January 03, 2006

Under Tallmansville

Time passes. Listen. Time passes.

Come closer now.

Only you can hear the houses sleeping in the streets in the slow deep salt and silent black, bandaged night. Only you can see, in the blinded bedrooms, the coms and petticoats over the chairs, the jugs and basins, the glasses of teeth, Thou Shalt Not on the wall, and the yellowing dickybird-watching pictures of the dead. Only you can hear and see, behind the eyes of the sleepers, the movements and countries and mazes and colours and dismays and rainbows and tunes and wishes and flight and fall and despairs and big seas of their dreams.

From where you are, you can hear their dreams.

--Dylan Thomas, Under Milk Wood

I don't know..., but I feel akin. I wonder if I'm alone in thinking that living with the impropriety of media-distracted America is sometimes like being buried alive?

By Demosophist at 08:47 PM | Comments |