2 minutes 42 seconds| A time, a place, and a young man’s fancy turns... (Dedicated to Mary Jo Ball, wherever she may be.)
Time stamp when created: 5/18/09. Little modification in score, though often remixed.
Novel-in-Progress, excerpt 57| Lowell assumes his strange dream is over, prematurely:
No sooner had the sleeper torn an encrusted eyelid from the pillowcase than he saw her dash up the slatted attic steps like a whitish bat. Paralyzed, the waker listened for feet to land on the cracking timbers above, but they did not come.
What Lowell had seen, in full possession of his wits, was not an infirm woman or wafting ghost. Some burly someone—a matronly cross-dresser—was in his house and charging up the collapsible stairs, and with thundering steps so close and fast together he could see no human producing them.
A lull in the wind amplified the quiet that rushed back upon these booming blows, yet the resident could not dispense with the paroxysm. Courage was gathered and he crept with trepidation into the unlit hall. Should whoever shot up these attic steps see better than he, it was likely this person stood in the open well and stared down at him.
No Mexican standoff was imminent, and Lowell, relieved that it was all a dream, stopped by the bathroom and turned on the overhead light. He was alarmed to see a white film over everything. Washing his eyes cleared the obstruction, which indicated that he had been sleeping, for some while, with his eyes open. A degree of lucidity was implied in the preceding minutes, where the attic ladder was integrated into a dreamscape.
Convinced this situation was explained, Lowell returned to bed and was swiftly returned to sleep. First his mind was severed from the dream remnant and its queer, dissembled logic, and then his body from the sheet that tethered it, and him, to the undone bed.
His shallow sleep extended into a tenth hour.
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