Because we have a very old dog my wife Connie and I "trade off" sleeping on the sofa downstairs so we can be near our pal "roscoe". We used to carry him upstairs to our bedroom but he weighs close to 80 pounds and though we’re strong enough for the task you can tell that being carried like a sack of potatoes is uncomfortable for the old guy. So we try to be near him in his dotage.
Last night I listened to the BBC while drifting in and out of sleep. At one point I dreamt I was in Iraq with the poet Brian Turner who was being interviewed about his experiences as a soldier and poet. I was asleep and yet abel to hear my radio. I half dreamt I was in a bombed out house staring out at the night sky. I heard Brian Turner reading a poem entitled "Here, Bullet" and then I was truly asleep and struggling to navigate a complicated and unfamiliar house.
The unconscious is always clever.
Brian Turner’s collection of poems Here, Bullet takes us through houses and landscapes of terrifying moral and psychological struggle.
You can read more about his remarkable book at:
http://www.alicejamesbooks.org/here_bullet.html
S.K.
Planet of the Blind 
I listen to the BBC this way, through dreams, overnight. There must be a surreal network of Americans like us who perceive the wider world this way thanks to public radio. My scariest scenarios resonate in the voice of Owen Bennet-Jones as he grills some toad on “The Interview.”
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