As anyone that is capable of reading this is aware of, death, be it natural, violent, or random, is a part of life. I recall the death of a few older relatives when I was no more than eight. Then in my teen years a couple friends died. Within fifteen years I would see death first hand, not just once but three times. Those were dream series of their own. A good time turned bad, or a misspoken phrase in a foreign language. (another reason not to cater to mexicans!) Yet after all that I was still invincible. I had no fear of death, that is until the following dream.
I am not sure what nite the state of California performs their executions on, but it was that nite. The gurney was in the living room of Jack Hymans house in Sepulveda CA. There was a small crowd of about a dozen witnesses along with my brother and mom. Ten to Midnite (not the Bronson movie) and the director of events tells all to leave except my mom and brother. Ten minutes to do what? Apologize? Not sure who I killed, but I know I would have done society a favor.
There I am (put yourself here) ten minutes until the big gauge needle is in your arm. Time to think about it. I freaked! For so long I was ready to die, inadvertently pushing the envelope. Now I had to live. I knew the layout of the back yard. The patio, pool, and brick wall. I split.
Like thunder in the northern Arizona sky I rolled across miles.
Since then I have had many ponderings of my death. Sometimes I freak out. Oddly enough, my greatest concern is "this world is going to suck even more without me".
Friday, October 17, 2008
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Recurring dreams
Often times children are afraid of Santa Claus. Personally I wasn't but I lived in great fear of a Santa Claus effigy. When I was a wee lad my Grandma had this mechanical santa that she got from, I believe, Gimbels. He had an arm that would move his glasses up to his eyes so that he could read his naughty or nice list. She would have it sitting on a lower landing of the stairs right inside of the main entrance. This thing was freaky and creepy. I wouldn't look at it. I would close my eyes or shield them with my hand. Things soon went from bad to worse...Santa moved in with us. He lived down in our basement tucked away in a corner. I just didn't trust this guy. He seeped into my psyche, and then the dreams, rather nightmares began.
My mom would ask me to go downstairs to retrieve some meat from the freezer. Hesitantly I would go, putting myself with in a few yards of this creature. Out of the corner of my eye I would see a movement. It appears as tho I was on his naughty list. At that first twitch it was lickety split time. A mad dash to the stairs followed by a panic driven ascent. Sometimes I made it up clean. Other times he would manage to take my feet out from under me, but in a scramble I would end up on the kitchen floor kicking the door shut behind me. Thats just one more reason not to celebrate xmass. One minor dyslexic episode and Santa becomes Satan. Coincidence?
Lately tho I have been having a dream where I am the tormentor. About every other month I have this dream where I am strangling this girl. My hands around her neck squeezing and shaking. Right when the body is about to go limp I let go. To me this one is obvious. It also shows me that in the fury of the moment I can be a very evil person. We all have that in us no matter how much we try to deny it. If the right buttons are pushed we can all snap. However, if reality, as in the case of my repeating dream, has time to look us in the face before the dastardly deed is completed, our internal moral majority wins out...
Heavy man, heavy.
My mom would ask me to go downstairs to retrieve some meat from the freezer. Hesitantly I would go, putting myself with in a few yards of this creature. Out of the corner of my eye I would see a movement. It appears as tho I was on his naughty list. At that first twitch it was lickety split time. A mad dash to the stairs followed by a panic driven ascent. Sometimes I made it up clean. Other times he would manage to take my feet out from under me, but in a scramble I would end up on the kitchen floor kicking the door shut behind me. Thats just one more reason not to celebrate xmass. One minor dyslexic episode and Santa becomes Satan. Coincidence?
Lately tho I have been having a dream where I am the tormentor. About every other month I have this dream where I am strangling this girl. My hands around her neck squeezing and shaking. Right when the body is about to go limp I let go. To me this one is obvious. It also shows me that in the fury of the moment I can be a very evil person. We all have that in us no matter how much we try to deny it. If the right buttons are pushed we can all snap. However, if reality, as in the case of my repeating dream, has time to look us in the face before the dastardly deed is completed, our internal moral majority wins out...
