Oakland Technical High School - Talisman Yearbook (Oakland, CA)

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Once I imagined 1ny creator, as a divinity of the Gospel, and I led the most virtuous and holy life in the world. But I got tired of this, and I pictured him as a pagan hero, and I crowned myself with grapes and oak leaves, and I sang the Hymns of Bacchus, and I danced with graceful nymphs in the green fields and in the lonely woods. I also imagined him as a revered scientist, who lived in the upper regions of the soul, and I spent whole nights in measuring the stars, in talking to spirits of other planets, and in finding an elixir of youth. I was literally intoxicated with eiphers. And I eve11 decided once, to try to analyze the souls of human beings. Finally tired and humbled, thinking that I was only the object of a joke, I saw that this life is not worthy ot' any sacrifices, coward acts, or adulations. Then I desired with all my internal self what before I had so tried to avert+his awakening. I tried to till my life with weird and gruesome acts which would un- doubtedly awaken him. Not a crime was not committed by me. There was not an ignominious action which I did not do. No terror made me re- treat. I killed with refined cruelty, I poisoned wells of prosperous cities. I started afire hundreds of towns where innocent girls dwelled. At nights I looked for the company of gigantic monsters, unknown to men. I took part in innumerable adventures of ghouls, of demons, and of kobolds., l saw everything. I did everything. I said everything. I thought every- thing. But in vain. He did not awake. He has not awakened! VVho will save me from this? For a long time have I waited for the day which would end it all. In this moment I am making the supreme effort. I am telling my 'dreamer' that I am nothing but a dream. That I wish him to dream that he is dreaming. That is why I have come to you to tell you all this. Do you think that I will be successful? Do you really ? And when the queer man finished his queer speech, he seemed to have intense internal convulsions, he I1'Cl11lJlCfl. He ungloved and gloved his hands again. He looked at me with such a wild expression that I was obliged to close my eyes. Wlieii I opened theln again, he was carressing his forehead. He looked at his feet and hands, as if expecting them to vanish suddenly. He began it all over again. Do you believe thisg don't you? Oh, please! try to calm me, suggest some way by which I can disappear! Or better still, awaken him. Once I tried to shoot myself, but in' vain. The bullet passed through my brain and I still live. You pity me, don't you? A poor hopeless, helpless, living corpse! And as I remained silent, astonished, he suddenly looked at me, and got up from the chair. He semed taller than ever, and I was attracted by the singular transparent paleness of his skin. He seemed to be suffering intensely. He resembled an animal trying to free itself from the hunter's net. , For the last time I felt upon my brow the soft caress of his gloved hand. . . . Murmuring something unintelligible in a hoarse voice, he went out of the room, and nobody has ever seen him since.

