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the archive(s):
issue no. 5:
The Dreamy Fish / Wayne HW Wolfson
Absinthe before bed.
The train ride had been too long. The little girl putting the serious effort of a child into making me smile.
She may have gotten a small one as my head came to rest against the greasy cool of the window.
Chatelet stop.
I became obsessed with a fruit vendor. All day selling things made by the sun, while being completely hidden from its view.
He looked at me with suspicion until I started buying an apple now and then.
My accent made him perk up his ears. My apples were now free, but he insisted I allow him to practice his English on me.
"Every night I have the dream, with the knowledge from this dream I could do something important with my life, but by morning I always forget."
I too dream.
Absinthe before bed.
There is an old Chinese man all in white silk. The room has a domed ceiling, like an ancient church. Behind him, seemingly floating in the air, behind him, all around him are little lengths of red ribbon.
Who ever sees this man becomes stuck, changing, themselves into a ribbon.
I found a way to cheat though.
As I fall asleep I tap my foot. This motion allows me to not totally go.
For a few nights this works well, until I finally find that my foot is now only being moved by the pulling of the ribbons attached to it.
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