Disclaimer: I do not own either of the characters herein, nor the poetry of Edgar Allen Poe, and I make no attempt to claim any such ownership or impeach any rights (as if anyone would ever actually pay me to write this?)
“He lived in a dream world, too, you know,” the man with the cheese on his head said. “The world of Long Ago.”
“I believe I have said as such in prior times,” the dreamer answered. His soft southern accent rolled with the steady slipping of a fine molasses. “Yet, in all veracity I had never really conceived of how accurate I may have inadvertently been.”
His strong, reserved voice reflected such fear and wonder in equal parts as he gazed over the vastness.
“You are not wrong,” he quoted softly, “who deem that my days have been a dream.”
“Dreams are tricky things,” the man replied. “Cheddar and Rye, on Colby-Jack flies. You have flown before.”
“Not in my recall,” the dreamer said. “Oh, my hopes, for certain sure, and other friends have flown before. Yet never have I followed after. Never have I…” His words trailed off to a star-eyed stare.
“The Cheddar is No More,” the man said, suddenly, and the dreamer started, locking eyes.
“No More… Now I understand you, Sir,” the dreamer said at last with a smile. “I have by the noble Raven arrived and you the pilgrim shade! You’ll tell of El Dorado – point me a direction?”
The man stood silent, smiling inanely under his great urda.
“No,” the dreamer said. “You have no directions for me, Sir. I am, of course, impermissible to the golden city.”
“I stand amid the roar of a surf tormented shore,” he drawled. “And I hold within my hand, grains, of the golden sand – how few – yet how they creep through my fingers to the deep.” The dreamer looked again around the world of Long Ago. “All that I see or seem… The pilgrim shadow has no directions for I am unfit for El Dorado. Where shall I travel, then, shadow?”
“No More,” the shade replied.
“No More.” The dreamer stared out to the horizon. “ ‘He is the corporate Silence - dread him not! No power hath he of evil in himself. But should some urgent fate bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf that haunteth the lone regions where hath trod no foot of man,) commend thyself to God!’ To God, should I, dear shadow? To God or silence meet? And what then becomes of me, I wonder? Goldthwait H. Dorr, No More. Or Nevermore, as the Raven flies.”
Watching the waves crash beneath him, he began to hum. Then to sing, a song of trouble and joy and sorrow and destiny. His strong tones rolled down across the landscape and all was still, until at last they stood together in complete serenity.
“I must apologize,” the dreamer said, “for taking so much of your conversation, Sir. I confess I’ve found myself unprepared for recent events. I stand ready, now, though, and shall waste no more of your time. I choose the silence.”
“No More,” the man said.
“Indeed, No More.”
“So you called it, yes,” the dreamer said with some small amusement.
“The Cheddar is no more.”
Goldthwait nodded. “That is my choice.”
“The Cheddar is no more. It has been eaten.”
“No more Cheddar,” the man repeated.
“But… I… That is…”
“No more Cheddar.” The man pulled the urda from his head and tossed it at Goldthwait’s feet. The dreamer stared at it.
“What is this?”
“Urda,” the man said and vanished from sight completely.
“Wait!” Goldthwait said. “What is… What do I do with this?”
“I never followed…” said Goldthwait H. Dorr, Ph.D. “I never knew.”
“And all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams, and where thy grey eye glances and where thy footstep gleams, in what ethereal dances by what eternal streams…”
“I never understood…”
A Dream within a Dream
Sonnet – Silence
To One in Paradise
A hundred points to anyone who guessed the crossover, and for anyone still wondering Professor G.H. Dorr, Ph. D. comes from the film "The Ladykillers" which is rather funny and surreal in it's own right.