Cherrywood Shingles

Lukomir Here is a dream for you: I’m climbing over the roof of a mansion. Oddly enough only parts of it are restored and other parts look lost and rotten. I feel bad for the house and I can’t imagine why someone would fix up one gable but not the one next to it. These gables are very elaborate: a bell shaped copper cover has been placed over each of the upper windows. It looks as if the windows are wearing helmets. But I’m not here to admire the mansion. I’m here to spy upon an attic that I have discovered: a man lives here, a very shy man whom nobody ever sees. When I come to the door of his attic, I’m amazed and impressed by the interior: everything is carved in Cherrywood, and I’m feasting my eyes on the fine detail while at the same time I can’t cross the threshold. I’m staying outside of the room looking inside. Suddenly, a light goes on in the middle of the room and I realize that I have lit a candle by blowing on it. All the time I am afraid the owner might come back and find out if that I’ve looked at his stuff. I retreat, but when I’m already down on the ground far away, I realize that I have left the candle burning and that the man who lives there will know now that I’ve been to his room.


I am dreaming a lot lately but I feel a lot more reticent about my dreams than I used to, even between me, myself and the mirror. Last night I dreamt about xTx the mysterious writer. She was in my kitchen during a party, but she was alone and she was painfully shy and made even me feel shy, which is a very unnatural state for me. Unless I am more shy than I admit to myself. I was grateful to xTx for the experience. She was wearing one of those hipster hats (“slouchy beanie hipster hat”) but I think I told her off for wearing it because after a while she wasn’t wearing it anymore and I noticed her long, thin blonde hair, so much of it in fact that I had a hard time seeing her face behind it. This dream beats the one from the night before where I had dinner with Hitler, Göring (about whom I recently wrote a story) and a third man. The weirdest thing in this dream was that I managed to so manly and enthusiastically shake Hitler’s hand and at the same time salute him the way he liked to be saluted that he congratulated me on my special salutatory skills. Both fascist leaders were wearing uniforms and insignia. There was a third man who looked through me: based on the way I greeted him he instantly figured me for an anti-Nazi and I wondered, before I abandoned this dream, if and how he would betray me to the others. I wasn’t afraid, not very anyway. It’s good to have dreams again though I could do with a little less celebrity craze.


I have a craving for a Danish cracker with Nutella on it. The cracker feels healthy, the Nutella is a chocolate spread stuffed with chemicals. It makes me happy in a straightforward way which does not depend on my daily word quota. I have exceeded that quote for today by writing up my dreams and doing that has brought out a few scenes that I had no idea had been slumbering under my storytelling tongue.


[German translation][Photo: the Bosnian mountain village of Lukomir famous for its cherrywood roof-tiled houses. Not a place to be at night. Vampires abound. Source: Wikimedia.] 

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