“The Dream of Life
Let’s suppose that you were able every night to dream any dream you wanted to dream, and you would naturally as you began on this adventure of dreams, you would fulfill all your wishes.
You would have every kind of pleasure, you see, and after several nights you would say, “Well that was pretty great.” But now let’s have a surprise, lets have a dream which isn’t under control. “Well something is going to happen to me that I don’t know what it’s gonna be.”
Then you would get more and more adventurous, and you would make further and further out gambles as to what you would dream, and finally you would dream where you are now.
If you awaken from this illusion, and you understand that black implies white,
self implies other, life implies death. You can feel yourself, not as a stranger in the world, not as something here on probation, not as something that has arrived here by fluke, but you can begin to feel your own existence as absolutely fundamental.
What you are basically, deep, deep down, far, far in, is simply the fabric and structure of existence itself.”
– Alan Watts
Some years ago now, I wrote a rambling blog post that was titled “Closing the Loop On Romero.” I still have what I wrote but I’ll spare us the reposting of it. The gist of it was that when I was in the seventh grade, in my Advanced English class, we watched two films, a 1955 film titled “Les Diaboliques,” in which a wife and mistress plot to get rid of the abusive man they’ve been sharing at their digs at a French boarding school owned by the wife, and a 1968 film titled “Night of the Living Dead,” in which a group of people hole up in an abandoned house in order to escape the “living dead” rising up out of the cemetery, whom seem to be interested in dining on human flesh, which makes it sound sophomoric when it is, in fact, completely adult, and despite our seeming cultural desensitization to such horrors, if you engage your brain and think about what you’re watching, it remains a completely terrifying film.
These two films taught me to understand films as art. These two films began my fascination with films as art. It was one of those moments in life when the world changed for me, expanded, deepened, became more interesting.
Imagine the world if George Romero had never made the film, “Night of the Living Dead.” It is an art film. It has been selected for historical preservation by the Library of Congress. “Night of the Living Dead” has a lot to teach us about the ways in which people interact with one another. It isn’t the first so-called zombie film, it is, however, the zombie film that irrevocably changed our cultural landscape.
Rest in peace, Mr. Romero.
From Mythica to Ithaca and all points in between,
they told their tales about her,
as if she were a dream,
as if she had no feelings,
as if she had no heart,
they told their tales about her,
this Lady Scarlet.
He is Midnight
His sword is Moonlight,
his breath a cold air,
his eyes a black stare,
his footsteps falling,
his memory calling,
his heartbeat hollow,
only an echo,
of the one he means to take,
before she is awake.
You are salvation,
waiting only to be claimed,
by the shamed, gamed, framed,
you are true love lasting,
From “Gold Mine”
In the midst of writing the new novel and working on a collection of poems from the last few years, I started editing and rewriting a third book, a collection of poetry, prose, and flash fiction, GOLD MINE, that I hope to have available by the end of this year. Work on the new novel is still going well. It might seem a strange thing to some to be working on three books at once, I’m really enjoying working this way, I don’t know that I would always want to be working on three books at the same time, but for right now, it is working for me.