My “Surreal War” began with nightmares about senseless chemical bombs in my city, my school, my own apartment. The attacks couldn’t be controlled until I awoke.
One night I dreamt my comrades and I fought against the propaganda through art and writing we posted on walls throughout the city. A few weeks later, this dream became synchronistic, even prescient. Walking down a quiet neighborhood street, I noticed art glued onto a grey wall. The words War and sur • real popped out, said look at me, recognize me.
I’ve taken friends and relatives to see this, like a tourist destination. Here for you to view and ponder with me:
onto a grey brick wall
into roots by bullets:
dis • cern • ment.
voices speak of hope?
Aunt S, Dad, Grandpa, Cousin P. . .
of my dress, high heels, coat
who also hide
Over time, the body-less images have been torn away, as if annihilation is their fate. The surreal war figures have gotten grungier, more weathered but have been left alone. My dreams have softened.
Copyright © 2015 by Carrie Albert