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Night Of The Living Dreams                                                                                      

“Dreams never die.” So wrote an old friend.
This is scary, new dreams born every microsecond --
you can hear them: POP! POP! POP! POP!,
and they never die. Scary enough the over-population
of dream space
which may be OUR space, and
for that matter, or non-matter, we may be dreams,
or dreams and dreamers both, for why may not dreams
not to mention the horror of dreams,
though deathless, yet aging, rotting, decomposing,
like the Strulbrugs whose deathless stench
left Gulliver with nightmares, hordes
of senile, stinking, slinking, staring, gaping,
drooling dreams crowding round us like the brain-eating
zombies of horror films – to eat our brains? or to suck out
the truth of our dreams? How much blood
is spilled by dying men possessed by undying,
but corrupted dreams?

Perhaps dreams have their own infinite space,
or perhaps dreams require no space (though we imagine
they take time to come true). Or perhaps, though they
never die, they cannot become crowded
because we are incapable of dreaming
anything new, all dreams immortal and all dreams
already dreamed.

I don’t believe that, but do my dreams (or dreams
I imagine my own) care what I believe? Jonathan Swift
it was I think who said he was dying like a tree,
from the top down, moderately old when, undying,
he died as inarticulate and obscene as a Strulbrug –
tertiary syphilis, scholars speculate, old Swift
swiftly going gaga, as spasmed as Gulliver himself with disgust
for the humanoid Yahoos who polluted his land
of rational horses, (And in his diary, old Swift, Dean of a Cathedral,
wrote “Delia, Delia, Delia sh-ts!” (Blanked-out letter his, decent
in his indecencies.) (HAS he died? Seems just the other day
he spoke to me.)

How a mighty mind collapses? Shall we discuss it
on Yahoo?

I think I’ve just said something no one has said before.
“Gulliver” remains fresh and scintillating.
Because we are always new, so are our dreams.
Dreams never die. Their corruption, that’s what dies.
Dreams never die. That’s good news (I dream)
because I say it is.

Note for any unfamiliar with Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift: After Gulliver visits the little people and the giants, in the third section he visits a variety of weird islands. In one he finds the Strulbrugs, immortals, odd in that though they cannot die, they continue to age, a nightmarish parody of immortality. In the fourth section of the book we meet the rational horses and the disgustingly bestial humanoids called “Yahoos.

copyright (c) Dean Blehert 2012

Last updated: November 11, 2012