The wind breathes over the orange desert sand and I – a journey man of labyrinth – place this knobbled wooden cane ahead of my mighty feet, for life – all yellow and leathery – maintains.
“I will watch you sink into your purple grave,” I say to the relentless sun.
My hope is nourished by the symbols scratched into the ancient stone which mark the way to the sleeping temple in the heat.
The sun god droops his bright hot eyelid on the world and his crimson light stains the canvas sky a deep crimson.
A waterfall of stars chase the shining beast across the horizon as I enter in the doors of coated dust and ask these totem faces in this angled cave: “Show me, just show me a way”.
I get the feeling the shadows are singing to me.
They sing with voices of the ages:
“Boy, rapture is the way, the fuel of all adventure.”
15 – July – 15
I experimented here with blending dreams and poetry, a mixture that seems to me only natural – dreams are always ripe with imagery and meaning and poetry needs a heavy dose of both to be anything near “good”. When I wrote this I simply tried to change my style of documentation to be more lyrical and image based rather than a straight narrative like I would usually do. I feel it turned out well and whats more it felt effortless and enjoyable – an emotion that is aptly summed up in the final phrase, “Boy, rapture is the way, the fuel of all adventure.”
The potency of dreams for producing quality ideas make me feel almost like a cheater – using dreams to get good material instead of waiting around for months with writers block make me feel like I am skipping a step.