★
Each time
I fall
asleep,
more clues
appear
to me,
and so one would assume that I am always one step closer to discovering my identity. But more information seems to cause only more confusion, because often the information appears contradictory, and seems to be about some one else entirely, and not me. Which raises interesting questions itself. Am I one person or could I be more than one? Maybe these memories have been implanted in me. Maybe I carry information of such significance that the fate of the entire world depends upon me successfully delivering it. Why would that be? I seem to see a road, and a valley underneath, surrounded by mountains, and at the bottom of the valley is a town. I’m up on the top, on the road, beside the girl, and beside us making its way down to the bottom of the valley is a line of trucks, buses, caravans. Now I think that the girl and I are in one of the buses, and we are there with many other people. All of the people are singing. And the girl is singing too. Everyone is happy. But I seem to be confused by it all. We are going to the town at the bottom of the valley, and we will pitch a tent there, and invite the townspeople to come. I don’t feel that I belong here. I don’t know what I feel. It could be that I have infiltrated them. I could be a man sent to listen in. Or maybe I have something different to do, of a violent nature. Maybe I am a killer. A . Or a keeper of bees. Or maybe I am just another good-natured follower, one in a million, who feels for a moment, in this moment that I am able to remember, that I have somehow lost my way.
There is a man who is dying. He is in a hospital bed in an apartment. He, it seems, is my father. There is a woman there, who is my mother. And a young woman who is my sister. Now the young woman is only a child. And she and I, a child too, are standing on a baseball diamond. The score is tied and it is the bottom of the ninth. I am the pitcher and the other team’s best hitter hits the ball. It goes over my sister’s head. She walks after it slowly, and I yell at her to run and get it. But she only walks more slowly as the hitter runs around the dimaond from base to base. if he scores, the game will be over and we will have lost. I run after the ball myself. I run past my sister who still walks just as slowly. I get the ball and turn to throw it. But the hitter has already reached home plate.
I scream and yell at my sister. I slap her face with my glove. I tell her what she did was the worst thing a person can ever do: She didn’t hustle. Now we’re back in the apartment and she is a woman in her late twenties, and the man who seems to be our father is nearing the time of his death. He begins to sing a song…
Subject:
Re: [Fwd: [Fwd: Re: Fishboy by Matthew McIntosh]]
Date:
Tue, 05 Jun 2007 11:11:02 -0700
From:
To:
erin@ .com
References:
<200706041552.AA3701801434@ .com>
i just remembered a dream i had last night about my dad leaving the earth correctly. we were all there in puyallup and from what i remember he began singing some beautiful words, then got down on the floor on his knees and my mom had drawn a picture of a blackbird and she put it on the floor in front of him; he colored the wings “rainbow” and then touched his forehead to it. I was crying and happy, and it was very beautiful. there was more to it but that’s what i remember.
Subject:
Re: (no subject)
Date:
Tue, 5 Jun 2007 12:10:08 -0700
From:
To:
that is such a neat and beautiful dream you had. That is so so nice.
In the dream, was your dad looking like he did pre-cancer, or did he look like he actually did when he was in the later stages of the disease?
love you
Subject:
Re: (no subject)
Date:
Tue, 05 Jun 2007 12:37:55 -0700
From:
To:
erin@ .com
no, it was late stages. he was pretty incoherent, but it was obvious that he was giving in to death, and offering up prayers and songs, etc. and paying respects to life and death and god - and the bird my mom drew was very important; and we of course were there with him and able to participate and send him on his way, and feel sadness and joy and everything he was feeling with him. the dream seemed to show what death could be like. the other thing was the words he was saying - which were mostly nonsense but very meaningful and magical - I was writing them all down as he said them, and in the dream i was very happy to have them so that i could put them in my book. of course i can’t remember a single one now.
Subject:
Re: (no subject)
Date:
Tue, 5 Jun 2007 13:02:11 -0700
From:
To:
wild!
