Waking Finnegan

“We are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our whole life is rounded with a sleep” ~ Shakespeare

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Location: zurich, Switzerland

Thursday, February 24, 2005

Hyperion Dream


Somehow I've got a 'daughter' who's sitting yoga watching tv---we're in some tragicpoor flophouse where others are living in rooms down a long darkwood hallway corridor--spectral tv lights flickering and stammering in unison---I know they're all on the same program because of the stereoscopic din. Something tells me she's 'mine', but her looks---I can barely accept her 'syndromed' appearance with the unfocused and too-closely set eyes---Kreist why me? And this tragic end-of-nowhere halfway house and now what am I going to do? Fleeting thoughts of running but I know this little girl needs me; I'm her 'daddy'. She looks up at me and smiles with Appalachian banjo player's teeth and I'm heartsickened and thinking of various methods of escape but my mind is reeling; I know in my bones that I'm now here, with her, in this place, forever.

But now I'm away from that place. It's raining now. Walking umbrella-less and the droplets are really pelting me good. I'm mouthing a ditty out loud: 'This sort of rain is not good for the brain, especially in Spain'. I'm in a going nowhere pedestrian stride with this mantra looping. Now the sky cracks suddenly and I'm walking down Hyperion to King Jr. High looking at the myriad cracks in the sidewalk with the lichen, moss and dampness. This can't be L.A. because the gigantic viridian dark conifers with their sun-streaking light in the gaps shouldn't be lining Hyperion like some Yukon lumberjack town maybe even somewhere in the Alaskan tundra. This sudden break in the sky doesn't last but for a moment---and then even heavier foreboding and it's getting colder; light getting sucked up again with the trees quivering in anticipation of some horrific maelstrom---I know I've got to get inside quickly now, and so I duck into a small door-open tree-tucked house right across from where I'm standing---but when enter, the stairs don't make any sense; they don't follow the exterior appearance of things. I walk down and there's another second entry and it is massive---like a vaguely familiar decaying Bel Epoque port-town hotel lobby I once stood in somewhere (France?)---I descend the stairs and my son is there waiting for me. He asks me about that 'sister' and why did I go and have her when everything was just fine and he begins to weep with a terrible sadness and my guilt is finalized. I tell him 'This sort of rain is not good for the brain...'

2 Comments:

Anonymous Dr. Pants said...

As a dream or as in real life, having children is a monumental undertaking. It is life changing. Most, including me, just don't get it until after the fact.

I was sitting with Deb, late last night, talking about it. It all started with a quick question I asked. "How long have you stayed up, without sleep, without the assistance of drugs?" The converstaion just eveolved from there. Every story led to another and another. What I came to realize, while hashing out old stories of my past, is that I have had quite a life and that this is the right time for children.

I say this as Natalie brings a smile to my face, doing her "conceptual dance" for me

3:37 PM  
Blogger finnegan said...

Oh yessirree it most certainly is, Dr. Pants. Your life as you maybe thought you'd known it is history. Storytelling switches from the ribald to Dr.Seuss.

But! As with everything, there is change, and 'birth' can also mean 'rebirth'.

Congrats on your little conceptual child! What changes most is the little everyday things. Having them get through mumps, measles, chicken pox and sundry diaper infestations in one piece is cause for carnaval-like celebration.

4:11 PM  

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