The Captain’s Log

I like to have my dinners late into the night, and someone told me once or twice that eating more than your average midnight snack before bed causes you to have rather vivid and complex dreams. Maybe it’s a placebo effect, but it seems to work. Therefore, I like to have my dinners late. Studying photography in the art world has birthed in me a fascination with documenting things, whether it be through photography or writing with dates and time stamps included. This fascination brought about the Captain’s Log. It is my strange dream journal that is only strange because dreams are strange when they are written. Writing a dream can never fully convey its original experience, and it’s just plain hard to explain (dat rhyme). But here lies an excerpt following these dreamy images:

Pond Medium Format Holga 120N 2011

Medium Format Holga 120N

Photography taken in the motherland by someone in my family who held the camera that day

Photograph taken in the motherland by someone in my family who held the camera that day

Excerpt from Captain’s Log dated 11 December 2012

“Recurring dreams of the British monarchy.
The night before, I dreamt I was at an event with the Queen of England. I was watching her fill out a form, perhaps for the post office? Nevermind that…
This past night, I was at my post at the top of a tower with my pistol. Down below me was the red army…no, not that red army. It was the British, scouting about like wee raccoons. I partially obscured myself behind organza curtains of…orange? Maybe red again, ironically. I hid my face and fired, somehow wiping out platoons of the coons. Their general sees me and climbs to me in a fit of rage. I can only stare at him approaching the glass doors, and unfroze myself too late to try to close them. He looked as some might say a hot mess. My pistol disappeared, and I picked up a saber and went at it, making multiple wounds but none exactly fatal. A kind doctor calmly taps me on the shoulder and says he’ll take it from here. Ahh, lunch break. Just kidding. I think I dropped the sword and was content knowing I didn’t have to kill the man, but it made me a little uneasy knowing he was to be around. Nevertheless, a while passed and I found myself at something that looked like a coronation ceremony. The general was there, much fatter and taller than before, and well polished with his white wispy hair in a braid and his piercing but kind blue eyes. He was wearing cornflower blue and smiled at me with crinkly eyes. I stood on a platform behind shiny blue curtains, the kind of blue you see ribboned across the chests of royals. The general took a dagger and cut through the curtains at the level of my neck. Naturally, this made me a little uneasy as well, but I was honored nonetheless. A rather large and cumbersome ribbon made of the same curtain material and embellished with a medal was placed around my neck. It looked like a giant Le Cordon Bleu cooking school emblem. Then the general opened his arms for a bear hug, and I gave him a chicken hug. Thus, Madeline saved the day and won the Revolutionary War.”
And here is one of those intro pages you find in books:
For Julia, upon whose request you read these excerpts

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