Thursday, December 24, 2009
Last night I dreamt of Africa, my natal land … upon awaking, I hastily referred to my dog-eared copy of The Dreambook of Mister Pyridine. As that infamous tome's epigraph proclaims — good luck, for there is no other!
Hmmm … deadly continents loom ahead … strong stuff indeed for the haruspices amongst us! Speaking of which, no doubt those of you blessed with second sight have been poking around your breakfast livers and come to the conclusion that any further mention of Lewis Carroll's Hunting of the Snark has become rather scarce on this blog.
Nothing could be further from the postmodern, globalized, deconstructed truth! All this talk of dreams is merely an extended riff upon the dominant theme of Fit the Sixth, the Barrister's Dream. The Barrister dreams of Snark, the Poet dreams of Parnassus, the Reader dreams of the Library of Babel and the Artist dreams of his own private Africa where well-inked beasts roam densely crosshatched jungles, themselves dreaming of Eden before the Fall.