"Once upon a time, a Tuesday perhaps, there was a man called Pim."
The line popped up on my radar screen this morning. What did it mean? I had no clue. Perhaps it was the beginning to some wider tale of adventure and inventiveness. Perhaps not. I didn't really see "Pim" in my mind's eye, didn't really envision or invest or wonder. He was a fiction, which was somehow more beguiling than the rattle and shimmy of a silver-ware drawer. Current events fell by the wayside as "Pim" stepped forth.
Was he tall or short, plump or slender, laughable and affable? Had he had his heart broken in other times? Had he freed a mouse from a trap? I could not really find him and yet there he was, more interesting in my head than the current events served up along the news wires.
Could he sing? And if so, did he?
With the ice-rimed roofs up and down the street, with all that the world has to offer this morning, who is this Pim who has come to visit?
Or is is just the "once upon a time" whose muffled tintinnabulation fades softly, like Pim, in my mind? I somehow know he is not a man to go naked and yet dressing him is beyond my ability. Will he scatter bread crumbs in his wake as a means of marking the way back home? He seems unconcerned.
A bit of magic, I guess. I like magic. I like being tricked and bamboozled and knowing simultaneously I am being tricked and bamboozled. It doesn't matter how many times I see it, the woman really is being sawed in half in that coffin.
Fiction or fact ... I guess I am in a fiction phase.
The line popped up on my radar screen this morning. What did it mean? I had no clue. Perhaps it was the beginning to some wider tale of adventure and inventiveness. Perhaps not. I didn't really see "Pim" in my mind's eye, didn't really envision or invest or wonder. He was a fiction, which was somehow more beguiling than the rattle and shimmy of a silver-ware drawer. Current events fell by the wayside as "Pim" stepped forth.
Was he tall or short, plump or slender, laughable and affable? Had he had his heart broken in other times? Had he freed a mouse from a trap? I could not really find him and yet there he was, more interesting in my head than the current events served up along the news wires.
Could he sing? And if so, did he?
With the ice-rimed roofs up and down the street, with all that the world has to offer this morning, who is this Pim who has come to visit?
Or is is just the "once upon a time" whose muffled tintinnabulation fades softly, like Pim, in my mind? I somehow know he is not a man to go naked and yet dressing him is beyond my ability. Will he scatter bread crumbs in his wake as a means of marking the way back home? He seems unconcerned.
A bit of magic, I guess. I like magic. I like being tricked and bamboozled and knowing simultaneously I am being tricked and bamboozled. It doesn't matter how many times I see it, the woman really is being sawed in half in that coffin.
Fiction or fact ... I guess I am in a fiction phase.
"A bit of magic, I guess. I like magic. I like being tricked and bamboozled and knowing simultaneously I am being tricked and bamboozled. It doesn't matter how many times I see it, the woman really is being sawed in half in that coffin."
ReplyDeleteSometimes I feel that the greatest crime these days is to dream... and share any dream. Maybe some dreams are forbidden. So tired of feeling and seeing dreams and hearts break.
I am reminded of a portuguese song that tells how it's the dream that commands life, how mankind moves forward through dreams - magic -, and yet, this is the poetry...
Song: https://youtu.be/kGvY4tqcgUQ
Translation: http://english-is-cool.blogspot.com/2007/07/antonio-gedeo.html?m=1
Perhaps dreams command life, looking forward, but - looking back - isn't life so often the hard and cruel destroyer of dreams?
Home... Isn't it that moment and place before dreams begin and from where dreams flow?