A Dream of Cellos and the Past Year

Last night I dreamt that my parents had given me a cello for X-mas. It was really old and came with a crazy bow that was very big, bulky, and cumbersome. I'm not quite sure what the deal was with this dream. Am I meant to play the cello? Shall I look into purchasing a cello and take lessons? I do play drums, I love playing drums - they are a big part of my life. But it's funny, I never dream of playing drums, I mean, my dreams do not normally revolve around the physical action of playing drums. Maybe I don't dream of drumming because it something I already do all the time? We normally dream about the intangible, yes? But sometimes we dream about the banal, everyday, and trite things that make up a large percentage of our lives. I'd like to only dream about the intangible, the what-we-don't-haves, the fantasies, the giant unicorns crushing the sun, manticores, and ligers alike. At any rate, my cello dream was nice, so maybe I'll look into purchasing a used one someday, maybe.
So, the year is ending and I thought I would like to reflect on some things that made 2004 memorable. A top ten list, so to speak (the good and the bad)
1. Getting engaged to Sarak B. (good)
2. TRD's March and Sept tours (good)
3. Meds before sleep (good and bad)
4. New Macha record, and Macha live (good)
5. Alstroemeria issue #10 (good)
6. New sparks of creativity (good)
7. Drumming (good)
8. Being pissed off at the election results (bad)
9. Bums' Paradise (good)
10. Jonathan Ames reading and his new book 'Wake Up, Sir' (good)

Ok, so that is not the most exciting of year-end lists. But it is mine, and I think it kind of sums up what I felt about 2004. There are many more things to list here, but it would be boring to read, and most people have limited attention spans anymore - they've all received fancy X-mas items, and have no time to read Morninghater's thoughts. Some guy named the "Powdered Sock" actually read one of my blogs, that was nice of him (or her?). Anyway, go ahead and feast tonight, for tomorrow knows nothing, and the future is a distance not yet covered.

Bold Pills

Having to take medication before bedtime makes for some heady sleep. Read "Bold Pills" below and rush to your doctor's office to get yr own prescription. Life is great!


Take a bold pill just before sleep and your dreams will not be remembered.

But in the morning you’ll wake and feel a lifetime of courage.

You’ll lose some things along the way, but you’ll be better off
‘cause you now can say what you’ve always wanted.

Go to work and tell the boss to “Fuck off!” start a fight with the douchebag you’ve hated for months, steal everything that you can.

Pull a Fight Club and blackmail your manager, receive paychecks for the next year, live in squalor, yet don’t give a fuck.

Go to bars and get piss-drunk. Become a potvaliant, say what you want, yell at whomever; tell the world to go fuck itself.

Go home, think you are the greatest, yet realize you are becoming something you’ve always hated. Remember the calm times.

Take another bold pill, but learn to control yourself. Sleep comes uneasy, shudder and sweat; dreams now are all too vivid.

Wake up with some new ideas. Dress yourself for the world. Exit into the first new day of your life. Feign a smile to your neighbor as you walk slowly into a vast landscape teeming with endless repetition.

Adventures in the 5th Wheel

So I went back to my parents' home for Christmas. Actually, Sarak and I both went to the high desert in Southern CA. The drive was quick and I was sleepy, yet comforted by the thought that I'd find solace in the 5th wheel, our make-shift bungalow just hidden behind an old brick wall and my sister's car "the roach" in the backyard of my parents' home. A spacious little trailer, yet cold as fuck, and the low ceiling proved to be limiting in certain ways. The first night was coldy cold cold, but the second night a space heater was provided and helped to cut the frigid air to a less harmful temperature. The third night I was having my usual "weird dreams" this time dreaming that I was riding around on a huge bicycle, I mean big like 400 feet tall. I was unstable at all times and felt I would fall, but I kept riding around looking down upon a strange apartment complex of some sort. I did fall eventually, the bike got wobbly and I just closed my eyes and prepared for some sort of massive impact. The strange thing was, I didn't even wake up after I had fallen, the dream just sort of took on a new scene and my injuries were nothing but diaphanous mental fragments. At some point that same night, I woke up and had to pee really badly. I stumbled out of the comfy bed and hit my head on the low ceiling. In a half awake state, I slowly made my way through the musty innards of the 5th wheel to the back where the little plastic toilet sat. I thought the seat was already up so I began peeing and soon realized it was splashing all over the place. The seat was indeed down, and I was making a fucking disgusting mess all over the small toilet. I cut my pee short, and that hurt, but I didn't want to keep making a mess. I stooped down and gently lifted the piss laden lid up. Pee was dripping off of my hand, and as I maneuvered in the tiny space, I continually stepped in my own urine. I was doing all of this, it seemed, automatically, like it was no big deal. When I'd normally be very angry in such situations, I just let it all happen like it was something I did all the time. Eventually, I woke up some more and realized what was happening. I grabbed wads of toilet paper and at about 4:30 am I started cleaning up the pissy mess that I had made. I went back to sleep, don't know if the pee was still all over my feet and hand. Like gasoline, pee has a tendency to dry rather quickly. In the morning I awoke and stumbled into my parents' home, disheveled head and all. Sarak was already in there, so were my parents, my normal sister, and my insane sister. They all looked at me and I grumbled something incoherent. I grabbed some coffee from the kitchen and entered the living room. It was Christmas 2004.

