Thursday, February 28, 2013

I Dreamt of New York That Night...

This week, over at Woven Dreams, Geraldine wants us to think… well, about dreams.

I’ve tried to come up with some little (almost) poem but every direction where my mind would wander seemed on a sure path to some sort of sadness, or at least nostalgia, and I really didn’t want that.

But thinking about dreams reminded me of a dream sequence I wrote for my on-off WIP. You probably won’t understand much but here goes…

I dreamt of New York that night. It was whole, it was still safe.

I was striding up 8th Ave. with Manhattan, his soft, cold nuzzle touching my bare calves at every step, thinking there was no reason I was still there, I should be boarding the train, I should be on my way to Aunt Amy, only there was something, something, something I couldn’t pinpoint, an apprehension twisting my stomach, not letting go.

“Please, behave,” I was whispering to him, “just until we get there. It’s not far now, really not far.” Where? Where? Yes, to my nice neighbour, Mrs. Guilbeault, she will take you, she will pamper you, I can talk her into giving you the best biscuits every day.

He was happy to follow me, trusting, trotting, but I had no leash for him and passers-by were starting to give me dirty looks, how dared I bring a dirty mutt unleashed among them, what if it attacked them, it belonged to the pound not on their beautiful streets.

I couldn’t pick him up, he had wet mud on the underbelly, his long white coat caked with grey mud, and I didn’t want to spoil my white skirt on this early day of spring.
For the umpteenth time I was trying my cell phone, looking up at the sky, the sky was so beautiful, it looked so normal, but that was an illusion, the satellites were gone, never had been, the cell was useless and I was supposed to meet Tessa at the coffee shop, only I had intended to ditch her in the first place and now I was walking straight towards that place, I couldn’t remember its name, instead of being on the train and running away. I didn’t want to see Tessa, I didn’t want to do her dirty work for her again, dump a boyfriend for her because she was too cowardly to do it herself, why me, Tessa? it’s always me, do it yourself for once, show your true self to poor Billy so he can know who you are.

People were looking at me, stopping and turning, watching me, staring at my skinny stray, or was my skirt too short, or my legs too white, and the stupid cell was still not working, never working again. People whispering, looking at me and whispering, and that apprehension like a dark cloud inside me, she got out, she escaped, their faces turning ashen, their hair, they clothes turning ashen. Something happened, something happened, they were whispering. Penn Station is gone. Puff, just like that, all gone, no more trains, no more platforms, just big holes in the ground, all a big excavation for the old Penn Station.

Then I began running, I didn’t know where, and Manhattan was running beside me and barking at me, although there was no sound but a muffled drumming, somewhere afar. I kept wondering if this dog was a mute, how come I could hear no barking when he was barking his lungs out, and what was that awful drumming.

And then I glimpsed a spot of colour among the ashen faces and I knew it was Rob and it felt tremendously good to see him. Maybe we could dance again, I was thinking, and there was a joy spreading inside me at the thought, like a sweet song.

She’s not my girlfriend, he was saying and I could hear him although his lips weren’t moving. She’s not my girlfriend.

But I don’t know you.

Are you sure we haven’t danced before?

She’s not my girlfriend.

Smiling. Smiling. Smiling in the dream.

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Dance of Love

I’ve posted this poem here before, more than five years ago. (Amazing! Five years!) At that time, though, other people were reading this blog... This poem has stayed with me and I often find myself singing it in my mind, or even aloud when there's no one around...

Here it is again, for your enjoyment. I hope you had a fabulous Valentine’s Day!

