"It was amazing to imagine your city was a novel, and that for you to walk around within it meant that you were in language, you were in a thinking text. I had been placed inside of something dreaming, its citizens dreaming, the novels we had all written dreaming."
-Renee Gladman (via @EverySongIveEve)
"After The Flood
My dreams are still · of the dry ages.
Waking, I weep · for the world’s drowning,
I, Noah, that knew · it could never last.
(he does, in fact, weep silently)
What a fool I felt, · claiming foreknowledge,
Mad maunderer, · mediating
Visions and voices · for very truth
That everyone knew · were airy delusion!
As I preached, how prim · and proud everyone
Called me – they dubbed me · 'damned hypocrite'!
They said I set · myself in judgment
Of their wills and their ways, · but how well I knew
Soft life, liquor, · love, revelry.
I so dote on drink · that I dream this moment
Of grapes growing · in a great vineyard.
And my maid Miriam, · mother of Ham,
Her embrace in bed · made my beard tingle;
Losing her, I lost · my life, nearly.
No, I was hardly · holier than they,
But God’s governance, · gravitating
From his sovereign seat, · singled me out.
Though I winced and wailed · as his will opened
Itself to my sight, · and insisted on
Living my life · as I liked, never
A move that I made · diminished his rule.
Free will’s working · is wondrous strange."
--Charles R Sleeth in Withowinde
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