Chronicles of a Dreamscape Reality II
What a lot of things he had to holler out to the world!
But when our dearest anti-hero, more affectionately known as the boy, finally takes time off from his idle, vain and most probably worthless day-dreaming to begin penning down the thoughts he had so enthusiastically wished to tell the world, they (his thoughts) crumbled upon his pen like little specks of dust which disintegrated into the blankness of the paper.
Oh what a long sentence that was! His English teachers would have been totally displeased. What did they always preach about sentence structure? Keep it simple. And precise. Like this…
But a simple sentence probably doesn’t have the capacity to contain what he wanted to express. Well, if what I see before me is correct, then I began this post with an exclamation of the humongous amount of bantering the boy had to say. But wait…that’s him, not me. Why then, should I reflect his state of mind in my own manner of writing?
Now, this is becoming absurd. The boy never did enjoy waiting for Gordon. As a matter of fact, he was never really fond of waiting. Reason being, he was perfectly aware that he had spent the better part of his life waiting for a good many thing to happen…and most did not. Yes yes yes, we must all work towards our dreams because good heavens above isn’t going to bestow to us everything we ever wanted without a certain degree of effort on our part.
But he wasn’t very sure about his dreams. Some nights his subconscious would take him wandering, lonely as a cloud, reciting poem after poem to himself. On other nights, he would dream of that girl he saw on TV, and awake with a weird sensation as the excesses of lust spill out from his hardened truncheon. On some other nights, he would, in his dreamscape, see familiar faces of multiple expressions, or familiar places with distorted variations. And on most nights, he would fail to remember any vague remnant of any dream.
Ah…Dreams….It was making him sleepy. World Conquest….here he comes! Feel his jubilation. He is happy as can be.
But when our dearest anti-hero, more affectionately known as the boy, finally takes time off from his idle, vain and most probably worthless day-dreaming to begin penning down the thoughts he had so enthusiastically wished to tell the world, they (his thoughts) crumbled upon his pen like little specks of dust which disintegrated into the blankness of the paper.
Oh what a long sentence that was! His English teachers would have been totally displeased. What did they always preach about sentence structure? Keep it simple. And precise. Like this…
But a simple sentence probably doesn’t have the capacity to contain what he wanted to express. Well, if what I see before me is correct, then I began this post with an exclamation of the humongous amount of bantering the boy had to say. But wait…that’s him, not me. Why then, should I reflect his state of mind in my own manner of writing?
Now, this is becoming absurd. The boy never did enjoy waiting for Gordon. As a matter of fact, he was never really fond of waiting. Reason being, he was perfectly aware that he had spent the better part of his life waiting for a good many thing to happen…and most did not. Yes yes yes, we must all work towards our dreams because good heavens above isn’t going to bestow to us everything we ever wanted without a certain degree of effort on our part.
But he wasn’t very sure about his dreams. Some nights his subconscious would take him wandering, lonely as a cloud, reciting poem after poem to himself. On other nights, he would dream of that girl he saw on TV, and awake with a weird sensation as the excesses of lust spill out from his hardened truncheon. On some other nights, he would, in his dreamscape, see familiar faces of multiple expressions, or familiar places with distorted variations. And on most nights, he would fail to remember any vague remnant of any dream.
Ah…Dreams….It was making him sleepy. World Conquest….here he comes! Feel his jubilation. He is happy as can be.
posted by sUmmEr heAt at 7:40 AM
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