From Diane Setterfield's The Thirteenth Tale

People disappear when they die. Their voices, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living mempry of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continut to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humour, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.

--Diane Setterfield



Monday, December 19, 2011

Dreams

It stinks when you have some dreams that are so realistic you can't tell if you were actually eating with some lady who had a son who ate everything on his plate, whatever it was, without a fuss.
I think the main reason I think this was a dream is:
1) I have not been out to eat with people I know in way too long. Not to mention out to eat with people I don't know.
2) I never did figure out HOW she got her toddler to do it. I suspect from the look she gave him as she told me how he was so obliging may explain something. It said 'You will eat that food and like it or you will get NO food'.
Hmm.  I wonder if dream logic works in the waking world. I wonder if I consider it child abuse / mistreatment to give it a try.

Posted by at

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)