Spain, malaga

Spain, malaga

Spain, malaga

Spain, malaga

Spain, malaga

Italy, valtournanche

Italy, valltournanche

Australia, melbourne, neon graf

Smoke Stacks In My Dreams

Forgive me if I carry on, forgive me for irrelevancy, but there exists no way to say it all right, when it’s come and gone in the midst of a night. I dreamt it had all happened years before, also that it would happen all again. I thought of ancient rusted weapons lying shallow in our fields, of slavery, of illusions, and of smoke stacks. I dreamt that it was all just different enough this time for no one to really notice.

Noise like the trumpets of heralds rained on the backs of oblivious crowds, but terror was the image of tired thinkers resigning to the tide. I waded through minds flooded by images of invincible foes. In their eyes defeat marched on like time and progress, or like an unstoppable security wall separating child from child. Their eyes were glassy, perhaps it was merely my own defeat reflected. In stories so oblivious to action or inaction, what else is this condition but some sort of collective defeat?

I awoke to merely a vague, irrelevant tension. Later I heard laughter fill a train carriage and laughed myself at the worries of a moody commuter. Dreams fade. The morning light caressed a crisp landscape. I was still smiling, being carried away on iron tracks past smoking factories. Vague irrelevancies were banished to some other place.

Spain, granada, alhambra