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Oft-time, when my contem-plates spin whirrish in my head
I goad this gawk out of her box & to the woods instead
Through leafen place I amble, seeking solace in the roofless
Truthful greenery of treesome, lonesome now and near and newness

All unraveled roaming, I grow young again through seeing
Every cranny, nook and nub with wondering eyes abuzz with being
Each tree I see is home to imps or nymphs, hobbits or hermits
Knock on wood, sir, thrice, and you yourself will soonly learn it

Why, there are homes for gnomes and forts for fairies - yes indeed!
And trails for silver snails that ferry fairy folk at speed
Cubby holes and hiding huts in weeping willow dens
Where make-believing takes me back into my way back when

And when the cloak of night descends, I find nothing to fear
No specters lurk in midnight murk, no monsters hunt me here
Instead the inky black unveils a sea of twinkling lights
Each one another world as well, each burns a beacon bright

Led along now by the moon, I revel in the chill
Of winter’s breath upon my face, the wonder in me still
That muses mingle with the mosses, grasses, ferns and bark
Each time I go among the trees, that place ignites a spark

And if you go, you’ll feel it too, take stock and smell the roses
That line the path to the other world that lives beneath our noses


- Recurring dreams

- Nightmares

- Most surreal dreams

- Dream meanings

- Lucid dreams

- Sleepwalking

- Sleep paralysis

- Sleep disorders in general

- Sleep/dreams and folklore

- Stories inspired by dreams

- What are dreams?

- Daydreams




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You, who are intrinsic to my daydream dioramas
You, who are the glue to flimsy cardboard sets
You, who are cement to sidewalk strutting, metaphoric
And oblivious as well to all this, obvious though it may seem
That extras are endemic, walk on parts are key
And cameos are crucial to my everyday existence
You are more than can be summed up in a sentence
Both protagonist and plot point, pirouetting in my frontal lobe
And probing deeper than the superficial synapse see-saw
Swinging this and that way as the load distributes
Winning simply based on this weight, that weight, dangling
Singing through the pawn shop poetry that binds us to the penny
Perilous and pleasing though it may be, it is poison
And you, unknowing, are the antidote, unwilling, thrilling,
You course through me, veins amazed and bones unholy grateful
For the joy of feeling in a world unused to truths unspoken

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Dear Henry,

Many thanks for your letter. It was with great pleasure that I learned of your imminent demise. As it happens, I was quite aware of your dalliance with my wife, although she assures me that the whole experience was entirely unsatisfactory. In fact, I should be grateful to you for imbuing dear Marjory with a new-found respect and appreciation for my own intimate abilities and superior appendages.

Nonetheless, I must admit that the shuffling off of your mortal coil shall bring me no small amount of joy, and if there is such a thing as an afterlife, I don't hesitate to wish you a perfectly horrid one.

Yours sincerely,

Alfred Tipton

PS. Marjory asks if you ever did get over your 'little problem'?




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Thanks to cerebis for the tips/camera!

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A short film I've been working on! (Which explains all the photos of tiny things and such!) Thought I'd upload it here in case it was of use :) The glorious tracking shots you'll recognise as being the work of my awesome brother Marc AKA Cerebis.

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