Salvador Dali's Narcissus

This painting represents my newest exploration of the tempest: Narcissus--the deceived man who is in love with the image. In the masque of the Tempest what we see is man magically lead-on by his love of the image. Miranda and Caliban are perhaps the most persuaded by such "divine images." Dali's painting "The Metamorphosis of Narcissus" shows the landscape of wasteland and water on one side and the landscape of the flower-narcissus' dead body, the chess board (the play within the play-Tempest) and the drama of human actions(naked bodies dancing in the background). I think he has The Tempest down pretty well. Or, then again, maybe this class has ruined me and I am gyreing/spiraling into insanity....

Is this a man?

One of the fascinating parts of Hillman’s analysis of Freud, is the exploration of how personal agency is taken away from the patient, and given over to the interpreter—the narrator of the greater plot. “We do not enter into the inside of the case as we do in a novel, sympathizing with Dora, but remain outside, laying bare tissues, analyzing with Freud” (7). According to Hillman, Freud engineers a new genre, describing the literary in terms of the scientific.

Hillman says that the cure of the patient has very little to do with their own courage and personhood. The plot line which, in Freud’s case is always concerned with identification and cure, is governed by “psychodynamics” (8). If the therapist/literary interpreter can link the anxiety to an aspect of the greater Oedipus complex, the psychotherapist has conquers over the patient’s problem. The romance/comedy is then complete.

Freud’s plot is termed “elegant” by Hillman. It’s odd…I have heard of “string theory” or the Big Bang described in the same terms, referring to an elegant universe. Here we have an elegant psyche. For Freud, the “lifting of repression through prolonged recognition (in therapy) was the end all. Neurosis is identifiable and curable. In a sense this can be understood as the antithesis of the romantics (Rousseau’s) conception that each individual has a completely free and open consciousness at Birth—individual’s stories and plots are therefore, their own. In Freud’s universe, and especially in the case studies, everybody is inevitably affected by the same pathological curse (Hillman shows that the mythic and scientific diagnosis is synonymous pg. 11). Hillman exposes the Freudian fantasy as conforming to the mythic level: “plots are myths.” We should understand the meta-plot of all Freudian analysis to be connected to the mythic. Jung is a smidge better because his archetypes are variegated and involved in a forwards and backwards process of individuation.

Interesting Parallel: Christianisms projection of its own hellish image onto hell, forms an interesting parallel with Freudianism, if “Civilization and its Discontents” is merely, as Hillman writes, “A diagnosis is indeed a gnosis: a mode of self-knowledge that creates a cosmos in its own image” (15). It is almost absurdly strange that a Christian and a Freudian world view are condemned by Hillman on the same basis. Jungian and Freudian psych. are both criticized on the basis of their reductivism; turning images into psychological abstractions and processes. I think the main reason that Jesus, Jung and Freud are somewhat lumped together is that they form a direct transference and parallel between the underworld and the world of sleep, and the world of interpretation. Hillman critiques his colleague’s POV, stating, “these one to one parallels should not be forced: polytheistic psychology cannot speak straight on, one to one” (23). Can polythiestic psych be critiqued on the same basis as Freud—creating its own fantasy of how the soul is constructed?

Hillman goes one step farther than Freud in his “discontents”: not only is the conscious mind NOT the basis for human motivations and understanding, the subconscious CANNOT be translated vis-à-vis rationalism: Hillman proposes that reflection and the response of images is the proper hermeneutic, Hermes the proper god, but Hermes reflects a plethora of images/gods (30). The work of interpretation is to reflect the dream image and keep it ingesting in the bowels of the underworld...ha ha ha.

