The International Writers Magazine: Dreamscapes: When night
At night, when
suburbia is almost still, violence is the theme, and street lamps
gold. Mars orange. Venus Blue. Its easy to believe verbal, sexual,
and child abuse in these homes, like rough bricks beneath rendered walls.
As seen on the daytime talk shows. And I am not sure if I am walking
an imagined world or if the world has imagined that I am walking.
Breath huffs like an explosion of chalk dust before my face in this
Disney-coloured night an apparition of the life inside me. As
each cloud of life appears, the past is seen. As each trace of warmth
cleanses, the present is felt. And with the death of every ember the
future disappears. What was, what is, and what will, in a single breath.
Makes no difference who you are
newly weds defactos divorcees partners
lovers housemates drunks sharers carers widowers thieves cancerpatients
potdealers realestateagents Pplaters videorenters banktellers
paraplegics businessowners musicians labourers teachers paedophiles
recluses filmmakers dogowners starwarscollectors strippers kitefliers
Eheads photographers murderers landscapers busdrivers hairstylists rapists
painters zoologists politicians butchers pornographers claustrophobics
rockclimbers jewellers priests diabetics psychics electricians asthmasufferers
couriers chefs lotterywinners receptionists lawyers salesreps glaucomasufferers
your dreams come true.
At night when the world is almost silent, violence is the script, and
fluorescent street lamps buzz and hum. Electric distortionStatic
feedbackSubsonic drones. Emotions crawl out of cracks in the foundation,
childish whimpers, adult silences, and teenage groans. As seen on TV
movies. Harmonising with rattlesnake spray-paint-cans that hiss graffiti
venom. And I am not sure if I am walking a subconscious world, or subconsciously
is the setting when the world is almost asleep. It accompanies engine
roars, and screams from tyre-raped manicured lawns. It carries the
percussion solo of telephone booths that are smashed, fixed, shattered,
repaired, vandalised, and replaced like a jazz improv on a stage
lit by Hendrixs burning strat.
haze all in my brain
retirementvillages townhouses flats units
fastfooddrivethroughs cafes takeaways restaurants libraries hospitals
churches pubs nightclubs sportscentres shoppingcentres childcarecentres
gardencentres medicalcentres cinemas bottleshops homes driveways publictoilets
phonebooths delicatessens subways airports carparks beaches riverbanks
workplaces universities schools hotels petrolstations policestations
busstations railwaystations juvenilecourts basketballcourts tenniscourts
things, they dont seem the same.
Destruction echoes resentment. As seen on the nightly news. And I cant
be certain if the hatred sensed is all around, or if all around senses
the hatred in me.
© Roger Duncan March 2004
all rights reserved