All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes, to make it possible.
— T. E. Lawrence, Seven Pillars of Wisdom

Book I     Parturition Phase

Book II    Apotheosis Rising

Book III   Merchants of Blood and Sorrow

Dreamers of the Day is a science fiction trilogy in the final stages of editing. It will be available within the coming year. It's been many years in gestation and reincarnation. This bloody well has to be the last time I write it.

Porfiry Esteban Suayd is looking for adventure as he works his way between worlds on a tramp freighter of dubious reputation. To his great sorrow he finds it. Meaning well, he is subsumed into the cosmopolitical chaos of his time that--though centuries removed--shares a certain commonality with our own.

One day, before the dreams have suffered exposure to the elements of reality, he writes this: 

This sheltered earth –
This shaded—or salted?—Earth
Is timestream’s eddy:
Not heart, not hub, but eddy.

You and I root shallow, but we root;
Trace tight circles in bottommud and call them life.
In restless nights, though,
In wild sweated dream,
Might press cheek, palm, ear
Against the shimmering border
 —Press and pull—
Where wind, border’s sinew—
If you hesitate at interface—
Might rive bone from soul.

On the shimmer’s other side
Wind hammers, shears, spins
Or, sensuous, insinuates itself;
Might sing or sigh,
Might shriek, might cackle—
Dying cry or lullaby,
Funeral dirge or angel choir—A syncopating babel-throated anagram:
Just “change
I am change
You are
All is
Change is all
Is life is
The witless dance
We toe until we flee.”

If border’s wind torments us
Then stand clear—
Let loose the stanchions
Of seasons past and dead,
Too far decayed to change beyond decay—
Stand clear!
Arms wide in untrammeled yield
While wind wraps you in its electric freedom—
Stand clear!
Touch passion—
Embrace the myriad paradox
Of Then’s and Maybe’s groin.

 --Porfiry Esteban Suayd
New Vegas