( photo of my wall: the lower cliff from the Green Sands Beach cove from the southern point of Hawaii, the upper portion the new flag from Dan Deacon's America, which arrived yesterday. apparently it's a picture of Lake Placid from upstate? it does look a bit like a D. . . I'm pleased by the juxtaposition)
I was very touched by this dream
and pretty happy with how I could recall it
it's not been this clear in a while
I am also grateful for waking up this early!
the birds singing outside my window
coupled with the hum of machinery
and the woosh of cars going by on the hill
my half month away from here really makes me appreciate this place
and the strange landscape up here
i'm grateful to live here
but. . . onto the dream
should you care to read it
dd198 2012-07-16 M
just as I was getting up
from reading the near-ending of that month's journal
I heard a rustling and looked into the edge of the light
the edge of the forest
- a gigantic grizzly was lumbering out of the woods
his fur shimmered in the security light
he was big
but still early summer thin
and his horns still had a furry cover on them..
i'd never seen a bear with horns before
this bear was at least 9 feet tall to his head
the horns were easily another two or more feet
and covered in a similar shaggy black furr as his body
he didn't give sign that he noticed me
he was just sniffing around the perimeter
I was very near the house
so I didn't feel much in danger
awareness that this huge thing lived near the house
and could wander over at any time
it was humbling
and a bit frightening
and I had to fight the impulse to stand and watch
or even go to it. . .
all of this was in an instant
out of my right field of view something emerged out of the dark coming towards me with great strides
it was Grandfather
he told me not to worry
the bear hadn't noticed me
but I should be going in
what was he doing out in the darkness?
the bear heard out conversation and ran back into the house
I was excited
went into the house and saw Grandmother at the sink
she stepped back so I could wash my hands
I made a prayer as I did so
as this was her kitchen
where all the beautiful food came from
this was her sink
where we washed the vegetables. . .
a feeling of reverence. . .
I asked if she saw the bear
she answered monosyllabically but in atone that implied she did not want me mentioning it to my brother and sister
they had mentioned this earlier. . .
as a reason to why I shouldn't sleep outside in the yard at night
I had no idea they could be that big
what would it do if it got its paws on me?
I woke then
before all this . . .
I'd been traveling
where we're we?
staying at this huge old house
not dissimilar feeling to where last night's play was
but that was commercial
this was more residential
it still had a TV studio and live theater in it
another woman was staying there who had been a part of the band. . .
not the Tindersticks. . . ( Beautiful South?)
but something like that
but i was surprised she was doing performances on her own
because i'd thought she was mostly a back up singer
she was touring with her partner, a man
but she was on her own now
perhaps he was the song writer?
perhaps she was?
I was surprised she was using the whole band's name. . .
I'd seen "them" a few years ago in the city and these two people weren't even in the performance (though i know they'd been on recordings)
she was sleeping in a bed with a canopy
but also wooden shutters
and on the outside
we're a whole bunch of chicken puppets
obviously made, not live
but even without her hand
I saw them moving of their own accord
so life like
I impulsively asked my mother if they needed feeding
they made no noise
but they looked like they were clucking around
as if they were eating bugs
out of the cracks of the old wide beams of the floor
though I had seen this woman perform
and would have enjoyed to do so again
I walked into another recording studio to watch what was going on in there
it was The Jimmy Fallon show
or. . .
she whispered in my ear
that he'd been on the air since the fifties
when he came home from the war
he tried just blending into society
but he was so entertaining they gave him his own talk show
and he'd been doing it all these years. . .
used to be every night
now he was down to just once a week. . .
but still had his whole staff employed!
that must be difficult for all of them
to be so old
and still doing this show
but only once. . .
maybe they were grateful
he still looked as if young
but his era was apparent
high and tight hair style
big black suit
(nothing like the Jimmy Fallon I know in this reality)
at the desk near me
a woman with very girlish ways (though I'm sure she was at least 60) was smiling and reading some nightly news
all tongue-in-cheek reporting
I glanced back at him while he made an animated response
when I looked back
the woman had tucked herself under the desk
and a man had taken her place
going on in the same manner she had
it was an old trick
to live-switch like that
without editing or pause
but I don't watch shows like that
I suppose it was shortly after that
I went outside to take some fresh air
I really wanted to sleep in the back yard to enjoy the stars
the fresh night air
but this bright security light was kinda spoiling the dark
it was enough light to read my book by
I sat in day lounge chairs
reading all that had gone on that month
written in a sparse rolling style
as if and event could have happened in one long day instead of the whole month
it's fading from me now. . .
but I appreciated my writing style
as this was a proof of a journal I had written and published
and I was remembering some man I was talking about
when I heard a loud sound at the edge of the darkness and stood up to see what it was:
a huge bear
it's fur black and oily
reflecting much of the light from the house
it's huge hairy horns above its huge hairy body
it was just as attractive as it was terrifying
i took a few steps backwards towards the house
. . . it wouldn't rush at me, would it?