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soul, and before something terrible happens, I: would like to have some one hear my trouble. And finishing these words, he sat down in a chair near n1y bed, he lighted his pipe, and he went on to say: I am not a real man, I was not born from mortals. I was never young. Nobody ever rocked my cradle, nor sang me to sleep. I never knew the tender love and care of parents. I a111 the 'image of a dream., What Shakespeare said, 'stuff of what dreams are made of,' is for me a literally exact and tragic expression. I exist because there is some one who dreams me. When 'he' began to dream, I began to exist, I am a product of his fan- tastic imagination. His dream is so powerful and persistent that he has made me visible to the- naked human eye! Oh, but the world of reality, the world of sordid ambitions, the world of duty, is not my own. I feel so unhappy over the vulgar sordidness of your existence! ' Do not believe that I am speaking symbolically or enigmatically- What I am saying is nothing but the truth. But of course, your human, narrow mind won't permit you to believe it. Oh, please stop making such frightful stupid faces. I am not human, don't pity me. I am not evil, don't be afraid! Poets say that a manis life is the shadow of a dream, and philosophers maintain that reality is only an hallucination. But to me that is not im- portant. I only want to know who 'dreams' me, who is that unknown being whom I cannot see, and yet to whom I belong. Ah! how many days have I thought of that master who dreams, of the creator of my miserable life. He must be indeed powerful Zllld great, that being to whom my years are minutes, and who can live the whole life of a man in one of his hours, and the history of humanity in one of his nights. His dreams must be very vivid, strong, and profound to project externally the things unreal, to make them seem real. Perhaps you and the rest of your kind, are nothing but the dreams of beings similar to him? Who knows? But let us not touch metaphysical grounds, we must leave that to the learned fools. But going back to our theme. Who is he? That is the question which has haunted me every day and every night, every hour and every 1ni11ute, since I have known the stuff of which I am made. You understand the importance and magnitude of this question? It means life or death to me. I have to know who is my 'dreamer,' in order to choose my career. At first, the idea of awakening him, and thus annihilating myself, pierced through my brain, so that for months I stood motionless barely winking my eyes-a noise, a draft of wind, perhaps, would submerge me in Nothing. I was a fool then, I loved life, and for this reason I tortured myself in vain to try to guess tl1e tastes and passions of my unknown 'dreamerf to give to 1ny existence the actitudes and movements which would please him. I trembled and I shivered with fright at every instant for fear that I should offend or dis- please him, and that he would awake. Can you imagine anything more horrific, anything more terrible, anything more 'dantesque' than my situa- tion? Only Poe, the divine genius, could with his gifted brain, imagine something similar to this. A

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E....-...............-..........,............... ..M. ..............-..-.......,.,...,...............,.......-...........,,.....i i IHS Decision gg 5 5 By ELSIE BOARDMAN N - -IO O'll b O''O'10 l'HOG'l'll l IUIOHINI'IINl O C O O l l l INONU''UNO'lNI'0O'0lb0O0lC0l4-OnOIUOHOIOINOIIO'll O'llWl i l O0lNCNO'1l'OO0'l'll i Characters: Jack Sherman .......... ..................... E ditor of The Teller Bertram Graham ......,, .............. B est friend of Sherman Alice Lathe ............... ,......... S herman's Fiancee Mr. Lathe ....... ................. A lice's Father Jim ...................... ........,........................ T he Printer's Devil Mr. Crossely ...................................,............ Lathe's Lawyer ACT I-SCENE 1 .I ack Sherman sits in a chair with his head on the desk when the curtain rises. After a few seconds have passed enter from right Bert. Graham. Bert- Well, old top-thesitates upon sceing J ack in such a positioni- Wliy, what's the matter? Uack raises head.J You seem to be in trouble. I tell you what, you are working too hard. Take a trip to the country some- whereg it would do you a world of good. Jack-fGets up and starts to walk floor with hands in pocketsj - It isn't that Bert, I am in a very serious kind of trouble. In fact I'm sort of between the Devil and the deep blue sea CBert laughsj It isn't funny or a joke this time. You are the best friend that I have ever had, Bert, and you have always listened with interest to my troubles. Well, fdraws up another chairj sit down and listen once again. But remember this is serious. ' . Bert- ls it really as bad as all that? Well here I am, tell it out. fBoth sit down.J V Jack-- Well it's this way: I suppose that you heard about thc scrape that Alice's father has gotten into? Committing embezzlement against thc town? Well, fBert nods headj no one has the proof against him but- circumstantial evidence and all that. a Bert-- Yes, the whole town is up about it. I heard that there was a mob after him last night. .lack- You understand that part of the situation then. So far I haven't printed one line in 'The Teller' about it. According to the policy of the paper I must denounce him in my columns. I have built up the policy of that paper out of my ideals, and out of what I consider stands for right. If I do not live up to it-well, I am a f ailure, that's all l Bert- Come, don't take it so seriously, forget- Jack-tcontinuing as if uninterruptedj- On the other hand there is Alice. Her name will be brought into this mess, and you know her dispo4 sition. Why, she would no more marry me than fly. Women don't under- stand such things as this and she probably would think I put it in because I wanted something for my paper. In other words, I must either shatter my ideal or lose Alice's love. To me both are equally important. tbows head.J -