Notes, Writing Scraps & Fragments of Thought
These are from rough notes from the past few days that I'd like to look back at later rather than leaving them forgotten and rotting away on my computer.
darkness swallows up the stars
Simon Tavener. Character name? (a name stolen from a reviewer on amazon - shh, don't tell him, whoever he may be). Perhaps the similarity to Simon Tam is what made the name stand out.
A Dream and dream thoughts
Locked in a room? Why? By my own choice? Granddad's? Wish I could remember details.
Don't I really wish I could remember the strange geography of dreams. Dreams that seem vividly real of walking home the way I've always walked while the streets are familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. Catching a bus near the of the hill that has also become stone wall sheltered near the Norfolk arms. Had same feeling of lostness/existential self-doubt at home last weekend
in the dark, coming the "wrong way" from the train station but still knowing finding train station after bus station as I knew it ought to be but I was in a state of panic all the same
quite an old dream
something moving in the yellow attic
which attic?
the one before we moved in with Matt?
The house with the hideous carpets
where I fell asleep kneeling at my bed
or afterwards
or was it mum's bedroom with nothing in it
two fragments
a shining red ring from Egypt's frozen tomb
or a fifth-hand housewife's treasure
passed on to help through the hardest times
beneath the eyes of those that watch
my husband's false sepulchre
the ever empty tomb
all three will be doomed to damned death
collected words, collected further
stairs
stares
morning
mourning
rag
automaton
the lighthouse stairs, the lighthouse stares
mourning & morning
rag automaton
darkness swallows up the stars
Simon Tavener. Character name? (a name stolen from a reviewer on amazon - shh, don't tell him, whoever he may be). Perhaps the similarity to Simon Tam is what made the name stand out.
A Dream and dream thoughts
Locked in a room? Why? By my own choice? Granddad's? Wish I could remember details.
Don't I really wish I could remember the strange geography of dreams. Dreams that seem vividly real of walking home the way I've always walked while the streets are familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. Catching a bus near the of the hill that has also become stone wall sheltered near the Norfolk arms. Had same feeling of lostness/existential self-doubt at home last weekend
in the dark, coming the "wrong way" from the train station but still knowing finding train station after bus station as I knew it ought to be but I was in a state of panic all the same
quite an old dream
something moving in the yellow attic
which attic?
the one before we moved in with Matt?
The house with the hideous carpets
where I fell asleep kneeling at my bed
or afterwards
or was it mum's bedroom with nothing in it
two fragments
a shining red ring from Egypt's frozen tomb
or a fifth-hand housewife's treasure
passed on to help through the hardest times
beneath the eyes of those that watch
my husband's false sepulchre
the ever empty tomb
all three will be doomed to damned death
collected words, collected further
stairs
stares
morning
mourning
rag
automaton
the lighthouse stairs, the lighthouse stares
mourning & morning
rag automaton