Posts tagged my work

In my dream there is a torrent.

Walking home, talking with you, and we look at the sky.  Hadn’t it been blue a moment ago?  Look at that, I say.  Look at that cloud.  It looks like an explosion.  It looks like the apocalypse.  The sky is falling.

I rush home alone, but you follow close behind.  You worry.  Somehow the house is full of sunlight; every wall glaring and white, the pale floors shining.  There is not a single right angle in this place, is there?   Even the peak where the skylight looms is like a rhomboid temple, rising up in triangles, leaning sideways and skyward.  No furniture in this place, only walls and floors and ceilings and voids that face up like open palms.  The windows are banging back and forth, every joist creaking under the strain of howling wind.  Black water rushes in.  Wave after wave after wave.

The skylight has caved in.  The ceiling is a waterfall.  The flood rushes down down down and smashes through the floor, beyond the floor, leaving cracked boards and splintered seams, waterfalling ceaselessly into a shadowy pit.  

The rest of the house looks good, I say.  The sun is still shining in here.  Nothing to worry about.

But that water keeps rushing and rushing and rushing.  You can barely hear me over the roar.  Smiling and avoiding you, I stand there looking at the ceiling, appraising the damage as if I can fix it with glue, while you hold your chin in your hand and stare silently at the floor.