the Sandman

This I've told my best friend (a Norwegian guy), and he said he was quite sure it was so in his friendly cynical way, and that I might earn a lot with this story, suppose I'd find the right publisher. Well, this doesn't matter - apart from the fact that it means he can tolerate me this much -, but it is important to me like it's been a big help any time before whenever I was reading about the Dreamlord and his family. Now and then I thought it was easier to read these comic books than other books, and that was the reason why I read them again and again. But reconsidering it, it was easier to take life as it came, in their reflection.

So, I have just finished reading the Sandman comic series again, much of it still on my mind. And one day soon afterwards, while we were playing yatzi (a Norwegian name for dice poker game) with my Mom, I turned on the radio, and they were talking about the Sandman, and that the next folk song would be about him, played by a Norwegian band.
Then the next day when getting a bit bored by a long book, I switched back to a Norwegian short story that was left unread from a collection I'd started before. And there you go, one of the two main characters, who was going mad, mentioned the Sandman by different names (Norwegian, Danish, and German) as he couldn't fall asleep, and wished so much he finally was able to.
Then one night soon I couldn't fall asleep and when I finally was halfway toward it, it suddenly came to me that the big white face with empty eyes like an ancient Roman statue that I'd seen as a child, and which was covering the door of my bedroom, after I woke from a nightmare where evil witches were trying to destroy me, could easily be the face of Dream himself. As it was not evil in any case - I can still recall this -, but more like staring at me or more like through me or maybe into me, with his great big wondering eyes, and still standing there like a protection filling the gap of the entrance, and not going away even after I'd closed and opened my eyes several times, and my Mom was already sitting by my side trying to console me.

And so I recall all the dreams and daydreams whether about future plans or simply wondering through possibilities and wishes. I remember Death, too, calling in one night when I was still not ten or maybe just reached that age, and I couldn't handle her message, or the other way around, I knew very well the meaning of it, but simply couldn't grasp the infinity or maybe the inevitable and final, unchangeable state it was about. I got so frightened that she left the same instance. Also the many times spent with the Lady Delirium who always helps to forget about the cruelty of this world, or doesn't she? And those heart-throbbing and heart-breaking moments when sweet Desire made me wish and then wish again that I'd never done so. Just like the several visits I received from Despair; sometimes she'd stay for months or even years, it seems, and all the inexplicable things she made me do. What would I be without them, how could I survive and accept all the things in life? It's an endless story, the very same way as they are endless. So they never leave us alone just like we need them all the time.