Friday, August 11, 2006
Ghost in the Machine
Despite its unquestionable realness, the dream was just too bright and obviously fragile, like an antique vase sitting high, forgotten on some shelf barely out of reach. As much as you were flooded with an urge to snatch the marvelous pot from the shelf and stuff it full of thick green stems and crisp violet flowers some innate sense of caution froze you. It felt off limits like all the beautiful, old things at a grandparent’s house. Suddenly, you were merely a child who was not allowed to risk breaking such a priceless, irreplaceable artifact with cheap fondling; we were left alone to stare hopelessly at that vase, in a crippling state of yearning, while the fields outside overflowed with blossoming spring flowers.