 Rows company was in transition moving from Opole to Wrocław and about to be relabeled "Teatr Laboratorium". This I knew but still relished this opportunity to be in the old Opole workspace. As field work Gurawski had taken me to an old castle outside of Cracow leaving me stranded on the roof stripping away plaster to reveal rotten beams. Rain had caused significant damage and it was my job to expose all the potential structural damage. It was dangerous work. Often found myself in precarious positions barely hanging on. The building was deep in a forest and at one point I thought this was some kind of prototype for Brezinka. Returning to Opole I set about sanding the raked stage for an early production which I identified would later become Apocalysis Cum Figuris. Discussing the show with Gurawski he took me through a visualization of the actors. A scene of the ac...

Dream. Travelling an unknown city the controlled panic in the streets forces me to flee. Get out before further destruction results screams an inner voice. I start out on foot as traffic jams block all highways. It is a steep climb. A short time later am standing before a high rise building. Looming out of nowhere in a sparsely populated hilly region I recall a friend, recently gone through a messy divorce, gave me this address and I ring for entrance. A reassuring voice calls me up. His beautiful one room kitchen/liviing room, large glass windows looking out over the valley seems empty as he rushes out the door. "Will be back later - make yourself at home." Moving into the two other rooms they are full of beds and cots with no space to move. I select one and fall exhausted to sleep. In the darkness figures move in and out. Waking I and go out to the kitchen where my friend is eating. We visit when suddenly people rush out of the other rooms shouting at me. Something is in my...

she dreamed ... returning to my homeland for a visit found myself in a strange neighbourhood ... third sister had recently moved to a new area ... she had called giving directions and requested my immediate arrival ... despite repeated calls and detailed instructions the house could not be found ... ... each call added more and more urgency till finally I demanded if I was so close then why wouldn't she simply come out to get me ... further angering me with her hesitancy she continued to talk ... the background noise made listening impossible ... she was occupied with something else while talking and couldn't be understood ... ... angered I pleaded for her to come get me ... she hung up and moments later was standing at a gate motioning me to come ... looking directly & sternly into my eyes through clenched teeth ... "I was trying to tell you - Mother is Dead!" ... peppering her with questions dazed and in shock followed her inside ... "What? Are you...

She dreamed. I had arrived in Italy by bus. It could hardly be called a bus rather a cart with no sides or roof. We dangerously speed around winding passes and I clung to the seat in front me holding on as planes buzzed overhead. Just get me safely to the city and all will be well. War had broken out. Bombing could be heard throughout the Italian city. A foreigner wishing to flee the country I had nowhere to go. Rushing into the street hoards of soldiers swept me away. Fearing that soon I would be one of the dead or wounded I escaped into the nearest door to find myself inside a coffee house. "Respite," I thought and ordered a coffee. The shop owner informed there were no more mugs and seeing my huge disappointment she turned away and promised to look once more. At the table behind me sat a group of men talking. I approached hoping to get some information on how to leave the city. In halting Italian I asked what was happening. One of the men corrected my pronunciation. I aske...

... A beautiful village in full celebration, colourful flags whipping in the wind, lots of food & drink, song & dance, laughter & story telling. Friends calling out to me to sing and dance for it is my turn. I sing and dance finishing to much applause and laughter. I go to the gate where my teacher wishes to enter & share in the celebration. He is stopped by a group of guards. He calls out, "Let me in I want to dance, sing and enjoy the revelries with all of you." "You can't enter," they pronounce, "you are dead!" I am shocked. I can't believe it. I am absolutely stunned. I want them to let him in. They refuse. I want to contact him and the guards let me out. I can get out but they won't let him in. There, in front of the gate, sits my teacher singing. The moment he starts singing the whole village turns black & white as if his exquisite lament, expressing his sorrow, evaporates the colours around us and a grey fog descends ...