Monday May 6th 2013
The Summer Tanager has chosen his tree to sing from.
It's nice to again be in the presence of my post structural friend, but
sadly his tree this year is in earshot of the room where I sleep. So I
will have to listen to him harp on at an hour of the day when thought
process is best left uncomplicated by external stimuli. Today the
Tanager entered morning dreams a little before the sunrise. I was
in the lecture hall, undergoing scrutiny, my thesis on Barn Swallow
attacked by the more practical minds of Banana Growers, it was getting
ugly with sneering and I felt aggressive. Then, when my post structural
friend started to sing, I drew a blank.
As those of us who are often
distressed by dreams know, drawing a blank while dreaming is tantamount to a
day spent pacing around the question "I should of said" while reinterpreting
Jung with the question "what was I trying to remember." So I closed my eyes
determined that no dream of mine would end without a satisfactory
conclusion, which as a rule requires me to lop off the heads of my
antagonists before marching down the aisle toward a coffee pot. But
woe is me when the Tanager sings, his voice enters a synaptic cleft, grips
it with his little feet and he pecks away. I turned toward my enemies.
"There," I said. "That's your answer." And bowed gracefully into