Dream Pedlary

If there were dreams to sell, what would you buy? Thomas Lovell Beddoes would be as forgotten as me had he not asked this question. Of course, I was never remembered in the first place, as I only shopped for dreams in Life's bargain bins, always searching for cut-price reveries in Ambition's clearance aisle. And I got what I paid for, oh yes, just look upon my works and despair. I'd ask for my money back but there's always a 'no refunds' policy for cheap dreams and customer service is non-existent.

Alas, most everyone's dreams are Made In China these days; knock-offs of the real thing; fake fur concealed inside a cubic zirconia. I suppose that's enough for most people: the illusion of good living, the chain-clanking phantom of happiness that's the same as a real ghost except it can only walk into walls and not through them. This is the endgame of a world in which we've all become well aware that we can't have nice things anymore, so why even bother trying?

When I started this blog, in the Golden Age before the flood of social media, I naively thought Online communication would always be an exchange of art and humor and whimsy. Back then, wise writers knew never to discuss politics, religion, and sex in public. These days, however, those formerly taboo topics are all anyone talks about, hence the rage and abuse and misery that characterizes today's internet experience. So, in a way, I'm relieved this dream of mine called American Fez is concealed in obscurity in an old-fashioned web format called blogging where whimsy can flourish in unread anonymity.

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