letter-myths of the near future

the other day i was given a book called "myths of the near future" I've only just started it but i came across one of the most wonderful pieces of writing I've read in ages in only one of the first few pages; its a letter from a wife to her ex husband, she appears to be mentally ill or heavily medicated while writing...

"I wish you could be here, Roger, this forest is fitted with a deep marine light, almost as if the dark lagoons that once covered the Florida peninsula have come in from the past and submerged us again. There are strange creatures here that seem to have stepped off the surface of the sun. Looking over the river this morning, I actually saw a unicorn walking on the water, its hooves shod in gold. Philip has moved my bed to the window, and I sit propped here all day, courting the birds, creatures I have never seen before that seem to have come from some extraordinary future. I feel sure now that I shall never leave here. Crossing the garden yesterday, I found that I was dressed in light, a sheath of golden scales that fell from my skin on to the glowing grass. The intense sun-light plays strange tricks with time and space. I’m really certain that there’s a new kind of time here, following in some way from the old space centre. Every leaf and flower, even the pen in my hand and these lines I’m writing to you are surrounded by haloes of themselves. Everything moves very slowly now, it seems to take all day for a bird to cross the sky, it begins as a shabby little sparrow and transforms itself into an extravagant creature as plumbed and ribboned as a lyre-bird. I’m glad we came, even though Philip was attacked at the time. Coming here was my last chance, he claimed, I remember him saying we should seize the light, not fear it. All the same, I think he’s got more than he bargained for, he’s very tired, poor boy. He’s frightened of my falling asleep, he says, that when I dream I try to turn into a bird. I woke up by the window this afternoon and he was holding me down, as if I were about to fly off forever into the forest. I wish you were here, dear, it’s a world the surrealists might have invented. I keep thinking that I will meet you somewhere…

She “died” the following day…"

just a couple of pages in my note book inspired by this piece...