I wonder, when you fail to realise your potential for long enough… does it just get pissed off and leave?
Paralysed by fear and self loathing.
I would like a body
of classical proportions.
With a little more
There was a Bear. The Bear was thickset and brown and lived in a vast pine forest. At night, the forest was so dark and the trees so dense that not a single star was ever seen by the Bear. When the sun rose, tiny pockets of light fell through the conifer needles and formed constellations on the forest floor. The Bear, like his forest, was vast. Wide shoulders set strong over slab like paws. It was fortunate that the Bear was so well grown, because inside of him he harboured a large hollow. The hollow stretched from the Bears solar plexus down to his deepest belly breath. Only stillness and brute strength contained the hollow within the Bear.
The Bear was walking through the forest; he came across a small slip of a stream. The ribbon of water was mirrored by an identically proportioned break in the canopy above. Light flowed through the gap in the canopy and bathed the stream in an iridescent light. The Bear dipped his paw in the radiance. First one paw and then another, the bear began to slowly wade into the stream. Water rose up over the Bear’s front and rear haunches, his broad shoulders, his powerful jaw and finally his snout. Light poured into the Bears nostrils. Sunshine flowed between the Bear’s teeth. The Bear’s lungs swelled with fresh clear water. Every empty inch of the Bear’s heavy frame was filled. There was no breath, and no hollow.
I got my exam papers back. This is what I wrote as a critical response to King Lear by William Shakespeare:
The old fools hip to the young fools jive/jibe/suicide? No tongues cut out there + bleeding EYEBALL sockets + letters everywhere. Was anyone keeping count? Anyway the old Bards queer, but it’s unclear just what amount. Amounts to felt hats and pointy toes/liederhose/naked from head to toes + poor Tom is cold! The man is turning blue and right on cue/the goddamn blind leading the mad huh? And you have got to get a sense of perspective cos the great wheel ain’t even visible from space + never mind the ever expanding universe (galaxy clusters like the misfiring neurons in Mr. Lear’s mind) this shit is finitely small/why bother? At any rate certain misguided individuals were without a shadow of a doubt dragged up the hill and pulled right down again. The great wheel is a goddamn hoax! Tom’s friend was actually the angel Michael slinking hip around crappy coffee houses so that everyone had to know about it + kept all cliffs at a happy distance/welcome to Dover! Do you squiny at me?
So this happened to me last night. Clocks worked fine, I’m afraid to say. In fact, if it wasn’t for the time on the clock I would have never realised I was in a dream - working a shift I wouldn’t normally work. At this point, the lucid dreamer in me made the logical choice and I hopped up on the counter of Tank Juice bar and smashed all the customers with oranges before promptly making an oven appear and having a mean feed.
Apparently other lucid dreamers just have a whole lot of fantasy sex… guess I had more pressing concerns.
"Its the year to be hated. So glad that we made it!"
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