something wicked this way comezZz

"She's immortal. She has a son.
Your son too!
But what father every really believes it? He carries no burden, he feels no pain. What man, like woman, lies down in darkness and gets up with child? The gentle, smiling ones own secret. Oh, what strange wonderful clocks women are. They nest in Time. They make the flesh that holds fast and binds eternity. They live inside the gift, know power, accept, and need not mention it. Why speak of Time when you are Time, and shape the universal moments as they pass, into warmth and action? How men envy and often hate these warm clocks, these wives, who know they will live forever. So what do we do? We men turn terribly mean, because we can't hold to the world ourselves or anything. We are blind to continuity, all breaks down, falls, melts, stops, rots, or runs away. So since we cannot shape Time, where does that leave men? Sleepless. Staring."

Ray Bradbury- "Something Wicked this way comes.

One of my favorite passages of all time.

I dream in color. The first thing I noticed about this dream was that it was in black and white.
The face that appeared was that of my best friend (who had recently become my rival for my current love).
The taunting voice, however, did not belong to him.
"Where's your colors, bright boy? Huh? How's that world look in black and white? Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha."
I recognized that laugh. Four ha's, then three.
I'm no Buffy, but I had sort of fallen into a hobby of battling minor demons. None had previously shown the power of invading something so personal as my dreams.
I knew this guy was basically a punk, but he seemed to have suddenly made some advances...or gained an ally. I didn't much care for either possibility.
He continued to taunt me in his sing-song way. "I've got your colors and you can't have them back! Ha ha ha ha. Ha ha ha! Pretty dreary world in store for you!"
"You jerk!" (That's not what I called him, but this is a public post.) I spoke his name, which he had once been stupid enough to reveal. He responded with some sounds I cannot translate into printed words.
"You think you have taken something from me. So perhaps you have. But you and your 'power' only exist in this dream. I can wake up, but you have to stay. When I awaken, both you and your power will be gone, and my colors will return."
I hesitated for a minute, unsure if I was quite ready to face him if I was wrong and he could travel with me back into the waking world.
"Ha ha ha ha. Color boy..."
I woke myself up, opened my eyes, and turned on the light. My blue bedspread glowed warmly in the pale yellow rays cast by the lamp. That particular demon has never pestered me again.
The matter of my rival/ best friend, however, had a less successful outcome.

He wrote this one short story called "Night" that was the first story in this one edition of "Collected Stories" and it was UNREAL. It was like David Lynch on the page. Soooo dark, soooo beautiful. Love him (although his future predictions are sooo dated now! Jeesh! He was WAY off ;)

"It's all in the mind, you know.” - Spike Milligan