A giant dreamed about a guy who was a sleepwalker in Norway. Far north under rainbows, the giant lived in a fractured castle made of glass and ice. The aurora bourealis and polar sunset-less horizons scooped and turned upside down expressions of apathy. Daylong haze of mauve and purple gave everything a passive angst. To the edge of a cold shore, a bizarre inlet catching angles of light, one could almost make her out under the surface. Down there - to her, he dove. A statue of a women with a permanent peaceful gaze and stone rivulets of flowing hair. Every night and not on clockwork odd and stumbling this lanky graceful alien, to himself was pulled through invisible and turbulent passages of crisp coolness. Kissing skin and transferring dreams.
The giant would toss in sleep and crack all that shit beneath.
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