An Incident on the 5th

This was the dream I had last night as I rose, once again, from an easy, blue sleep:

It’s October 5, 1971 and I am sitting in what appears to be a hospital waiting room. I know the date because there is a newspaper sitting next to me and I happened to glance over at it for a second. I don’t really know how long I’ve been here, and I don’t remember arriving here. But it feels like I have been here for a long time just sitting on this worn couch and looking around. I can’t be certain, but I feel like I just woke up and happened to materialize here. There are some other people here too. They are reading magazines, watching TV and sipping weak hospital coffee. Seems like a pretty average night. Nothing unusual has happened or seems to be happening. I have not seen any urgent situations arise. It feels perfectly natural to be here, even though it really makes no sense.
Nobody has come into the emergency room with blood oozing out of his or her head or limbs missing or anything like that. Everybody that is here seems to be calmly passing the time while doctors and nurses shuffle throughout the sterile, white hospital corridors. Hospitals always have the same smell to me, like a fresh box of band-aids, or fresh linen sterilized with some kind of industrial strength detergent. The smell is more prominent here than I had ever noticed before in other hospitals.
It feels like something is about to happen, or maybe it’s just that the hospital itself seems ready for something to happen. This place seems prepared, sterilized, equipped and ready to save or bring forth life. Hmmm, I’m sitting in the corner and nobody notices me, maybe I’m not supposed to be noticed? I feel like an apparition. But it is alright, because this day in early October feels so average and so innocuous that if anything did happen, it would require no more than a fleeting “Oh really?” or at best, “Ahhh, that is interesting”.
I feel numb, dazed, and unable to tangle with rational thought. I’d rather just let whatever is happening wash over me, move through me, or rather, I move through it like passing through a smoke screen. This day, this blank day, it is what it is and nothing more; early fall, a feeling of starkness, a passing doctor who stops to hold the door open for an older lady, a half cup of coffee, scrambled reception on the TV, old brown and orange couches, a closed gift shop, the sound of a distant conversation, a flickering light in the hall, a half smile from a nurse, and maybe, behind one of these walls, somebody is being born and about to be brought forth into this nothing of a day.

(To be continued)

Hermit Crab

Today I rose from some Paxilated sleep. Rose maybe too fast and scratched my balding head. Maybe getting a zit or two on my freckled forehead - I didn't want to mess with it too much for fear of it getting infected and taking over my whole life (via Cronenberg). Tried to remember my dreams but anxious thoughts of the day flood my head and I can't recall the images from my slumber - wish I could. The radio was on and Sarak was next to me, she's always telling me to "get up, get up" but I just can't get up the way I used to. I thought that when you get older it is easier to get up earlier? The ol' go-to-bed-early-and-rise-early routine. Well, fuck that, because the older I get the more tired I am. The radio is on, NPR, and W is being interviewed and talking some nonsense in his stop-start style of speaking, I really hate the way he speaks. Like a southern preacher, but more scattered and indirect. Seems he can say whatever he wants and people won't even care because by the time he gets to his point, nobody remembers what it was in the first place. Yeah, this morning started the usual way - confused, bemused, angry, hungry and distorted.