Felix Culpa; and Hillmanian Soul-Making

Milton's Paridise Lost may be the paradigmatic exposition of felix culpa. After being cast out of Eden an angel announces that the banished couple may find: "A paradise within thee, happier far." This work brings up the question of genre in a poignant way. In the Romantic era, critics saw Satan as a heroic figure within the piece--even so much that Blake wrote that "Milton was a true poet and part of the Devil's party without knowing it" (Wiki).
Par. Lost may have been classified by Frye as being High Mimetic and a classic form of Tradgedy (Man--the protagonist seperated from Eden, the ideal society). However, Satan, as the anti-hero is seperated from the celestial kingdom--a higher realm--only to fight back with great vivacity. The high mimetic can be seen in Adam's Felix Culpa as ultimately comic; Frye terms this Apollonian; The deeper tradgedy of Satan, on the Mythic level, is termed Dionysiac.
Milton's Satan is in the catagory of the demonic, but is given the oratory skills of the heroic. Ultimately, the opsis of his apocalyptic battle is heroic. Dante's Satan is much more in the realm of Hillman's Underworld, where blackness, diarrhea, mastication, reversal and bodily perversion reign. The opsis is much richer and blacker.

Although reading Hillman sometimes worries me, I enjoy his perspective: that the soul is enriched by the world of dreams and darkness. The concept of felix culpa would be one that he is inherently uncomfortable with---perhaps his response would be: "What fall; our perceptual problem is in the belief of the necessary rise." This corresponds with a quote I found of his on the false perception of death--the belief that death is something to be physically overcome (Christianism and Materialism)
“Our emphasis upon physical death corresponds with our emphasis on the physical body, not the subtle one; on on physical life, not psychic life; on the literal and not the metaphorical. /For us pollution and decomposition and cancer have become physical only….The death we speak of in our culture is a fantasy of the ego, and we take our dreams in this same manner” (64).

What is the Fantasy? Is it Hillman's Dream world, where there can truly be no tragedy, or is it the assumption of the necessity of rising, back into the world of comedy? What is the impetus of soul making? (A term often utilized for human suffering as necessity--for building the moral depth of the soul--a defense for theodicy)

Trees and the Tempest

In my exploration of the puer, I have found that Adonis and Pinochio have their origins within trees. In Shakespeare's The Tempest, we learn that Ariel is taken from a tree; Prospero saves this spirit from being imprisoned there by Sycorax. The relation of trees to these primal spirits cannot be underestimated. Hamadryad nymphs might be described as a genus of nymph s who are “coeval" with their trees. Two mythic stories surrounding these nymphs are:
-The story of Rhoikos who saw an oak was about to fall. He propped up the tree. The Tree's Nymph asked him for one wish to thank him. He asks for sex and the Nymph replied that a bee would announce the time of their meeting (Oxford...74) A similar myth exists about Arkas, father of the Arkadians and his eventual marriage to the nymph Chrysopeleia.
-Ovid’s version of the Erysichthon myth, dryads are dancing around a mighty Oak, belonging to Ceres. When Erysichthon cuts into the “oak of Deo” blood flows from in and the nymph within the tree cries out a prophetic curse as she dies. Ceres sends his nymphs to find Fames. “The hideous hag Fames attacks Erysichthon who uses up his money, sells his daughter and finally consumes his own flesh" (76). Melanie would be interested in this enactment of Sparagmos. The Erysichthon myth is also an interesting parallel to the lenten season of emptying; it carries the ritualistic consuming of flesh, crying out in death, the bleeding tree, and the celebratory carnival preceeding the tragedy.
Nymphs are characters who refuse to leave our world. They occupy the psychic realm of the id, and challenge the design of the masterful senex (Prospero)--whose projection of the dramatic action in The Tempest is nothing less than extraordinary.

What dreams may come

"Our revels are now ended. These our actors (As I fortold you) were all spirits, and are melted into air, into thin air, And like the baseless fabric of this vision / And like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep. " -The Tempest VI.i.148 -158

Dreams, once inhabited, can lead down the siren-caressing corridors of self-deception. This is a vision impaired but unaware of its own ellusion from the facts. Shakespeare, W.H. Auden and T.S. Elioit, were artistically aware of this psychological process; they emphatically “fleshed out” this fallacy in their literary works. The Tempest, The Sea and the Mirror, and The Wasteland, all attempt to define the difference between illusion and reality. Shakespeare’s The Tempest explores this perceptual problem in the context of the theatre and a mystical island. The diametric “real” opposites are the audience and the city of Milan.

