Here they are, my friends, like a deck of cards fanned out before you, my dreams. Arrayed in no particular order. You just pick a card, any card, and read away. You can start and end anywhere you like. The dreams are but a few pages each, and chances are you will want to read another and maybe another. They are as revealing as tarot cards are intimate, a mystical blend of past, present and future. I wish I had thought of this metaphor as I was writing, the persona of a clairvoyant, crusty crone eyeballing you into submission over a handful of divining cards suits the narrator–my seahorse/hippocampus–to a tee.
Sour grape aside, the titles below refer to the improvised dreams my seahorse plays for me, just to make me clear on who I am and why I am here and where I am going. Remember, though, that chapter titles can be deceiving, that a book cannot be judged by its cover, so, please, go ahead, pick one.
- Dream factory
- Village idiot
- Yellow canary
- Skunk cabbage
- Blonde hair hangs from a tower
- Divil
- Necktie quilt
- Big words
- Minne
- Sophia
- Tenor gasp, brown eye
- Fences to mend
- Three letters
- Nixon on the way
- Figure eight
- House of the good shepherd
- Bloody birthday
- Al Kufrah
- Mocking bird
- St. Anne Four
- Fat banana haikus
- Oued crossing
- Hither and yon, hither and you
- In the crosshairs
- You are retarded
- Judogi
- Stammtisch
- Fabulous betrayal
- Nineties Noah
- Urgent
- Concert in the yard
- Grinder
- King of names
- Dopo tutto
- Suffixes are whores
- Birchdew
- Rope
- Godspeed
- Dinosaurs without borders
- Promontory
- Orange is the way to go (Previous posts have dealt with cover design, the premise of the book and the preface itself. Thanks for supporting indie authors! Michael / W.M. / William Michael)