oh, that known future visitor already knocks at the ajar door;

let his shadow sketch enter the veil of time yore
a so familiar touch; he coils his presence from the past,
sizzles thoughts, crackles fried seconds to the burnt pan rim….
….braking silence the minute hand again climbs stairs
to the boiled dead end of a tangy jasmine-ginger tea steam–
oh, that known future visitor
fishes all memories from the crushing stream
and at midnight peak he passes life to a living dream

Dali, The Persistence of Memory, detail


by: Pedro Calderón de la Barca (1600-1681)

E live, while we see the sun,
Where life and dreams are as one;
And living has taught me this,
Man dreams the life that is his,
Until his living is done.
The king dreams he is king, and he lives
In the deceit of a king,
Commanding and governing;
And all the praise he receives
Is written in wind, and leaves
A little dust on the way
When death ends all with a breath.
Where then is the gain of the throne,
That shall perish and not be known
In the other dream that is death?
Dreams the rich man of riches and fears,
The fears that his riches breed;
The poor man dreams of his need,
And all his sorrows and tears;
Dreams he that prospers with years,
Dreams he that feigns and foregoes,
Dreams he that rails on his foes;
And in all the world, I see,
Man dreams whatever he be,
And his own dream no man knows.
And I too dream and behold,
I dream I am bound with chains,
And I dreamed that these present pains
Were fortunate ways of old.
What is life? a tale that is told;
What is life? a frenzy extreme,
A shadow of things that seem;
And the greatest good is but small,
That all life is a dream to all,
And that dreams themselves are a dream.

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