Thats so amazing, though, because it’s just like how the box camera is missing, and the last page of the girl with the beautiful white wings, and how the iPod would sometimes just not record things..... you wrote the words down in your dream, but you’re not allowed to have them right now. It’s totally cool.
like in the old fairy tales or myths, where certain words have meaning “open sesame” etc..... we’re not allowed to have the actual words right now.
Wouldn’t that be neat if you could remember, though? Maybe you should take a nap!!!
If you can force yourself, I was thinking you should drink a lot of peppermint tea today.. because it’s caffeine free and you could pump a lot of fluids into yourself that way.
———I see a pine cone falling from a tree
LOVE YOU
——and landing on the dirt beside me.
LOVE YOU!!!!!
—I see a crowd of people, gathered in an amphitheatre in the woods. The sun is up and the sky is blue, and the day is warm. We all look down from our seats to the stage.
“A vast lake of boiling pitch, in which an infinite multitude
of fierce and terrible creatures are traversing.”
Quote
But it was the quantity of fish in the water that drew the most comment from early visitors. Kane, for example, marveled at the apparently ceaseless flow of summer Chinook salmon that he saw on two separate trips to the falls, in August and September of 1847. “The salmon continue to arrive in almost incredible numbers for nearly two months,” he wrote. “In fact, there is one continuous body of them, more resembling a flock of birds than anything else in their extraordinary leap up the falls…” (Kane, 218).★
★ (italics mine)
★
There is an old church in the woods. I follow the girl inside. There is nothing there but darkness, planks and floorboards, and the songs of the birds outside. We walk out and down a path behind. And to a cliffside. Below us is a lake that used to be a river and a plain. There were great rock formations which formed roaring rapids here and it is said that one could hear the churning water for miles. Kettle Falls. The water is still except for the ripples created by a small boat as it trolls, a man in a deck chair holding out a line…………………
★
…………………Thompson was surprised to see that only one man was fishing, with a spear, when he arrived, even though there were more than enough fish in the river to keep many people busy. He was told the harvest did not begin in earnest until the salmon chief announced that enough fish had safely cleared the falls. This was necessary, the Indians said, to protect the harvest in the future.
★
Salmon used to climb this river from the sea hundreds of miles away, to return to the nooks and crannies where they were born, to spawn. Indians met here for thousands of years to fish and dance and welcome summer. But Summer is lost. Late 1800s the white men built canner
ies down at the mouth of the river and swept up most of the salmon each year as soon as they left the sea. And fewer and fewer salmon made the run. And then 1930s Roosevelt built a dam which closed the upper river, and flooded the falls, and flooded the plain, and built a wall, so that no salmon who made it past the nets could get home to lay their eggs.
★
And now at the Kettle Falls Harvest Foods they sell seasoned salmon steaks pre-packaged 438 miles away in Oregon City, Oregon for 11 dollars and 89 cents a pound; and who knows where it was caught?
★
(2007.)
★
May 5 2007 2:32 a
appartment women don’t tell the truth about what they think. I am telling you this because it is the honest truth, look I should know, they say that it is all in the way you use it, not how big it is, well I got news for you all, that is pure lies.
I know from personal experience, I will tell you about a secret that carlo has made me promise to never ever tell anyone, but since he has not called me in three weeks after standing me up, I am going to break the promise and tell you how he went from having a tiny wang and in 4 months he is now about nine inches and get this, it is still getting bigger. He has been secretly taking grow jells from this site, copy and paste the address into your browser to see them.
★
★
Melissa, I am not in my right mind. I am sick as a dog and I’m starting to crack. I can’t remember who I am, or what I have done. My skin is burning and my bones ache, and it is really hard to breathe. I want whoever reads this message in the future, to know that whatever acts I committed, all I did, whatever it was, good or bad, for better or worse, I did it for thee. It was all always for thee.
So don’t be mad at me.