I could get inside if it did
though it was only about 70 feet away from me
the Grandfather came out of the darkness to my right in strong, long strides
his presence was reassuring
and we went into the house together
where he suggested I was my hands for dinner. . .
what I like about wandering around Europe
is the proliferation of these kinds if things on buildings
millions of characters portrayed in stone
when the builds are blank
what is our mute reply?
when the buildings are all mirrors
do they just encourage our narcissistic habits
to fill the Internet-group-psyche with our own glorifying of ourselves
instead of other people's stories
meant to remind us of something. . . ?
something. . .
I'm 100% F.U.N.
People Are Awesome These Days
See that guy?
he's a cool guy
he's a lot of fun
I wish I could end this egoist cycle on an UP note
but my mind feels poisoned
I'm feeling incredibly antisocial
and I have no clue how to talk myself out of it
I'm grateful I won't have to continue saying things publicly
I can return to this year's practice of noodling to myself
when did it all go so wrong?
I'm looking forward to (craving) this next mercury retrograde cycle
something from the past!
when I seemed to be more functional!
something silly and filled with pride
moving along my trine
from impulsive firey water-controller
to the pair of virility and senility
I mean, seniority!
a brave and arrogant aggression
and fathers and lawyers and rulers
what could they be?
four years ago?
I'm not certain. . . does the mercury retrograde cycle work like that?
sticking to our guns. . .
I meditated this morning upon waking
it was some small comfort
but so much spiraling static
This Too Shall Pass
my hands are open for the next
. . .
My Ship (something something. . . )
. . . i achieved precious little tonight
but enjoyed time with a friend
who shared half of a quaylude he found in a stash from 30 years ago
I massaged him until I felt too heavy
I'm laying down and ready to sleep
we will play tomorrow
thank you for all the blessings!
some amazing dreams
the world asked me three times
so I had to stay awake
spent the whole day reading about garbage
The Last Of Sheila
Sondheim was a screen writer for a little bit?
for a little while. . .
I took my time
caught up in words
gotta know about the new Mac book pros
gotta know about iOS 6
gotta. . .
walked across 72nd street for the first time in years
when I arrived for the send-off
I got a nice hug from a chubby fellow I forget is straight every time I meet him
. . . there are still some straights that flit into my life from time to time
they smoked their e-cigs
we went for lunch
the sun is bright
I used to know that
this year it shocks me
I am shocked and appalled!
but I live inside now
in simply lit rooms
tapping on screens
the sun is so bright
every time I go outside
this is why the city people wear glasses
we eat at a French place
I get a torte
and must scarf the second half to make my appointment across the UWS
near West End
I'm On Time
which is to say, five minutes early
I wait outside the door to ring at 1
the man has the prettiest eyes ever
it's a little scary
through the session he used some adjective to emphasize how sincere I am
I'm all bashful for some reason
I like myself as a masseur
I know who I am
and what to do
in my place
like most "simple" and "pleasurable" things in life
I don't imagine it's sustainable
or I'm just itching to transform into someone I find more interesting
that's where this goe
I stop off at the workroom
we have a quarter of an hour of friendly love
I rush to my next appointment
and there I am
which is to say
3 minutes late
he always makes me wait anyway
I can tell its calculated
he talks slow
he takes time to choose his words
I imagine it's in direct contrast to how agitated I get when I'm chattering
everything is deconstruction
I keep trying to retell my story
it's boring me to death
he says something something
I forget it instantly
but the line is
"you should work to actually Experience your life"
I always leave feeling gutted
a mess of personality collage
"a cloned clever clone am I"
"the identity I composed out of terror has become Oppressive Now. I Am So OVER IT Now."
Actually Exoerience My Life
something like that
I forget it with every step I take
I try and write about it on the train
but I'm so sick and tired of my story
I really believed it was fascinating
. . . a few years ago
I meditate on it
and am horrified by an old conclusion
the understanding of my shame
my inherited family role
how can there be Love when both of us are trying to scam each other?
I forgot for a while. . .
but I'm chipper
I get home
in this city heat
I want to sleep
but a person comes over
talks to me
and lay down
he sleeps with me
go through with
when did I break my hand?
and I read about Scientology and the Cruise thing for a few hours
not to mention the Mormons
and that 12 year old talking to his 32 year old self
and Radiohead's collapsing stage
and two decades of photos
and google's glasses
is this different than hours wasted on porn?
it's 3am now
and I'm just as befuddled as ever
tomorrow is the last day of this public embarrassment
I used to be so comfortable with it. . .
today is an echo of my 33
let me wake with a day of grace and gratitude
and anyone who reads this
and anyone who wishes it
and all sentient beings
let us just be grateful for all that is
al least upon waking. . .
