The postmark burning jet black in the summer sun
And then I dreamed that books were commonly translated from and into Etruscan, which I was learning from a bilingual collection of folktales. I hope this doesn't mean I'm due some kind of conventional wish-fulfillment dream, just for balance. There really aren't any actors I want to sleep with, and if I won the lottery, I'd mostly use it for practical things.
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Obviously you should publish an English-Etruscan bilingual folktale collection.
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That's not bad!
Obviously you should publish an English-Etruscan bilingual folktale collection.
I'll put it on the to-list right after the Brecht translations and the poem into Greek . . .
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Wonderful concept, but I can imagine how heartbreaking it would feel to wake up from that dream and know it not so.
I hope this doesn't mean I'm due some kind of conventional wish-fulfillment dream, just for balance. There really aren't any actors I want to sleep with, and if I won the lottery, I'd mostly use it for practical things.
Hmm... I suppose that means I've never had a conventional wish-fulfillment dream. Not sure I'd want one, either.
I hope your hopes are fulfilled.
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I guess that's what Ostia Naye is for . . .
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True, I suppose. And, although I regret your heartbreak, Ostia Naye is a fascinating place, one I'm grateful to have seen a glimpse of.
Myself, I have to admit that I probably spend far too much time worrying about to what degree a given fiction I might be writing is or isn't a complete piece of wish-fulfillment.
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I don't know. That still registers as cool to me.
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I take it you didn't remember any of the words?
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Bingo. I already know some words in Etruscan. I don't know how to construct a sentence.
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I was thinking more like Jung's collective unconscious. But maybe that's a balancing act—I dream of Etruscan textbooks, someone else wakes up from a date with . . . Eric Bana?