Since the raging seas and stormy winds parted my love and I

[sovay]

I dreamed that I won the right to a cameo mention as some kind of Boston-area folkloric creature in Margaret Ronald's latest novel by singing "The Lowlands of Holland" in a kulfi shop. You ordered a particular flavor, they asked you to sing for it. I had that terrible real-life blankness that seizes the brain when you know literally more songs than you count and someone says vaguely but encouragingly, having no idea of this, "I don't know, whatever you feel like." Turned out one of the other patrons knew the same version; we wound up trading off harmonies. Is there a kulfi shop anywhere in Boston?

. . . This is probably the most realist dream I've had in months.

My poem "Theseid" has been accepted by Not One of Us.

Comments

[asakiyume.livejournal.com]

Mmm, kulfi. And "The Lowlands of Holland" was the second song I became aware of, in 2007, as I awoke to old ballads, so I'm very fond of it.

[sovay]

Mmm, kulfi. And "The Lowlands of Holland" was the second song I became aware of, in 2007, as I awoke to old ballads, so I'm very fond of it.

Maybe it was supposed to be your dream.

[asakiyume.livejournal.com]

Dreams must be like cats. They go where they please. Maybe there are lawyers out there, the equivalent of ambulance chasers, who try to get people to seek damages for purloined dreams, but I bet they're fairly unsuccessful. All the defense has to do is impress upon the judge and jury that dreams have wills of their own and don't just lie around waiting to be lifted.

[sovay]

Dreams must be like cats. They go where they please.

Perhaps cats are just dissatisfied dreams.

[asakiyume.livejournal.com]

That would explain so much.