I'm sad. I don't have any full-blown Silliman dreams to report. Some fragments, yes. But they make me even sadder. Like finding bits and pieces of the bible.
1-- I walk into my bedroom and Ron Silliman's jerking off on to my pillow. "Relax," he says. "I'm just spelling the alaphabet."
2-- I'm called into a room to identify Ron's body. They pull the sheet up--It's my dad. His eyes open. He stands up. We hug.
3-- I'm on a park bench next to Ron. He's duck-feeding. A big goose walks up. A very mean looking one. "This is it," Ron says. "This is it."
4-- We're going to hear Ron read. But what's this? We're on a safari jeep and we've snuck up on an okapi. Shhhhh, a voice whispers.
5-- Ron's in a kitchen making a peanut butter and jelly sandwhich. He's in his bathrobe and slippers and he looks so humble. I feel as though I'm intruding on a scene in a novel. "It's the only way," he mumbles. "It's the only way."
And then there's a really fuzzy fragment involving Shane Jones and his Light Boxes (i think.)
All these weeks in bed exhorting with all heart Ron Silliman into my dreams and this is all I have to show for such devotion. (sigh)
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