Heavy man, heavy.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
I Get What I Desereve; Why I work at a book store
Well I have been wondering about how I have been thrown in with this group of misfits. As Chuckie says "No sense makes sense." So today I had a chat with my boss' boss. Everything was complimentary, yet I was left with the "where do I fit in?" question. "How did I end up here?"Raising questions like these in regards to a job is not good for me. I do laps inside of my head. Picking up speed with every unanswered question until I become a psychological whirling dervish.
As for karma as we or any think of it, its a bunch of rubbish. Lennon got his instant karma. In my life, and most others, it is just a matter of making mistakes and paying for them. For instance, take the post "A funny thing happened on my way to the brewery" back in Nov of '07. It tells of how/why I wound up working at a hotel. While living in Santa Fe I got a job selling suits to uptight artist/actors that had a spiritual calling or were pretty lesbians. Why? A few years earlier I bought a white dress shirt and while ironing it to take out the creases I got lost in thought. Bam! Middle of the back was a scorch mark. I still had all of the packaging so I folded it up like it was never out of the cellophane . Some poor guy got this shirt in a need to wear situation only to find a burn pattern smack dab in the middle of the back.
So what did I do to end up working at a book store? If you look back to "Hitchin' with Einstein" you will see that I had to abandon a lot of my worldly goods, taking with Dale and I only what was deemed necessary. We left in the trunk my collection of books that Dave Vick was good enough to fly out with a year earlier. My Russian writers and Nietzsche books were too heavy to carry. I abandoned my books. Now I pay the price. Working amidst geeks and freaks. Really, adult D&D players?! Suddenly I feel uncomfortably normal, seeking to be comfortably numb.
I stop there for a reason. My attempt at being nice.
As for karma as we or any think of it, its a bunch of rubbish. Lennon got his instant karma. In my life, and most others, it is just a matter of making mistakes and paying for them. For instance, take the post "A funny thing happened on my way to the brewery" back in Nov of '07. It tells of how/why I wound up working at a hotel. While living in Santa Fe I got a job selling suits to uptight artist/actors that had a spiritual calling or were pretty lesbians. Why? A few years earlier I bought a white dress shirt and while ironing it to take out the creases I got lost in thought. Bam! Middle of the back was a scorch mark. I still had all of the packaging so I folded it up like it was never out of the cellophane . Some poor guy got this shirt in a need to wear situation only to find a burn pattern smack dab in the middle of the back.
So what did I do to end up working at a book store? If you look back to "Hitchin' with Einstein" you will see that I had to abandon a lot of my worldly goods, taking with Dale and I only what was deemed necessary. We left in the trunk my collection of books that Dave Vick was good enough to fly out with a year earlier. My Russian writers and Nietzsche books were too heavy to carry. I abandoned my books. Now I pay the price. Working amidst geeks and freaks. Really, adult D&D players?! Suddenly I feel uncomfortably normal, seeking to be comfortably numb.
I stop there for a reason. My attempt at being nice.
Friday, October 10, 2008
The Second In A Seies of Dreams
One doesn't mean much these days. I suppose two doesn't either. Try this on for size.
(Have you listened to the Bootleg #8 series? Heart breaker"Stayed in Medford Oregon a day to long') WEll AAAAaaalright. Take II.
Dream Two
I am standing on the corner of North Avenue and Hwy 100 in Wauwatosa, the town I grew up in. My brother-in-law Jim is with me(as pedestrians) and we're waiting for the light to change. We just left Ray's liquor store that was now in the place of the pharmacy of my childhood physician that soon became a horse burger joint called "the strawberry patch" (Yes, strawberry patches occur frequently in my life) This guy in military attire approaches us and says "Hi I'm sargent Benson, John Benson, would you like to see where Jesus is buried?" Well yeahh buddy, lets go.
So he leads us to my parents house and brings us around to the spot outside of the window that I would hop out of to smoke pot. Jim and I end up digging. We're about "six feet under" when we hit something. We stop and freak. Scraping away some soil we come across a burlap sack. Freakier. As we step back the burlap sack starts to move. An arm protrudes out of the right side, and then the left. The living/dead Jesus falls back into my arms. Arms out stretched left in my feeble hands.
