ThorbArt Presents

    In the time of now   
south garden
we all think to be ourselve
            then like all the ones before
    for sure a thought 
awakens new dreams of hope
    or        not like a rope dangling    
        off the limb of an old oak
    fate finds fear in the heart
like rot or a fungus can start
   if weakness prevails.

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fire gnome


Thinking hard ; June 21/94
Short of sleep or is that not quite free of sleep
The beep just went oníníon and well I almost broke that stupid radio causeíah some creep makeín em grate, like a deer fly when your hands are full, an well you know from personal, eh?. This morning stuff can be such a test. What was that vision in the night? It woke me earlier. Going back to sleep let it slip from sight, as so often the forgotten memories of genius flicker through banal everyday drudgeries that just canít be left, without great pain and inconvenience. Patience and faith are the only console in these situations. It either isnít that important or someone else has it covered. Generally speaking, we as a species ignore most of the inspirations and forewarnings we get, allowing the best and worst / angels and devils / good and evil to pass unnoticed (everyday, in the same old way). The few who donít become seers, saints, dreamers and tainted artists with no hope of functioning directly within the norm of society. Oh yea, some become great historically ( inventors etc... ) yet rarely are seen as anything but weird in their own home towns ( An irony ; childhood memory shaping the world of today. ) .
Dreamers and the like, thatís what we are. Searching shallow memories for a ride in the car. Hoping for lux. and accepting club, but wait, oh wait, even thatís above this dream. It seems that coach didnít hit the spot and now its well; what have we got? Less than clear thoughts and not a lot of accomplishment or as they say as they look this way, it seems like wasted time. Fortunately I do recover, with just a little rhyme. Beats all that wining I hear from them. Amuses my friends and self, keeping this old brain from collecting too much dust by sitting on a shelf. (Yet this writing may do just that, but not until it is first printed out of this hard disk.)
I seem to recall some sensuous feeling and the touch of skin. The desire of a lover and wondering where to begin. Atmospheric changes and doubts inside lights, leaving the rearrange off all control of sights. Dead give away or just dead, its not so clear now as pressure rises in bed. The blankets feel wet, cold, tight and intense, while thoughts flicker past the past dream events. A card on that table in a place like a stable, where cute mice are tolerated / hated scorned and eaten by rats. Oh my, isnít that a new kind of knat. No, wait, now its a hat, on the head of a friend, so unrecognizable yet obviously there for the feelingís so strong and the presence feels; ďI careĒ. Whoís this lady (?) who now is a man, when touched intimately; melts in the hands? What present and/or message appears at the feet of a struggling soldier in the war of sleep ?

All so clear when the dawn just arrives and then a quick retrospective of ... :
The struggling soldier

In a war of nerves, like when blue birds sing back-up on a rock album and the preacher says its Satanic in nature but the birds did it for charity, so all the lonely people will feel alittle better when they hear it on the radio, eh?. Like so nobody really speaks that way anyway, eh? Nída guy over there was nuttin in the scope of it all, yet we can still hope to change face before the lights come on and the show is finally over.

In another time this would only serve to confuse the audience but now it seems necessary to hold their interest. Clearly dissipating as the sleep passes into day and work obligations attack the conscious side of life, the dream that once felt so clear, is now only mist, on a moonlit night.

Shards of scattered hopes and fears abound in the realm of night visions. She was from my past and future all together with a now that isnít quite discernible. The person I thought I knew wasnít at all this aggressive sexually and yet, maybe I really didnít know her at all. A touch of the lips on the lips and the caress of soft demanding finger tips on the tips. So sensual in a dreamy fashion. So lost in irrational pleasures of the heart and fleshy mind, that I find myself hoping that its real and then reeling in the joys of hopefull feelings that really are as far or further than temporal reality on any other day. Hey! What can I say? Its a dream of a dream girl and all those dreamy things we could have spent our lives doing together. Well, at least it was a moment of foreplay that released forgotten desires for a friend wanna be lover and the hopes of rising higher in love. Yea, right, and it has nothing to do with not having enough real life sex eh? Or maybe its a true psychic link and you should contact her to see if she experienced a sexy dream involving you. Nudge nudge, wink,

like you think its worth the risk to your conscious life relationships and
you think your pride can handle this rejection slip. (Well!)

When the hammer of reality strikes the anvil of your mind,
I hope you find,
peace in where you are,
not dreams of dream girls of afar,
though those memories do last, their place is in the past.

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