3:48am. Had another dream, woke up and couldn't fall back asleep. Me and the Deans were out fishing. Usually water dreams mean it's time to get up and pee but this one was different. You know the Deans if you've read the Deadman Lake blog. There we were in two motor boats, gear and us in chest waders. Must've been down south as we were heading up what looked to be a bayou surrounded by swamp. For no apparent reason both boats sank in the shallow water. Me and L. Dean were up in the lead boat chest deep and standing on the gunwales. L. pulls out some kind of electronic device and sends out a signal to who knows where. Think he was trying to call his brothers out in space in the hope they'd came save him. Next tries a cell phone with garbled results. Yeah, L. is hooked to the electronic universe but at the moment, does us no good. Oh me, oh my. Then, from the opposite direction comes another boat. The young man aboard doesn't seem to think our predicament is all that dire as over to our left about a quarter mile slog away lies the town. There are none so blind as those who will not see. Yup, that was us alright. So me and L. start slogging out. Have to stumble our way over an ancient forest of jagged submerged trees. L. does a tumble 'cause he's trying to go too fast and gets messed up a little bit. Not bad, just a little bit. So we make it into town and go bowling. Bowling? What kind of crap is that? Young lady at the desk is all pissed off 'cause she's got to fire up the lanes just so us two idiots can bowl. L. starts out like everything's all fine. Doesn't bowl all that good so I give him a few pointless pointers. Me, I kind of mosey around a bit before rolling a ball. One roll, one strike. Second roll and pins start playing games with me, fallen' down, gettin' back up. Then the lane gets shut off. Other people start to trickle in. Even a man used to work with. Didn't hang out with him, just worked together. Nice enough man but seemed to float around on the surface. Remember Jung, all the people in dreams are simply different aspects of ourselves.
So I laid there in bed mulling it over. How the dream told me I was feeling about trying to publish a book of these Emil stories. Got me thinking of Emil's cabin and how he wanted it to be made as much as possible from his own materials. Came to realize once again I didn't write the stories. I'm just an intermediary, the mouth. At the moment I do this through these blogs. Like Emil having his trees turned to lumber by the sawmill. But they were his trees and it was his thought, his design and labor that built the cabin. Just him and his nephew.
Truth be know - to me mostly - I don't want to bring in outsiders to publish my words. All I want is to write. It's like daydreaming in print. Do it for my own enjoyment. And a chance to see myself in the mirror if I pay close enough attention. Blogging is embarrassingly public enough but at least lets me pretend no one is looking or reading (pretty close to accurate).
I'll see how I feel in the morning.
Morning: ditto. Sent off a letter to H. Hope she takes it well.