MY DREAM: Ariel was not present, but there was an ethereal quality to my last dream where I was in Las Vegas with my family, we robbed a bank, we were trying to escape in the getaway car...and then I was killed by a girl with a gun. This is Ocean's 11 gone wrong.

Musings on Nod

The poem below should remind us of several things.

Firstly, there is a danger of accepting fantasy as reality. W.H. Auden, in his poem "The Sea and the Mirror" examines the role of Ariel and Prospero in Shakespeare's "The Tempest." Auden's major premise in this poem is that Art/Magic are used to draw us away from our true selves(realistic--not fantastic). Caliban shows the more "human" side among the different characters on the island. According to Auden, though, we are tempted to be drawn into believing that we can waltz along to the urgings of magic (perhaps the ultimate example of "id"). Auden's "Mirror" allows the audience to see themselves in full view: the Emporer without clothes, and if it were applied to this poem, perhaps just the sleepy lids of a child. Auden's poem is only applied, facetiously to Winkin, Blinkin and Nod--- the danger of being lost in the dream world, though, is possible....If as Auden says, "Art opens the fishiest eye," it is fishy because it can be all-consuming. The puer aeternus, may become the dream world which allows the ends to justify the means. Lest we forget: Totalitarianism is always instigated by a dream.

Secondly, (contrary to my first ludicrous exposition), the thing we should remember is related to the recent rave review by Arianna on Pan's Labyrinth. According to A's Blog we know spirals are chaotic yet ordered, associated with mirrors, reflection and an opening of consciousness. The world of winkin, Blinkin and Nod, is set in the unconscious dream world. The three wanted to fish for herring (stars). But the three sailors were actually only one "wee one." Their world is a labyrinth back out of the unconscious world....

I loved Pan's Labyrinth --not merely for the heap of flesh waiting to gorge a child, or the Toad who puked out its own guts--or the heinous eye stabbing. In this film it seemed that everything that was most real (the child-mandrake who was killed in the fire, and the ruthless Corperal) seemed to fade away into this world of magic. The world of the faun and the God of the underworld were a delightful foil to the cold rationalism, dogmatism and violence of the upperworld. It was as if the Faun was saying, over and over again, "But that is not what is REALLY going on..." Fascist, factioned Italia was consumed in a battle which had very little eternal significance--although, its consuming claim to what was real almost stole away the Princess from her father the king. And through her own human flaw, the hunger for the grape, she allowed her desire to shadow and forget the mythic significance of her return, downward.

Pan's Labyrinth reveals the world of guns to be a dream, a pithy falsehood; Blinkin and Nod are revealed as the dreamy sea and flying shoe become nothing but a trundle bed--the unconscious world is a puer's fantasy. Each is a spiral and a mirror, playing and revealing the other world--an opening of consciousness--and a journey upward or downwards to what is real.
Which falsehood would you choose?

