Thursday, July 10, 2008

History of Maine

I will not tell my story. Indeed the main character has been asleep for two days. In real life, the pages of history remain silent; salient, perhaps. Quotes fade through the haze, as do arguments. Then come the dreams, which are recalled as they always are, as jokes from the past, punchlines detached from their frames.

In one dream, wrapped in a sleeping bag, I walk naked through a park. Is that " " and " " I see, over a hill, just beyond the point of focus for my short-sided eyes? No matter; there is the jump-cut so characteristic of dreams. In a car, without driver, taking over the wheel, police officer waiting for me...It means...nothing?

There is no point, says the old wise man, looking back beyond the years for some mysterious moment within recent personal history to delve attempting resolutions with ghosts. Telephone call, nerves, quick escape lie, closure. Just to reach into the scene, just to re-write one line of personal history...

All fades, and passes. Old love, past lives.