Again, what does it mean? You tell me.
(Have you listened to the Bootleg #8 series? Heart breaker"Stayed in Medford Oregon a day to long') WEll AAAAaaalright. Take II.
Dream Two
I am standing on the corner of North Avenue and Hwy 100 in Wauwatosa, the town I grew up in. My brother-in-law Jim is with me(as pedestrians) and we're waiting for the light to change. We just left Ray's liquor store that was now in the place of the pharmacy of my childhood physician that soon became a horse burger joint called "the strawberry patch" (Yes, strawberry patches occur frequently in my life) This guy in military attire approaches us and says "Hi I'm sargent Benson, John Benson, would you like to see where Jesus is buried?" Well yeahh buddy, lets go.
So he leads us to my parents house and brings us around to the spot outside of the window that I would hop out of to smoke pot. Jim and I end up digging. We're about "six feet under" when we hit something. We stop and freak. Scraping away some soil we come across a burlap sack. Freakier. As we step back the burlap sack starts to move. An arm protrudes out of the right side, and then the left. The living/dead Jesus falls back into my arms. Arms out stretched left in my feeble hands.
Again, what does it mean? You tell me.
The First In A Series Of Dreams
I can't even remember when I had this dream. '91 or '92 most likely. I think I have a post a ways back about Jenny, the girl from the Ventura '87 Dead show and our briefly deep and deeply brief history. Hold on, I have to look back and see what it is titled....
I'm back after a search and I think I never told this tale, yet I believe I have. So before I go onto my series of dreams, can anyone tell me if you have read the story of Jenny and I meeting while tripping on L in June of '87?
Aww screw it. I started this series, and unlike the Cubs I'll finish it.
So a flashback to where I lived before I moved to So. Cal. It was this big apt. complex, and the back door to my building opened up to a hill that led down to the on ramp of (siblings correct me if I'm wrong) 45 headed north. It was a divided ramp with a v-shaped island to accommodate the flow of east and west bound traffic. Big lead in I know. So hear is the dream.
I was at the bottom of the hill higher than a kite on acid. I made it across the first on ramp, but at the second I lost muscle control from the waist down. (Yes, you can get that high so as to lose control of any body muscles.) So I was pulling my way across the ramp , legs dragging behind. Halfway thru I was ready to quit. It was then that Jenny appeared and said "Get up Paul, you can do it."
At this point I look over my right shoulder and in the sky I see Jesus. It is a familiar shot. He is encompassed by about a dozen kids. The only difference is that this vision has a purple haze. As I catch sight of this I find myself able to get up and walk.
So what did it mean?
You tell me.
I can't believe I haven't told the Jenny story, or Dori and the Aunt Jemima incident yet.
So I'll thro this out. Jenny of the band Half Way Home. Long brown hair and gyrated like Janis. Got me tickets to see you play at the Roxy in Aug of '87. Are you out there? Morning Dew on my sleeping bag? Check 1,2,1,2,.
So what do I do next? Tell the Jenny story or go on with the series of dreams?
Life is sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo complicated.
I'm back after a search and I think I never told this tale, yet I believe I have. So before I go onto my series of dreams, can anyone tell me if you have read the story of Jenny and I meeting while tripping on L in June of '87?
Aww screw it. I started this series, and unlike the Cubs I'll finish it.
So a flashback to where I lived before I moved to So. Cal. It was this big apt. complex, and the back door to my building opened up to a hill that led down to the on ramp of (siblings correct me if I'm wrong) 45 headed north. It was a divided ramp with a v-shaped island to accommodate the flow of east and west bound traffic. Big lead in I know. So hear is the dream.
I was at the bottom of the hill higher than a kite on acid. I made it across the first on ramp, but at the second I lost muscle control from the waist down. (Yes, you can get that high so as to lose control of any body muscles.) So I was pulling my way across the ramp , legs dragging behind. Halfway thru I was ready to quit. It was then that Jenny appeared and said "Get up Paul, you can do it."