A Nascent Poem

Winkin', Blinkin', and Nod, one night sailed off in a wooden shoe;
Sailed off on a river of crystal light into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going and what do you wish?" the old moon asked the> three.
"We've come to fish for the herring fish that live in this beautiful> sea.> Nets of silver and gold have we," said Winkin', Blinkin', and Nod.
The old moon laughed and sang a song as they rocked in the wooden> shoe.> And the wind that sped them all night long ruffled the waves of dew.
Now the little stars are the herring fish that live in that beautiful> sea;
"Cast your nets wherever you wish never afraid are we!" So cried the stars to the fishermen three - Winkin', and Blinkin', and Nod.>
So all night long their nets they threw to the stars in the twinkling> foam.> 'Til down from the skies came the wooden shoe bringing the fisherman> home.
'Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed as if it could not be. > Winkin', Blinkin', and Nod> > Winkin', Blinkin', and Nod, one night sailed off in a wooden shoe;> Sailed off on a river of crystal light into a sea of dew.> "Where are you going and what do you wish?" the old moon asked the> three.> "We've come to fish for the herring fish that live in this beautiful> sea.> Nets of silver and gold have we," said Winkin', Blinkin', and Nod. > The old moon laughed and sang a song as they rocked in the wooden> shoe.> And the wind that sped them all night long ruffled the waves of dew.> Now the little stars are the herring fish that live in that beautiful> sea;> "Cast your nets wherever you wish never afraid are we!"> So cried the stars to the fishermen three - Winkin', and Blinkin', and> Nod.> So all night long their nets they threw to the stars in the twinkling> foam.> 'Til down from the skies came the wooden shoe bringing the fisherman> home.> 'Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed as if it could not be.> Some folks say 'twas a dream they dreamed of sailing that misty sea.> But I shall name you the fisherman three - Winkin', Blinkin', and Nod.> Now Winkin' and Blinkin' are two little eyes and Nod is a little head.> And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies is a wee one's trundle bed.>
So close your eyes while mother sings of the wonderful sights that be.> And you shall see those beautiful things as you sail on the misty sea,> Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three - Winkin', Blinkin', and> Nod. some folks say 'twas a dream they dreamed of sailing that misty sea.> But I shall name you the fisherman three - Winkin', Blinkin', and Nod.> Now Winkin' and Blinkin' are two little eyes and Nod is a little head.> And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies is a wee one's trundle bed.> So close your eyes while mother sings of the wonderful sights that be.> And you shall see those beautiful things as you sail on the misty sea,> Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three - Winkin', Blinkin', and> Nod.

Nightmares of Realism: "Working through" the dream-like characters of Traumatic Events

I am currently taking an independent study course on Trauma Narratives. I was surprised, not quite delighted, to see Northrop Frye mentioned in LaCapra’s Writing History, Writing Trauma. Personal Narratives, oftentimes out of psychological necessity, adopt a redemptive pattern of telling.

Such narratives “like” to fall into Northrop Fry’s classification of biblical archetype: paradise, the fall, and redemption. Whether you have a humanistic hope in social salvation, or one that works towards metaphysical transcendence, it is clear that this displacement of the biblical has appeal to both the reader and the author. LaCapra critiques Shindler’s list as offering a “Yellow Brick Road” in its ending, offering to redeem what was lost. But what if what is lost, is simply that?

Some critics of Trauma narratives, particularly in Holocaust Studies, say that any notion of redemption, within a “limit excess” situation, is not being true to the experience. Elie Wiesel’s eternal quest of asking “why?” is, to a great extent, in holding on to the dead—bringing them back into the conscious minds of the living. He carries this image of thanatos with him; It is poignantly recorded in Night: “From the depths of the mirror, a corpse gazed back at me. The look in his eyes, as they stared into mine, has never left me” (109).

Some of Wiesel’s works stress “friendship” as the ladder out of the pits of Hades. But it is clear that a part of remembering the dead is keeping this gate or ladder clear for movement. Wiesel cannot simply shut the past behind, nor can he simply and neatly transcend into the “normalized” world we live in. I find it interesting that certain excess social-political situations begin to resemble the dream world when they are examined closely enough. This happens through obtaining the primary characteristics evident in dreams: appearances of the absurd, the nightmarish amoral, and the microcosm world which shuts in around itself—becoming a place almost outside of time, in a self-sealed vacuum. I’m not sure how much the psychological process of the victim has to do with archetypes, other than the mentioned; it is certain that psychic repetition can take place in healthy or less healthy modes.
These are patterns which, because they are so personal, are more difficult to say that they are simply displaced from somewhere else. Personal regression into the world of the dead can be a horrifying journey and confrontation. But that is part of the soul of the living, and survival and integration may require this descent. In some cases, working through the buried memories and placing them accurately in the past, present and future can give a victim a better understanding of the affectedness of these categories on each other. Should the past be “resurrected” in these real life dreams? Or is silence the most appropriate recollection?

