Date sent:      	Fri, 21 Apr 2000 08:12:04 -0700 (PDT)
From:           	Philip Kendrick <phkendrick at yahoo.com>
Subject:        	Dreams and vampires
To:             	johnny at charm.net
Send reply to:  	johnny at charm.net





Mr Barger relates a dream:

> ...
> Then 
> a dark shape swooped down from the Bell Tower and I
> was enveloped by a black 
> cape just before Mr. Darkey's fangs sank into my
> head.  I awoke screaming.

But Mr. Barger, inquiring minds want to know: did you
awake with two small holes in your neck?  Or atop your
skull?

Perhaps the very same night that Mr. Barger was
haunted by vampires, I had a dream of my own.

I was stranded on an island, standing on the beach
looking across the ocean.  Waves lapped the shore. 
Then, from far away, from the edge of the horizon, I
heard a singing, an alluring song in some now
forgotten language.  Peering to the west (my back to
the rising sun) I could make out Ms. Buchenauer on an
island far across the ocean.  She was waving me
towards her, her hair blowing in the wind, her voice
singing to me in what I now recognized as ancient
Greek.
"Alack," I thought to myself, "I should have studied
my declensions more.  I can't figure out what she's
saying."  Still, she waved me towards her and
hesitantly I stepped off the beach and onto the water.
 Surprisingly I was able to walk atop the waves -- the
water played lightly against the soles of my feet. 
With joy in my heart I stepped boldly forward, towards
the far off image of Ms. Buch.  As I walked towards
her, and soon as I began to run, her image grew no
closer, but continued to encourage me on.

Suddenly, hands lept up from beneath the surface of
the water -- the hands of humorless scientists and
mathematicians, Descartes and Newton and  Galileo. 
They grabbed my ankles and pulled me down.  No longer
was I able to walk atop the water, now I began to sink
and drown.  The mathematicians continued to pull me
under, and the last image I remember is the face of
T.S. Eliot spread across the sky disappointed and
frowning.


On another note, Mr. Barger's dream reminded me that I
have often regarded grand philosophical systems as
very similar to vampires.  Should you believe in one,
you can't see it when you look in the mirror.  When
threatened, they change shape and fly away.  If you
think you've killed one, it only returns a century
later in different clothing.  It can't enter your
house without your permission.  And when exposed to
the bright light of scrutiny they all turn to ash.

Well, to end on a more positive note, I've written a
short poem inspired by Mr. Barger's dream:

The smell of brains is only a sign,
A portent of blood, warm beneath the skin.
Our thoughts that haunt our minds,
Only signify what already lies within.

The heart is the seat of truth,
Hence the philosopher's sharpened tooth.

-Ph. Kendrick

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