On How Dreams Make Themselves Scarce


Dreams make swift and shifty exeunt at times like these. The deep and fastly held succumb to the temporal. It’s times like these when you have to command yourself to work like you might command yourself to eat healthier. When you loathe yourself for complacency like you’d loathe yourself if you were a degenerate gambler. When you shudder at the very real possibility that your lack of elan could be entirely and unapologetically terminal, dreams make a swift and shifty exeunt.  And who can blame them, anyway?  Dreams, after all, have a certain reputation to preserve. When one hears the word ‘dream’ they don’t picture it standing next to a broken and aimless man. Dreams can’t be seen mingling with such a person. Dreams could come back, of course. Should some stroke of luck put the former dreamer back on steady footing the dreams could come back and glom on as if they’d always been there. But at the darkest hour they are fairweather, I’ll tell you. When their host gives the slightest suggestion that everything may not be Rodgers and Hammerstein, sayonara. But catch a wave and they’ll be on you faster than…a metaphor escapes me.

All of that said, I think it’s only fair to inform you from the get-go that if I get physical with you it isn’t something you should take personally. If I shove you suddenly for seemingly no reason or get in your face and threaten bodily harm or take out your knees or something, it’s not because of anything you’ve done. It’s just my issue and I’m working through it.

I want you to imagine something. Imagine if I were to have the ability to travel back to 100 years ago. Bear in mind that I retain all of my memories and have, therefore, heard the Beatles and read Vonnegut and know about two world wars and countless global conflicts that occurred in the interim. Now imagine that I were at University 100 years ago under these conditions and I was assigned to write a composition. Given all of these influences I would be, literally, 100 years ahead of my time. Do you imagine that I would be embraced as a visionary, a groundbreaker, or do you think I’d be promptly expelled? Even without feeding those old folks any spoilers, I imagine just my cadence would give them aneurisms. They know nothing of humanity. 100 years ago they knew NOTHING of humanity. Because they hadn’t even fathomed just how ugly it could get. Someone with that kind of foresight, and I’m talking just the modern day equivalent of a bachelor’s degree or a subscription to Time magazine, would be one dark bastard back then. So much ugliness still to be known, on top of all the ugliness they already knew about. Oof. Ungodly.