thoughts from a while ago
08/03/2002 11:50 p.m.
I wrote this essay dealy thing a while ago as so as I'd finished the Sandman graphic novel series. They may not flow perfectly and the style may be a bit borrowing of Neil Gaiman's just because that's what happens to writers when they read. I was so happy to find this so I thought I'd share it even if it may not make sense to everyone. It was interesting to note my talking to Death at that point since these many months later I'm realizing that possibility. It's just interesting. So there it is. Here you go.




It has occurred to me that I don’t think often. Not that I’m stupid, it’s just the thoughts don’t come to me in paragraph form. There is a continual dialogue going on in my head, like I’m saying things but it’s only my thoughts, not my vocal cords. A little voice is there talking about whatever it decides to talk about and that’s me, that’s who I am. I’m not possessed and I don’t hear voices and I don’t have multiple personalities. My thoughts come to me with a voice. Sometime I see them written down, like a book. But most the time I’m reciting something in my head that’s just appeared there. I usually only take notice of this after I’ve read a book or when I’m really depressed. Books make me think, and thinking for me is like talking to no one. Sound reverberating inside my head. So when I notice something or understand something deeply, I discuss it with myself. Or with no one. But I’m discussing it nonetheless. That’s probably the reason I like to watch “Politically Incorrect with Bill Maher.” I sit on my bed after midnight discussing political issues with no one. The same thing with all talk shows. My friend Charity and I had a phone conversation once and we both admitted that we had pretended to be guests on a late show from time to time. I like doing that because at least it give my thoughts a chance to be vocalized.

So I pretend I’m sitting in a little chair with wooden arms with my legs pulled all up under me, because that’s how I sit. I’m one of five people discussing politics in front of the late-night-television-viewing audience. Sometimes I make a joke, sometimes I laugh at other people’s jokes. I play with my hair a bit and then explain to the audience and other guests why marijuana should be legalized. The guests nod with approval and the audience claps, then Bill has to take a break. Actually I’m just sitting in my bed at midnight talking to myself. That’s why reality sucks.

It’s also why I cried when Morpheus died. For those of you who don’t know, Morpheus was the Dream King, the Sandman. A man named Neil Gaiman gave him his own series of comic books, which I read hungrily the day I bought them. Eventually, Morpheus, the Sandman, dies. He has to, he’s tired and his time is up. He holds Death’s hand and he’s gone. This is in the ninth of ten graphic novels. I’ve gotten to know Morpheus; I’ve called out to him to let me meet him in a dream. I’m convinced he answered me and that I met him… maybe more than met him. And I attended his wake. Anyone who read the comic book attended his wake. Neil said so and I believe him. After I read about Morpheus’ death, it was after two in the morning and I laid in bed weeping. Begging him to come back. He didn’t. His son, who’s name was Daniel, took over. I felt just like Matthew, Morpheus’ raven. He didn’t want anything to change. I didn’t either. But I couldn’t stop it. There it was, written plain as day. And I couldn’t change it. So I finished the series, reading the first graphic novel last because I couldn’t find it anywhere. That sequence of events was probably the only thing that saved me from going over into Despair’s realm. I was happy again, because if you read the end first and it is not a happy ending, at least you know the beginning will hold some joy. It did. And it made the reality of the Dream King’s death a dream once again. I believe that’s the way it should be.

Pretending. Make believe. Daydreaming. I used to do it so often when I was younger. I do it now, more than I realize. I think it’s the only thing that keeps me sane. Morpheus said, without Dreams, there could be no Despair. I say, without Dreams, we would all belong to Delirium. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing. I like Delirium a lot. She’s me on a good day. I thought when I set out to read the Sandman comic books that Delirium would be my favorite of the Endless. She certainly is charming and I do like her very muchly, but she turned out to be my third favorite character. You’d never believe who’s first. Or maybe you would. She’s very lovable. Many have fallen in love with her. I think I did, though in the way I fell in love with Tori Amos, in a very sisterly way that only women understand. I’m talking about Death, of course. She is so strong. And kind… in a deathly sort of way. There is one particular drawing of her that resembles me slightly. I think the artist did it on purpose… I think I had a conversation with Death while I was in the shower once. Maybe twice. Once was this morning and I was sad that Morpheus was gone. She reassured me that I had met him before he went with her, perhaps we’d met many times. I smiled and was glad she was just passing by. I was also glad that she’d stopped to talk to me.

My second favorite character is Dream. Who could read The Sandman and not love him? He is responsible for giving us everything we could ever want. As long as we don’t need it for real. When Nuala, the Faerie gift, asked Dream to love her, that was the moment I understood my own feeling. The feeling that love is right there, just within your grasp, and yet without. Loving a fictional character is something all readers do. It’s what makes them keep turning pages, keep visiting the library, keep funding Barnes and Noble. A friend of mine fell in love with Lisa, a character from Girl, Interrupted. Or so I think. And she was simply a great character. I’ve fallen in love many times. Johnny Tremain, Atreyu, Dr. Jekyll, Robin Goodfellow (yes, a strange choice, I know), Romeo, and others whom I’ve only known in stories. Stories keep people alive, or maybe just sane. Or maybe just me.

I am currently Reflective
I am listening to random radio sounds