I move slow
I have become more cryptic
when I go to see my friend
there are storm clouds around me
of all the things I don't want to talk about
he doesn't want to hear it
and doesn't ask
he keeps his windows open
but does not make direct eye contact
there is rippling water between us
we walk quietly
holding our breath
I make a loose effort
the best I can
wanting only to run away
knowing there is no Away
so trying to stay
stay in distance
in my attempts
I scream to myself
smack my face against my hands
and stomp my feet on the floor
while making measurements
proof of past psychic bonds make themselves evident
as I knew they always were
there is no separation
I give up
realizing my attempt was faulty
and sets about to make something better
I am aware:
Night vs Day
Talking vs Doing
squares lock together
he says I did it
though I only watched
making a stupid task difficult
keeping it interesting
is that my skill?
through the masses
get some food
I should take that vacation anyway
(image of Richard's dying lover with oxygen tubes up his nose)
Take That Vacation Anyway
I'm filled with hate and frustration
it's novel for me
-feeling so offended-
I cradle it there
I don't want him involved
I think about friends who challenge
and am in agreement in concept
but challenge is different than
projecting shit all over you
I don't understand
and am unwilling to believe I'm as faulty as I've been described
I dismiss my friend
let myself indulge in rage for a moment
is that all addiction is?
indulging in distraction?
choosing, repeatedly, not to be present?
does it matter if it's sex or drugs or blogs or games?
another friend arrives
he's on another plane
we go to sit through a farce
and laugh our asses off
thank you for the well modeled distraction
the night offers tongue
walk through the night
I outline it all:
what damages me most is graceless loving
I want to love without forgetting who we are
(or "please destroy me". . . which is it?)
it is in expecting the lover to do or be other than they are that makes my weak heart snap shut
cutting out all light and consciousness for days. . . weeks. . . months. . .
any of us would die in the dark
here's a mystery:
what saves me?
how do I stay alive. . .
Tom, How do I Keep My Heart Open In Hell?
woke at noon
I couldn't feel the inebreants last night
...in the business of not feeling too much
with all my ebbing and flowing
but some blossoms are hard won
I'll have to stick to that
I got to wrestle
and it was good
though my neck was out all day
I'm not sure if that was from sleeping or what-after
but spending the "morning" in bed talking with friends is a delicious way to start the day
even if we did gossip
but hanging over the edge of last night's card playing old school debauchery
certainly made the day sticky and slow
we made it to the village
then hanging at another friend's
where he took the time to really hear my story
and like my friends the night before
made to that I heard
they knew me better
and did not agree with the judgements cast upon me
we can only imagine its part of the struggle
or a painful blessing in disguise
we ate burgers, America
we had ice cream
weren't to the roof of the Ansonia
and watched the fireworks way over there
way over there
we were tired
and we sat and talked a while longer
with the cat
before they left
and I wound myself down into sleep
what did I dream of again. . . ?
I woke from difficult dreams
after writing them
two messages cut me adrift
one casting a heap of hope and sorrow into Azazel
the second sealing my heart yet again with good reason
I keep finding good reason
my heart has felt so closed
struggle struggle struggle
should be the easiest thing
would you go walking around with your eyes closed?
I remember that a big benefit of doing bodywork is helping people that I can help
and helping people is a good meditation
and bodywork, in various facets, I am good with
yeah. . . I could teach more of this
and probably enjoy it
I took time after that to complete the project I had schedule for myself
client added bonus
goal half done; but main concern met
listening to music from my teenage years
angry and thrashy
and all the rest
head to see friends
friends friends friends
yeah, I should do a song to that rumi poem "don't come near me"
but glad I came to them
successful hanging out
someone's crazy dream of a hotel
sold out to his rampant passions
to the war effort
to our basest desires
and swallow in the park
to see an old friend
who happened to have an old friend over
putting it out on the table
get lost in kisses
and then some
brisket, salad, food food food
and warcraft monsters in our own image
we watched the moon rise over the city
right here in manhattan!
I've always lived amid the buildings and people
I understand now why the towers keep getting higher
to get above it all
away from it all
where the air is fresher
and you can still visit the throngs below. . .
what a beautiful night
a virile Irishman raged against old age
. . . such virility
I'm not sure what it's good for
but we are all of our own mindset
I walked through the park on my own now
do I know these paths?
met some kid with long grizzled hair and big beard
lithe, tight, taut body
so happy to see
I can love that
but not lust it
I sat by the lady's pavillion
perfect place to see the moon in the water
moon in the water
the water did not wait to cast its reflection
but I wasn't sure where to go from there
or some a semblance of. . .
I sat and tried to type
but it was not in me
slept and drempt everything might feed my heart with love
a perfect day
watching the clouds pile up
black billowing smoke from time to time
my face rubbed in my own piss
bright white clouds
hurts my eyes
I'm used to the white of my dimmed screen
have I given up?
am I living like I've giving up?
do I ever believe I'm living?
how often I forget. . .
how often since I felt it was a blessing than a curse
"...the one that you feed. . . "
the wolves in my heart
but it's just as simple as making choices
I remember when that seemed simple
it's a perfect day to choose joy
the best idea I ever had
. . . I must have left it in the pocket of those pants that were in a bag that got stolen with my other precious things
"he'll never return it
we'll have to make new love"