Dear Harttz…

We all start off as an elaborate stack of dreams, layer upon layer, like the most magnificent wedding cake. But they’re not layers of light fluffy cake, really; dreams are these beautiful glass towers which reflect our skies and our highest sights.

Standing outside of the building, there might be a door or two, but rarely is the exit marked. In the windows you see a labyrinth of other dreams but turning around you can only find a few, sparse islands of luminescence. One might be directly ahead, but the other figments haven’t been built yet.

How does a dream break? I guess it starts off as a gentle earthquake. It could be from nature, but more often it begins with some kind of human tremor. Perhaps you were working on a different dream and didn’t notice the tractors rumbling by, shaking the frames. Maybe you do notice it, but how do you stop the cracks from spidering, bottom to top? How do you catch so many bullets of glass speeding toward the ground?

It’s not cake. The mess you find is not soft bread and frosting. There’s no creme or fondant. Metal and glass lay in a dangerously disfigured heap. But long before that – before the splintering, before the moment of impact, before shattering… at the moment of separation – so many other, smaller, characteristic dreams evaporate without even a wisp.

In the song Almost Lover (A Fine Frenzy), the singer laments about “images” time and again. Much worse than the broken dream itself, I think she is mourning all of the immaterial dreams she lost. From the ground, you can’t see every reflection. Some windows are so high, you lack the vantage to see them clearly.

But dreams can be rebuilt. The dream is the same but the manifestation is wholly new. It’s clean, maybe stronger, the hard edges smoothed, and the weak points fortified. And while the dust is still settling, the images you lost return to their homes in the windows. Faintly at first, but brighter as the sky warms from (to) the new spire. You notice them, welcome them, like old friends with whom you used to laugh.

Then, you frame each one. You trace the glass figures onto hard paper, or canvas, color them in, add weight and depth, and hang it where the light revives. This time you won’t forget, the star won’t fall. The metal won’t bend and the glass won’t crack.

Posted Thursday, September 13th, 2012 under Dear Harttz....


  1. smooches says:

    one of your finest works of of art my friend.

  2. smooches says:

    a simple complicated eye opener

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