01 June 2010
(I have always believed that when in a writing rut you should just read some stuff and then write poetry, it wouldn't matter if it's any good, just get to writing. Once you have written one the rut will lift. My apologies to Neil Gaiman and the poem inside the story "Goldfish Pool and Other Stories".)
I am thinking of the city at night,
A theatre of no spectacle,
Shoved by the concrete lights
Seeing angels fearing flight,
Dreams of me, an imbecile,
I dream of the city tonight.
A sphere, an orb, a silver kite
In the hazy eyes of myself
I dream of the city at night.
2 things said:
*____* *just woke up (literally)*
I just dreamt that a featherless duck died after I shove it away from me. Strangely, it was flying and "perched" on my arms but I pushed it away. It plunged on the concrete cement &... wait... I realized how private dreams could be, if it's indeed the windows to the unconscious. *cringes*
Ang ganda naman managinip ni Neil Gaiman (tula mo ba 'to o tula sa sulat ni Gaiman?) Do'n niya siguro nakuha mga sinulat niya. hehe...
hinde, uh, may tula s'ya na sa loob ng isang fiction piece, walang title pero tungkol sa "I dream of England in the Rain" tapos naisip kong isulat to, one of my more common recurring dreams, the city at night.
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