Pan's shadow

The Jungian archetype of Puer Aeternus (eternal boy) is a romantic hero. Northrop Frye has designated the phases of Romance: 1) 'the myth of the birth of the hero 2) the innocent youth of the hero 3) 'the normal quest theme 4) 'the maintaining of the integrity of the innocent world against the assault of experience 5) 'a reflective, idyllic view of experience from above and 6) the end of a movement from active to contemplative adventure (198-202). These are clearly portrayed in Pan’s story—perhaps the most emphatic is the maintaining of the innocent world vs. the world of experience. The quest is really embedded in this theme—not so much that the other world needs saving.
As an “Underground Man,” a boy pretending to be an adult, and one who has been long-weary of Realism…I have to confess something: I love Peter Pan. Disney’s “Peter Pan,” “Hook,” and the recent film “Finding Neverland” each explore a facet of romantic youthfulness. Frye would place the story of Pan in the second phase of Comedy—the quixotic phase. This phase is characterized by the hero who runs away to a congenial society without transforming his own. What I find about this genre of heroes’ journeys is how they fit within the realm of satire. By exposing a new world with an other set of expectations, Pan-figures (the Romantic Child—Southey’s Joan of Arc, Don Quixote, modern day sci-fi time travelers, Gulliver, and Lord Byron’s Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage: the child of imagination). One the most fascinating aspects of “Finding Neverland” is how Johnny Depp’s character is, psychologically and spiritually, in another world (though he is still outwardly in the world of realism). Tinkerbell is present whether his audience acknowledges her or not. The most touching part of this film is the contrast between the “youthful-puer” escape of the author and the death of Kate Winslet’s character. In a sense, she is on the same comic journey of escape—it can hardly be described as a tragedy. I have heard this movie described, in reviews, as being “soft as a baby’s breath.”
According to Wiki, the Senex is the archetypal opposite of the Puer. He is a wise old man for whom the promises of youthful chimera have faded. He offers advice and wisdom—he does not “quest.” Socrates, Tim from Monty Python, and the oracle in “O Brother Where Art Thou” are good examples.

Painting the Archetypal Journey

Thomas Cole, one of my other favorites, was a member of the Hudson River School of painters. His tryptich work: "The Voyage of Life" is divided into the parts, "Childhood," "Youth," and "Old Age." In a Fryian understanding, Youth is full of symbolism of the Romantic phase, Old Age is experential, but highly concerned with the high mimetic (the meta world of the gods), and I am not sure where childhood falls--the coming into being, the product of spring, and a verdant regeneration. Some of the symbols associated with spring are: the city, the tree of life, the Godess. Spring and youth are both shrouded in romance--I think appropriate to "Midsummer Nights Dream," "Finding Neverland" (although this shows a stange mixture of youthfulness and death), and the poetry of the Pastoral type. The above painting is "Voyage of Life: Youth." The crystal palace of "what might be" is the driving ambition of the young hero, just beginning his or her journey.

New Dreams

This dream is already broken; split in fragments and lost in repression. I was entering into a circus type scene--appropriate for Fat Tuesday. This was no ordinary circus because there was food everywhere. A behemoth, steel machine was pumping out noodles. I think it was for spaghetti.... There were buttons and knobs on it and there were several old operators in blue suits. My friend, the Italian named S, was wandering around inside the tent. I didn't seem to have any grand purpose at the circus that day. All that I know is that I was drawn to the center stage. I inched closer into the mad, furreling, sweating crowd--somehow the energy made me nervous. The stage opened up and I saw my friend...I couldn't believe it...Jeremy Tiedman, my basketball buddy, from 6th grade 3 on 3 tournaments, was doing gymnastics. Perhaps it was a strange form of Yoga. He was jumping off of his nose. His feet were warping around his body like a contortianist Somehow, his rubber-like limbs enabled him to literally jump off of his own face. As he bounced, his face was repeatedly smushed into a grotesque mask. This scene repeated like I was stuck in time--the recording somehow slowed down. From behind me, I heard a noise, the roof of the circus rended open to show the sky. It all split in half, exposed and then I woke up. No spaghetti taste in my mouth...nothing but an empty room.

