Dreamers. We, the unlucky few.

"Writing is a death most unfair. With each word we die, just so the next word may simply be. There is no magic to this, no muse from on high, sent from gods or spirits alike, to bless you with gifts solely yours. Men are fools to think them selves so special. We are writers, by unrelenting urge we undo ourselves. Death by joyous suicide, for the only thing worst then the bleed of word to parchment, is the agony of it's absence! We are dreamers; the damned, the unlucky few!" - Louis Lambert

[unluckyfew]

Dreamers of Dreams. . .

So the Lucid Dream from this morning, is still messing around with my head. I held tight to something as it struggled to escape. A something I both wanted and yet feared, and knew that letting go would cause me great pain. As something else, equally desired and feared, playfully waited for my attention, and perhaps my affection. I just can’t figure out what the two something’s were? Ooh, perhaps one is the life I have lived, and the other the life I have decided to start today?! Strange omens, equal strange times! Wish me luck! The Dream:

I woke from my sleep, eyes closed, unable to move. Then there was a feeling of something resting on my chest, which I held in both hands. I'm not sure if my grip tightened because it then tried to get away, or tried to get away because I tightened my grip. I think the difference of the two VERY important, but I can't be sure. Eyes still closed, through foggy vision I felt a squirrel gripped between my hands, but when it began to struggle, it was now a rat? It fought and fought, and though I wanted rid of it, I held tight, having the sense that it would attack me if I did. Then suddenly it began to relax, calming in my grip, and became docile. As it did, I noticed another squirrel. . . or perhaps a rat; I think it's image shifted. But it simply sat upon my chest next to my hands still holding, looking, wanting, and seemed a friend eager for attention. And then I woke, and not very gracefully.

[unluckyfew]

There are no heavens above me; Gods pure, or Devils below. No my sweet, they now all stir within you, forsaking the world for a place merely close. And my do I envy their distance, as I stand low, skies away.

Louis Lambert

[unluckyfew]

The Whirlwind that is Inspiration. . .

Only moments ago I stumbled upon the Huntington Post article, 21 Amazing Last Lines From Literature That Will Make You Want To Read The Whole Book.  And it was near the end that I found this gem!

  “And she comes to you, and she does not speak, and the others do not notice her, and she takes your hand, and you ready yourself to die, eyes open, aware this is all an illusion, a last aroma cast up by the chemical stew that is your brain, which will soon cease to function, and there will be nothing, and you are ready, ready to die well, ready to die like a man, like a woman, like a human, for despite all else you have loved, you have loved your father and your mother and your brother and your sister and your son and yes, your ex-wife, and you have loved the pretty girl, you have been beyond yourself, and so you have courage, and you have dignity, and you have calmness in the face of terror, and awe, and the pretty girl holds your hand, and you contain her, and this book, and me writing it, and I too contain you, who may not yet even be born, you inside me inside you, though not in a creepy way, and so may you, may I, may we, so may we all of us confront the end.”

From How To Get Filthy Rich In Rising Asia by Mohsin Hami.

  And the rambling lines of Mohsin, inspired this. An absolutely random train of sentences, which… shockingly, felt just like falling in love. Words right?! Maybe I’ll end a book with them!

“Eyes clinched; fist, toes, lips, tongue, all the same, and the shared awkward breath keeps them locked and fearful. The moment when a kiss is more than kiss; an escape. From life, worry, villain or strife you know not, but sure you are; it, or perhaps the riddle of what it was, the unknown no longer haunts. Our eyes shy open, scared we each are singular in it’s observation, but no. There in the deep pools of madness, two marbles of clearest warmth, I am found.”

From a ramble, titled ‘Beyond Yourself…’, by Louis Lambert, inspired by the last lines of Mohsin Hamid’s book, How To Get Filthy Rich In Rising Asia.

They say, “First learn the rules, then break them,” but I am man of little patience ! Yes ‘shy,' should be 'shied,’ even in present tense, but I find 'shy’ without the draping of the 'ied,’ far more erotic and sensual! Haha I made my self laugh!

[unluckyfew]

Words By Which I live. . .

"Call nothing thy own except thy soul. Love not what thou art, but only what thou may become. Do not pursue pleasure, for thou may have the misfortune to overtake it. Look always forward; in last year’s nest there are no birds this year. Be just to all men. Be courteous to all women. Live in the vision of that one for whom great deeds are done … she that is called Dulcinea." - Don Quixote, Man of La Mancha

[unluckyfew]

With eyes of whisper, dauntingly heavy, they speak all. . .

Far to grand to be simply brown, such labels I felt robbed them of their obvious grace. No they were hazel. A ring of honey amber around dark irises, rimmed with storm greys and sea greens. Never had I seen eyes so defiantly saying what was surely meant for secret. Demanding and fearless, with a stare that said all that you could ever hope to want to hear, and far more than your heart could ever hope to bear. The kind of eyes, cowards like I fear. My, but they were pretty. - Louis Lambert

[unluckyfew]

A shy truth. . .

"You'd understand if you read it again," she pleaded. "I only know because I've read it a thousand times," she admitted. It was a precious secret, and said so surely it caused his own cheeks to warm and redden. It sounded a shy thing meant for keeping, a thing of shy embarrassment he thought, and from the light in her eye he knew it so. But it was the proud smile beneath, so soft and sly a thing, and yet the single most unyielding object he had ever seen. Though the red bloomed true in her own cheeks now, eyes unsure, her small stubborn smile, anchored her beauty with the unexpected pride she found in the simple embarrassing slip of her tongue; and he loved her ever more for it. - Louis Lambert, October 13, 2013

- The cutest, most lovable thing I have ever seen, and as a writer, I abandoned all moments that followed, to do my best and pin the beautiful singular moment to paper. . . Why? So I could relive it. It's a writer's thing!

On a side note, I know Leonardo's Mona Lisa is known more for the elegance of her smile then Vermeer's, The Girl with a Pearl Earring, but I must say, I find the later a far better smile. Perhaps it is simply the wasting youth, still clinging to my undeserving frame, but her smile, unlike Mona's, open and expecting, seemingly quicker to moan, than utter a rational word, truly strikes at my Artisan's lusty core!

[unluckyfew]

“From my love I spread thin, I pray to Calliope hold. Bless my soul and words alike, though timid things, free me. If fitting, cleanse my eyes of shadow and weep upon my lips an affinity, for the truth I seek whole.”

Invocation of the Muse Calliope, Louis Lambert