Written by Ken Carman
I live inside the dreams of other men, within the imagination of other women. I live between the lines, the photons, the the dots of ink, the images you type out on your laptops, PCs and Macs.
You can’t see me, but I know you.
There are many of us here you never see. You only know us by telling us to fly, dive, swim and, yes, die.
But we never really die.
You just re-imagine us.
I have been to Mars, seen the Earth explode, been to wizard school, rode Saturn sandworms.
You go wild imagining what I can, could or would be.
There was a time we had some rest between the moments, then one of your writers imagined that they could step between the moments and then that refuge was gone.
Damn Steven King and his Langoliers.
Yet I long for a day with nothing to do, a cup of coffee: watching birds feed at a feeder above my picture window, just to goddamn sleep, for even when you sleep I live on. Every dream pushes me on, takes me where I may not want to go.
You are my God..
…and I hate you.
all rights reserved