Saturday, 25 July 2015


'I hear a mother who speaks to her baby in a language she does not understand. I know
the mother waits for the baby to grow old. The baby is my mother. This is a dream'.

Kay McKenzie Cooke

Dreams are weird, but I do like the way they mess with time. 

The above lines from a longer poem try to convey the elasticity of dreams - the unique way they can seamlessly flow backwards and forwards between what in real life is fixed. 

The dreamer wakes to a world that has not shifted, but knowing what it would feel like if it had. 

It is only a few hours before the dream is forgotten. Unless of course the dreamer has written down the dream in an attempt - usually vain - to try and capture the feeling of discombobulation that it has caused.  

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