Old Man Winter

What is Winter?

The signs of Winter are more present than ever...Bozeman has received a dumping of snow in the last few days. Although it is not quite to the extent of biblical plague or mythical proportions, it carries symbolic weight. Winter is the season of purgation; the earth is cleansed from all of the refuse of yesteryear and it clears the old evils in preparation for new life. Because Winter is between Autumn (characterized by chaos and mourning for the loss of of verdant life) and Spring (representing regeneration and vitality and original purity--Eden), it seems that it must be a season of profound ambiguity. Everything in the symbolic world is waiting and inbetween. Some authors have made this winter period into the reign of shadowy villians. The White Witch, in Lewis' Narnia, has dominion over this period of time. As long as she holds power, the seasons will not change and moral uncertainty has usurped the natural cycle of regeneration. She is accompanied by wolves--an animal which feeds in a pack, and whose realm is found in the now "evil" forest--evil because it is a state of death. Winter may be an arena which is initially blurry because it is in a state of asleep; However, in a sense, this ambiguity allows it to be tyrranized by the dead--by the world of dreams. In Narnia, this is a world of prolonged nightmare awaiting the waking by a child's turn of a knob, a Lion's blood, and a broken table.

A displaced Fairy Tale

I found this "modernized" script of the "Cinderella Story" on the web. To my shame, this version stars Hillary Duff. It shows an interesting digression from Fairy Tale form towards realism. If the Romantic organizing ideas were, according to Fry, "chastity and magic," then this example of the low mimetic movement shows the ironic dialectic between the worlds of Romance and the world of experience. It is a parody of the aesthetic ideal...but it is content to be in that place. Her kingdom is a farce of the imaginary--a movement between two modes, or worlds. The archetypal identity and symbolism is limited by the vision of reality of the girl from the Valley--prince charming is at In and Out Burger and her nefarious nemisis sounds like it is her waist-line. This story is a 10.

A Cinderella Story Script:

once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom,lived a beautiful little girl...
...and her widowed father. it's beautiful. okay. it wasn't that long ago.
And it wasn't really a faraway kingdom. it was the San Fernando Valley.
it looked faraway... ...because you barely see itthrough the smog. But to me, growing up, the Valley was my kingdom.
i was my dad's best friend. And he was mine. Being raised by a man put me behind inthe makeup and fashion departments. But i never felt like i missed out on anything.
i was the luckiest girl in the world. My dad owned the coolest diner.
i loved hanging out there. Diet was a four-letter word here...

"In our tradition we have a place for verisimilitude, for human experience skillfully and consistently imitated" (An. of Criticism 135). What is this? An imitation of a musician carefully distorted to show what may be there behind the musician...a revealing of his muse, an unshrouding of the true face, and the difficulty of playing a green Violin. Ha.

Mark Chagall's work is saturated with mythic imagery. His Jewish Background, knowledge of Greek culture and his travels (from Belerus, to St. Petersburg, to Paris) all contributed to the rich symbolism he drew on in his work. The Exedus, Diaspora and cultural vibrancy of Jewry is a major theme of his work. The meanings of such stories are deeply imbedded in his impressionistic style. It might be argued that these core stories created the template for all of his art work. The death of his wife, Bella, is the most traumatic and poignant of these "painted and retold" narratives. I was privaledged to see a major showing of his work at the MOMA, in San Fransisco.

Here are some Wikepedia interpretations of his commonly used figures and symbols:
Cow: life par excellence: milk, meat, leather, horn, power.
Tree: another life symbol.
Cock: fertility, often painted together with lovers.
Bosom (often naked): eroticism and fertility of life (Chagall loved and respected women).
Fiddler: in Chagall's village Vitebsk the fiddler made music at crosspoints of life (birth, wedding, death).
Herring (often also painted as a flying fish): commemorates Chagall's father working in a fish factory.
Pendulum Clock: time, and modest life (in the time of prosecution at the Loire River the pendulum seems being driven with force into the wooden box of the pendulum clock).
Candlestick: two candles symbolize the Shabbat or the Menora (candlestick with seven candles) or the Hanukkah-candlestick, and therefore the life of pious Jews (Chassidim).
Windows: Chagall's Love of Freedom, and Paris through the window.
Houses of Vitebsk (often in paintings of his time in Paris): feelings for his homeland.
Scenes of the Circus: Harmony of Man and Animal, which induces Creativity in Man.
Crucifixion of Jesus: This is not, as many believe a symbol of the Holocaust and persecutions of the Jews as this happened years after his time as an artist. He was and is not considered a psychic. Marc Chagall was very sympathetic towards the christian faith and especially Jesus' ideals and sympathy, and expressed this through his paintings.
Horses: Freedom.
The Eiffel Tower: Up in the sky, freedom.

Dream-texts

The recurring Terror:

When I was seven I dreamed that wolves were after me. It happened almost every night in the same monotonous but excrutiating manner. I would be laying in my bed, paralyzed, but with my eyes open. I saw their eyes--luminescent and shining up from the heater vent-shaft at the other end of my room. As they crept out of the heater, their bodies grew in stature and fearsome-ness. They were coming...
The lead wolf made a ritual of this macabre, nightly feasting. He lead the way and the others crept right behind him--just soft enough so my parents could not hear...just loud enough to echo my heartbeat. The three climbed my second story bunk bed. The lead wolf opened his mouth wide. I was being swallowed, cranium first. Then I woke up.

Recent Dreams:

I was at a medieval style carnival. Two gals I know, K and K were at the giant table--almost an Arthurian table--playing cards. I watched them play the game without interacting with anybody. It was the most profound sense of being out of place, being an other. I was watching from the same room, but in actuality I was behind a one way glass--no one noticing my presence. Suddenly, some figure peeked over my shoulder and whispered: "You can't make paper mache out of cards."

No psychoanal needed: So, I was checking out chicks...at Walmart. Sadly, I did not receive any digits. Yes, my reader, you may doubt my choice of location and my sanity in this matter--In reality, I have not seen many beautiful women at Walmart. However, this Walmart was in Mexico; hola senoritas! Incidentally, my roommate just received a job at the big W. Since the dream I have not been back.

Home Sweet Home: Upon returning home my parents praised me for my mastery of Latin. This is funny since I don't know my Ecco Homo's and quid pro quo's from my Veni, Vedi, Veci...exactly. After being falsely lauded, I went into the kitchen. My mom showed me an enormous, mis-shaped turnip. It had two giant eye-like holes missing from its center; it appeared like a figure eight. The entire room was overgrown with vegetables. I did not know how to respond.

Burning Philosophy: I was on an island for the annual Muses of Delphi and Erudititionary-Close Reading conference of 1942. Actually, that is not true...I made it up, and I could have been there for any obscure reason. It was 1940's era; I could tell that by the clothes of the people there. Many of my 121 students were attendees. In any case I wound up in a debate. "Herzig" was the philosopher on the dock. His philosophy was a Descartes-ian reversal. He believed that knowledge started with the cosmos and worked downwards and inwards to the cogito. I understood that much from this debate, on which I was a panelist. My opponent claimed that "Herzig" was a sort of fraud--that he had a false method of some kind. There was a time lapse in my dream and it broke through to another Act; perhaps Act IV iii...........I was at the top of a steep hill in an old jeep. It broke loose and I could not steer it. Somehow I was able to bail out. My friend Ryan was below and as the vehicle swooped back and forth along the dirt trail, it narrowly missed him. The Jeep flew off the cliff. It hit the wall and burst into a symphony of flames. It scared both of us and then I woke up. I hope this is not a prophecy of my academic career.

A Shanty for Mr. Gates

When facing East, the verdant foliage set an imaginary perpendicular line against the sky. Shadows graced the well-kept drive. Manicured mosses calmly waited for the hired gardener to come on Tuesday. An odd tonka-truck was strewn across the lawn—blown to bits—evidence of burning—plastic refuse melded to the charred grass. Someone had shit on suburbia and this Golden Gardens home-plot was no longer the nicest on the block. This ill-fated lawn statue, however, was only the beginnings of experiments, scheming and longing for another world.

Sally, Daniel, Hwan, Robbie, and Pola all enjoyed the normal things kids on their block did. They had squirt-gun fights, they went to the aquarium, they even put on a joint-family garage sale. Chris was different. Although he was the most handsome of all of the Huffren children, he was not interested in pleasing the old ladies who gave the children snickers and jollies. If he was thoughtful and talented, no one knew it because he was always off with his shadow. He spent many hours a day tinkering with the mechanics of mayhem. Once he found a giant old computer—it contained the memories of the “greatest generation”: The Oregon Trail, Chips Challenge and Tetris. The aura was so alluring that Chris set up the old 286 heavy-box monitor up in his room. He built a shrine around it and kept it from the prying eyes of his siblings. Nobody new about it except for his red cat, named “Ona-Ro-CKindenMark.” He meowed a lot, sang at the moon and pretended that he was Chris’ guardian.

Chris grew into a perfectly affable computer nerd—in Japanese his nickname was “Otaku” (obsessive nerd—as defined by Ar). He was always getting on his mothers nerves because he would not perform the sitar or sing for any of the family picnics on the lawn—instead he rebuilt motherboards in his room. Chris’ mother made Martha Stewart look like a Wal-Mart Shopper...in fact, she shamed all of the other women on the block. They called her the Queen. Chris thought she was very domineering. When Chris was 15, it was decided that he could travel to a Microsoft conference to pursue his dream as a programmer.

At the conference, in Bellevue, he saw the most beautiful thing he had ever set vision upon. She was dressed professionally, and she had something amazing set neatly across her left breast. It was a pocket-protector. He had never seen this before. And then he realized that each one of the presentors had one of these. He inched up towards the stage, and like one rising out of the sea, he climbed up on stage. Mr. Gates was disconcerted at the offense of a non ppwp on stage. “Seize that boy,” he ballyhood. But the terse moment had reached fruition. Chris had met his destiny—his boyhood and nppwp status could not stop his lips. A melody of love came over him like a bad Disney soundtrack, and the middle-age computer programmer, slightly more attractive than the average reader would imagine, received the dream of an angel from another world. Their lips met firmly...but no sparkling enshrouded him...no destined transformation. What she felt was a hand stealing away her sign of definitive yesness. Her pocket protector was gone. He had it and he was never going back to where he came from. Everywhere else the pp is considered a sign of shame, but in this new world it was freedom—he could live forever with his parents and siblings but that meant nothing without this. Mr. Gates decided to let him wear the pocket protector on the condition that he solve the R&D problems with windows XP. “If this system is not at 100%, you will have to go back to living the life of an ordinary boy...more than that, your eternal destiny and immortal soul is at stake—we will banish you to the sea of Copenhagen and turn you into stone if you do not complete this mission,” Mr. Gates said. Chris burst forth in song, revolutionizing XP, wearing a gold plated protector and forgetting about the black-clad programmer who eventually fell for someone else and sailed the rippling blue to Tahiti.

Criticism of the Fairy Tale

This is a dubious assignment at best...it is a trap--and a perfectly splendid one at that. Can a person write a fairy tale without becoming one within their story? Why did I chose X fairy tale? Can you read "The Lion King" or re-write this archetype without mysteriously becoming Simba? Mythic forms--when we approach them, call to us like the ocean--a deep resonation--a mimicry--a rebirth of purpose and design. This psychic recognition might teach us that life is a true myth. The otherworld is pulled from to such an extent that our feats and tragedies become reenactment. Is this a bad thing? The independent, haughty self thinks it is a real original Picasso, but when a child dreams of neverland for the first time--he or she does not have the notion or even the care to know that a thousand other children saw this dream first. It takes nothing from the experience of wonder--it is the same with a first love. Originality is often not our human privaledge.