If I have walked—
If my steps have turned—
If my land has cried—
If I have eaten—
If I have made—
If my heart has been enticed—
And I have lain—
Then may my wife—
Had I refused—
If I have denied—
Or allowed the eyes—
If I have seen—
If I have raised—
Because I saw—
Then may my arm—
Had I put my trust in gold
Or called—
★
O, how will I ever find my way out?!?!?
★
Had I looked upon the sun as it shone,
Or the moon in the splendor of its progress,
And had my heart been secretly enticed
To waft them a kiss with my hand;
This too would be a crime for condemnation,
For I should have denied God above.
Had I rejoiced—
Or exulted—
Even though I had not suffered—
Had not the men of my futuristic housing unit exclaimed—
Had I, out of human weakness, hidden my sins
And buried my guilt—
Because I feared—
W: What time is it?
M: Six past nine.
W: It’s crazy.
M: What.
W: This day just disap
Am I going mad, Melissa? Was there a fire? A big explosion? Or do I just have a bad cold and a sunburn.
Unofficially, a faulty rear drain flap and malfunctioning bilge pump may have caused a boat to sink April 9 on Flathead Lake, killing two people. The investigation continues, Lake County Undersheriff Mike Sergeant said, but inspection of the 10-year-old boat turned up those two problems. [A man], 39, and [a woman], 29, of Bethel, Connecticut, drowned in the lake two weeks ago near Yellow Bay when the boat sank. The boat was owned and skippered by of Guide Services in Bigfork. He survived by clinging to a small portion of the boat that remained above water overnight. He was rescued April 10 after being stranded 20 hours in 40-degree water. [The woman’s] body was recovered April 10; her husband’s body remains submerged in an area of 300-foot-deep water. Neither was wearing a life jacket. Mike Sergeant said he signed [the woman’s] death certificate Wednesday. Her body was returned to her family for funeral services in Bethel last week. He said it appears that [the woman] died “several hours into the incident. She didn’t make it through the night.”
Sergeant said officials are still waiting for ’s insurance company, Ace American, to decide whether it will send a commercial recovery team to locate [the man’s] body. “They’ve said, ‘Yes, we will. No, we won’t because of the cost,’” Sergeant said. “We’re controlled by them…We’re a little frustrated.” The depth of the lake where the [man and his wife] drowned is beyond the reach of divers. Sonar and robots will be needed, officials have said. Sergeant said the insurance company will conduct its own examination of the boat. Local officials, though, blame the rear drain flap that is supposed to keep water from coming into the boat when it is under way. There also was a problem with the bilge pump that clears water from the bottom of the boat. “It’s not concrete,” Mike Sergeant said of the findings. He said the 24-foot Seahawk boat was in “very good condition” and apparently the mechanical failure was swift and intense. “When the boat went under, it went under rapidly,” Sergeant said. Its occupants raced to put on life jackets but “were unable to get them on,”
Now imagine.
You’re lying on a beach.
On a wickedly hot day.
The girl is lying beside you.
You’re looking up into the brim of a baseball cap you’ve pulled down over your face to shield your eyes from the light.
This ain’t no ocean, pilgrim; it’s a lake.
But it’s not a lake, either; it’s a dammed river.
You could jump in and swim to the bottom.
Gather the bones of an ancient culture.
Collect the stars of a fallen sky.
Reconstellate.
Reconstellate.
Reconstellate.
Reconstellate.
Reconstellate.
Reconstellate.
Reconstellate.
Reconstellate.
Reconstellate.
Reconstellate.
Reconstellate.
Reconstellate.
Reconstellate.
Reconstellate.
Reconstellate.
Repopulate.
Repopulate.
Repopulate.
Repopulate.
Repopulate.
Repopulate.
Repopulate.
Repopulate.
Repopulate.
Repopulate.
Repopulate.
Repopulate.
Repopulate.
Repopulate.
Repopulate.
★
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