{ Take me with you on this journey
Where the boundaries of time are now tossed
In cathedrals of the forest
In the words of the tongues now lost }
"I am an invisible [wo]man.
No, I am not a spook like those that haunted Edgar Allen Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywood-movie ectoplasms. I am a [wo]man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids--and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in circus sideshows, it is as though I have been surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting glass. When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination--indeed, everything and anything except me."
Wandering Dream
I'm just a wandering dream
Shreds of thoughts
Fragmented whispers
Aimlessly floating
Searching for some substance
In this surreality.
Tangled in myself
I traverse not too far
That is, if you count
your travels in miles
Rather than depth of thought
In shadows I linger
watching all, while
letting the world pass by
For no one stops to ponder
a vague wandering dream.
Still I exist, behind aqua eyes
That pierce the deadened gloom
Upon this futile, fragile world
Where dreams, like hope, all die.
Who am I? What am I?
I am the child of the wasteland....a land of haunted houses and monsters i call father. Dark talents run in the family, but i shatter the glass to let the moonlight in, not to destroy something fragile for the feeling of breaking beneath my fists. all i can do is scream, crawl out, and keep screaming. but i can hold the sparrow, mend its wing... i am the spring rain and the hurricane... the monsters cower now, not me, not you.
{tornlace}
"Creative thinking may simply mean that there is no particular virtue in doing things the way they have always been done."
__Rudolph Flesch
In dreams of muted color
I have wandered in the night
Where the verdure fades to ochre
And the morning harkens twilight --
And in this somber dream
I have stumbled 'gainst the walls
That rise without a seam
To form endless echoed halls --
And somewhere in this misty sea
Before awakening dawns
I seek, I make, I will to be
A gateway to beyond --
{Stephanie Pui-Mun Law}
She dwells in twilight,
between day and night,
between spirit and matter,
between concious and unconcious
where all things are possible...
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
- William Butler Yeats, He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven
