[stylist] not a poet, I just blow it

[Barbara Hammel]

Okay!  I don't usually have that dark of dreams, but you're compare in 
strangeness to some I've had.
Barbara

A Congress that will always do its work in the dark must have something to 
hide.  The people have spoken, yet they do not listen.

--------------------------------------------------
From: <loristay at aol.com>
Sent: Tuesday, January 19, 2010 7:45 PM
To: <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Subject: Re: [stylist] not a poet, I just blow it

> Huh?   (see Jim's question at the end of this.)
> Last night I was writing a story in my sleep, thinking I had to do a 
> report
> for a class.   I was typing away on my old haunted Olympia Portable
> typewriter (which an antique dealer stole from me.   Don't ask!), and when 
> David
> woke me, I could still feel myself typing.   Here's what I wrote:
>
> Boyd Street
> Lori Stayer
>
> It was not a street I wanted to linger on.   While I sat in the car I
> witnessed two beatings and a robbery...
> i was supposed to be writing a paper defending our armed services for
> social studies, but whatever I wrote came out as fiction, even when I 
> could stay
> on topic.
>
> The handwritten paper for social studies said, "...wiping tears on Dad's
> khaki shirt..."   Fiction!   He was out of the Army by the time I was 
> born.
> I also mentioned my brother and his service record.
>
> In a confrontation with my English teacher to explain why i hadn't done 
> any
> work for her, she asked me what my creative talents were, as it was 
> obvious
> dancing wasn't one of them.   I asked what she wanted.   She said,
> "Ideally, a book!"   Relieved, I told her that I would deliver one of my 
> books to
> her the next day, right before the deadline.
>
> As I tried to type, i realized that the ghost had taken over the keys of 
> my
> Olympia typewriter, and I had to struggle to keep her from adding her own
> stuff.   I said sternly, "No!   I'm not finished!   I have to present this 
> to
> my teacher!"   The ghost had put a line of capital X'es on the page, and I
> had to start over.
>
> I had originally written something bland following an outline.   I 
> realized
> I hadn't fulfilled the assignment, so I started handwriting it in the
> parking lot of the library, then decided to type it.
>
> The book for English was due Monday.   The teacher said she'd gotten stuff
> from others, "And then there's you, Loraine!"
>
> the idea of handing over one of my books filled me with relief.   When she
> told me that's what she wanted, and asked if I could come up with it, I
> said, "Of course.   I'm a writer!"
>
> So what about Boyd street?   I visited it (that is, I started typing it) 
> in
> the middle of the page for English, and saw a body in the doorway to a
> store.   Saw some people, men in their twenties, fighting.   That's when 
> David
> woke me.   I kept my eyes closed a few minutes more, and felt my fingers
> moving on the typewriter keys.
>
> Hmm.   Interesting dream!   The Boyd street part reminds me of a book I
> started reading called "Manhattan love song," written in the 40s, in a 
> genre
> called "Noir."   (N o i r--black)   I had to stop reading it.   Too dense.
> Too dark.
>
> The dream probably refers to my coming surgery (Boyd/Body), and what is in
> store.   I truly wish it weren't necessary.   One of my cousins is trying 
> to
> get me to get a second opinion.   I have.   The operation isn't a terrible
> one, but it's general anesthesia, and I'm a bit nervous about it. 
> (Thursday)
> Lori
>
> In a message dated 1/19/10 7:55:58 PM, n6yr at sunflower.com writes:
>
>
>>
>> maybe you, Lori, need to figure how to get the freedom of sleep when
>> you are awake to write poetry?
>> jc
>>
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