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Falling from a crane...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 1357
(70 hours work this week, last night a full 10 hours sleep, woke with these dreams still vivid in my head, they lasted past coffee and so are recorded. So much work, so little sleep, dreams are a luxury...)
Morning, high above the world, golden morning, fall, the earth spread out below me, I can see the curvature of the earth, across from me there's a helicopter flying, surrounded by a grid of iron bars....
I'm falling from a crane, waiting until the last possible moment before pulling my parachute, falling and waiting, it's a beautiful morning...
***
I land, looking for someone to tell of my adventures but it's a busy morning and it's back to work, there's water to be pumped, new holes being dug, and the memory of the fall from the crane soon disappears, it's dark...
I meet four construction workers, older, grey men, faces clouded with cement dust, I recognize them from high school, they look sooo old...
They recognize me as well..."Look who's kept his youthful good looks" they say to me...
I recognize them from high school but I can't remember their names. One is disabled, he is supported by the other 2, withered and perhaps mentally deficient, a construction accident of some sort and the company's kept him on, another is wearing women's clothing - I ask about this, he tells me (us all) that he's been in drag since he was a baby and forced to wear girl's diapers....
Another of the four volunteers that he's killed a man "and I haven't any regrets, he deserved it..." he tells me proudly...
I want - only slightly - to stay and catch up, the one schoolmate I haven't spoken to, the only one I vaguely recognize, still silent, but there's work to be done and so I promise to catch up with them later...
***
I'm walking around the site, picking up rubbish and bits of wire, it's dark, night, and as I come around a corner of the building I find a duck with a broken wing. I think to myself that it's escaped having it's neck wrung for dinner, and it comes to me for consolation, as soon as it does the lights from a row of townhouses across the street come on. The duck flees, and I can see that it was being hunted by a fox or cat hiding in a shed and I want to catch it before the cat or fox does but it's doing it's best to flee...
a fine landing upon a bed of nails
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1725
Back, now, finally.
A hundred pages of notes, photos, scattered, new job in construction, outdoors and worse hours (I never thought this possible, but they accepted my terms - that I'd be leaving in the spring, and so now I must accept theirs...), a small room in a smaller house.
The adventures, I will add them here as I find time, for the next few weeks unfolding this blog will be a bit of a puzzle to assemble events into their proper order, but if you're that curious you'll figure it out.
I'll catch you up in brief upon the summers misadventures, the rain and snow and swollen rivers, the hillbillies with their quotes from Ezekiel, the countless "no trespassing" signs, the hours driving from the Tulameen to Cypress Hills, Edmonton to Pincer Creek, gold, finally, in quantities that will require better equipment than I possessed, not failure just yet but a winter to recover finances and find new prospects, equipment, keep warm. The months of August and the slight beginnings of September spent homeless and upon the road, a new car, better car, my car, a new place, smaller but temporary, and many thanks to those who lent me their sofas.
Eventually it will all make sense.
Excavations
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 1382
The change of employ has led to a new variety of dreams - excavations, wet, grey, digging pits and trenches into the earth, no purpose or explanation provided, grey, wet, cold...
Mechanical Sparrow
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 1517
I've charged my daughter with looking after 3 pairs of pets, there's a pair of Guinea Pigs, a pair of (?? forget...), and a pair of sparrows, and somehow she's fucked up and one of each pair dead....I'm furious, smack her hard across the face and then discover the surviving sparrow is engaged in a duel to the death with a small mechanical sparrow, a medieval tin automaton that's battling it with a sword, I look to my daughter and her face is swelling and I feel bad about hitting her...
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