Fabian Perez – Tango in Paris in Black Suit

Dance of Love

Into this wild abyss
of bliss
we fall

Some say it’s love
we call it

Onto this blade of trust
we walk
we dance

You hold me tight
as we abide
by this game’s

Sweet avalanche
of blood
we seek

We fight
harsh tango of
the hearts

While in a wild abyss
of bliss
we hide

We kiss

Monday, February 11, 2013

Bunny Blue

blue bunny blue
in the blue grass
with your little blue soul
with your wonders, your shivers
what hides in the thick
in the thick blue thicket
what crackles, what breaks
is it the moon
the cold blue moon
reaching for you
with fingers of twigs
with whispers of leaves
is it the fox, the swift red fox
the fiery fox
or a big blue owl with eyes of moon
blue eyes of moon
what is after you
blue bunny blue

only a shadow blue
this time only the moon
blue bunny blue

 The beautiful artwork in this post belongs to Amanda Clark from Earth Angels Art.

At Woven Dreams Geraldine invites us to think about Blue...

Monday, February 04, 2013

Love in the Time of Zombies

How is that possible? Even thinkable? One could experience horror, disgust or at best pity for these wretched creatures all while either running away from them like hell or hacking at them- the head, you have to destroy the head, isn’t it?- lest their bite would turn you into one of them.

Terror, yes, but love for a zombie?

Well, I guess it is possible if he’s Nicholas Hoult’s R. in “Warm Bodies.”

Because R. is a Corpse (that’s what they’re called in the movie) who hangs hard onto the flicker of humanity that’s somehow left in him. His interior monologue is humorous, mostly of the self-ironic kind. He is a keen observer of his new world and, while he does obey the primary impulse of hunger, he also tries to transcend it. (I suppose in this he also represents the teenager trying to surpass awkward bodily and emotional limits.) And how does he do it?

By trying very hard to stay connected with what it means to be human. Companionship, music, dreams and memories (even if they are not his and the way he acquires them is… well, yuck!).

And love.

Love. Love can thaw a frozen heart. Love can save you. (Love does conquer all, I guess.) And that simple gesture of holding someone’s hand suddenly shows its very complex significance.

 I loved, loved, loved the movie! (It’s been filmed in Montreal!) It is a wonderful mix of romance, comedy and suspense, and all the actors are doing a very fine job to convey them. Besides Nicholas Hoult (R.) there are Teresa Palmer (Julie), John Malkovich (General Griggio, Julie’s father), Rob Corddry (M., R.’s friend) and Analeigh Tipton (Julie’s friend, Nora). Jonathan Levine, as director and writer, has also done a great job.

Watch here the first four minutes of the film.

I went to see “Warm Bodies” on Saturday afternoon with my oldest daughter (not yet a teenager) –the youngest stayed home with my husband- and while I was not at all surprised that females made up for the vast majority of the audience I also found it amusing. I guess the few guys present were boyfriends or husbands dragged in there by their YA loving (better) halves. LOL

This makes me think of how most of the YA literature is directed at girls. Which reminds me of another zombie one can fall in love with…

Bram from Dearly, Departed: A Zombie Novel by Lia Habel.

I got this book from the library but halfway through it I decided I liked it so much that I wanted to buy it. (Long live Amazon!) Steampunk, romance and zombies in the same story might seem like a strange mix, but Lia Habel succeeds in a fascinating way. It is 2195 and the world as we know it has been destroyed. What remains of it has rearranged itself into a high-tech society with Victorian manners. But this world is conflicted and Nora, the high-society girl more interested by military history than debutante balls, finds herself right in the middle of it. That’s how she meets Bram, the young soldier, brave, handsome, noble… and dead. He has retained his humanity even better than R, with the help of medicine, yet theirs is a star-crossed romance for he is… dead and his decay inevitable…

You can read an excerpt here.

Finally, it’s funny that after all these thoughts on romance, I can’t help also thinking of Minheer Vanderhausen. What about him, you say? If you don’t know who he is or if you’ve forgotten, I invite you to (re)discover him in Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu’s short story, Strange Event in the Life of Schalken the Painter. You can read it here or here. Let me know what you think…

P.S. I just realized that I haven't mentioned at all the book upon which the movie is based, "Warm Bodies" by Isaac Marion. I cannot comment on it since I haven't read it yet...but I will... soon... :-)