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Träumerei: Co-Vivid Dreaming
DFS LEWIS
Reviews linked for each year by dint of the Art of Synchronicty & Preternature: 2008/9 – 2010 – 2011 – 2012 – 2013 – 2014 – 2015 – 2016 – 2017 – 2018 – 2019 – 2020
And Click: HERE for full Navigation, Stop Press & Backstory.
Available DFL books: HERE
All reviews linked for each of these years:
2008/9 – 2010 – 2011 – 2012 – 2013 – 2014 – 2015 – 2016 – 2017 – 2018 – 2019 – 2020
And Click: HERE for full Navigation, Stop Press & Backstory.
The Three Ages of D.F. Lewis
0. 1948-1985 — Poems / Zeroist Group (1960s), The Visitor (Novel) 1973, Agra Aska (novella) 1983.
1. 1986-2000 – Over 1000 fiction publications in magazines and anthologies, some selected for the Prime Books D.F. Lewis collection ‘Weirdmonger’ (2003).
He was awarded the BFS Karl Edward Wagner Award.
2. 2001-2010 – Publishing multi-authored ‘Nemonymous’.
3. 2008-
GESTALT REAL-TIME REVIEWING (www.nemonymous.com),
Plus one novel NEMONYMOUS NIGHT (Chômu Press), a story collection and two novellas entitled THE LAST BALCONY (InkerMen Press), and a novella entitled Weirdtongue (InkerMen Press), and my reprint of Agra Aska that was originally published in 1998 by Scorpion Press,
Plus three originally created multi-authored anthologies that I published,
Plus two books from Mount Abraxas Press, and an Eibonvale chapbook called The Big Headed People. And a book collection from Eibonvale: DABBLING WITH DIABELLI,
Plus, in July 2020, a past story selected for THE BIG BOOK OF MODERN FANTASY edited by Ann and Jeff VanderMeer.
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THE LAST BALCONY: HERE
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After many satisfying years of gestalt real-time reviewing, it now feels really special to see one of my own old stories showcased here!
My detailed review of this Big Book: HERE
I see that I need to wait till September before real-time reviewing this book!
I have just realised that the dates of this book’s September do not match the days’ names themselves for September 2016 when I had set myself the pleasurable or anguished task of reading and reviewing this diary poem in a real-time day by day process. So I started reading it today and couldn’t put it down.
In one fell sitting. The poem flows sweetly in enjambement about some less sweet existential and writerly and personal matters in South-Eastish London, but sweet, too. I had honest pangs that I was tapping this book, to extend my life, perhaps forever. You heard it here first. My dreamcatching reviews are a sort of vampiric supping of synchronicities and serendipities, the shards of random truth and fiction, untying the Ligottian knot, and this book has fed me more years than many others that I have similarly dreamcaught. It is life seen through tea-stained net curtains. It is this. It is that. It is easy to digest, but will I find it eventually difficult to expel? Death, too. And I hope the author or publisher does not mind me quoting one whole stanza out of many stanzas…
“Literature’s function
Is twofold. First to keep from
Dying. Second, to
Learn to die. Whatever I
Write, I won’t keep from dying.”
But that last bit does not apply to whatever I READ, I’d suggest, having now seen a sudden Erithian gap in the curtain.