At this point I look over my right shoulder and in the sky I see Jesus. It is a familiar shot. He is encompassed by about a dozen kids. The only difference is that this vision has a purple haze. As I catch sight of this I find myself able to get up and walk.
So what did it mean?
You tell me.
I can't believe I haven't told the Jenny story, or Dori and the Aunt Jemima incident yet.
So I'll thro this out. Jenny of the band Half Way Home. Long brown hair and gyrated like Janis. Got me tickets to see you play at the Roxy in Aug of '87. Are you out there? Morning Dew on my sleeping bag? Check 1,2,1,2,.
So what do I do next? Tell the Jenny story or go on with the series of dreams?
Life is sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo complicated.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
The Loss of a Friend
As things go in this world we all have moments when tragedy strikes. The one you love the most succumbs to the frailties of existence. When our near and dear is cut down in a moments time it is not always easy to look beyond to the grander scheme of things. All of a sudden there is a void. Sometimes that vacancy is never filled. Other times it wasn't really a vacancy but an opening for a new relationship to develop, fast or slow. Today it happened within seconds.
I lost my favorite beer glass to a tragic accident. Most of the tears may have been due to the fact that it was freshly filled. Then thru bleary eyes I saw a work of art. If you look at the beer of the week you will see the glass in its entirety. Here it is in its Dali-esque form.
I lost my favorite beer glass to a tragic accident. Most of the tears may have been due to the fact that it was freshly filled. Then thru bleary eyes I saw a work of art. If you look at the beer of the week you will see the glass in its entirety. Here it is in its Dali-esque form.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Hitchin' with Einstein
Well, this dates back to the strawberry patch girl and beyond. I can't recall the year, maybe '83. My sister, Sissy roonie, gave me a poster of Al, and the caption/quote of his was "Great Spirits Often Encounter Violent Opposition From Mediocre Minds". That holds true to this day. Say something about illegal immigrants or elitist politicians and you'll have some white boy with dread locks talking about the harsh realities of urban life while strapped to a tree reeking of cologne (regrettably not German), with his cell phone ringing. Oh yeah, his beautician is standing close by. His parents bought those "dreads" for him.
Well, it was Sun. the 19th of Apr. '87. The weekend had been crazy. Dale and I drove down to Irvine (whiteyville amidst browntown). We saw two acid freak outs and the death of a nation.
That was when the Touch of Grey crowd lent a hint of blackness. After the Sat show all cars had to leave the lot and reenter if you had tickets. I had my Sunday tic and it was a great show. Then time to head north.
We hit the 5 and headed north. Maybe 15 miles later something happened. I pulled my '72 Olds 98 onto the off ramp. It was dead. I told Dale to get behind the wheel. To this day I don't know how, but I pushed this boat UP an off ramp and across an intersection, into a cul de sac. A peaceful place to sleep. The next a.m. there was a tap tap tap. I knew who it was. Dale was sleeping in the front seat.
"Paul, its the cops".
The covers went over my head. I knew they weren't going anywhere, but don't give up hope. These Irvine pigs did everything they could do to mess with us. They sat us on the curb and searched the car inside and out.
"Do you have any drugs?" they asked.
No man.
One hopped out and said "I thought you said you had no drugs?"
I looked at Dale, "You been holding out on me?!"
HE hadn't. The pigs were just hoping for an "Oh yeah...."
"Well, you got to go."
"Everything I own is in this car."
"24 hours".
We took a walk to a garage. Tow it please! Just give me time to
recover my worldly possessions. We took a walk back to my car.
Dale and I grabbed what we could. Some of my clothes, a steal your
face sticker, and the aforementioned Einstein poster.
At an on ramp in OC we stood for a while. The Einstein poster now had a peel away Steal Your Face sticker on his fore head. The first ride was bitchin ' van.
TV's and microwaves. In '87 that was wild. He dropped us off in downtown LA.
I mean, skid row. Los Angeles and 5th. It was alright, but would have been better
if we were trippin. Around the block was where the Manson girls held vigil. We still had
some where to get to but no reason.
We got back to the valley and there we were. He had a home and I didn't. It didn't bother me. I don't even recall where I slept that night. Probably at his moms house, and then back under the eucalyptus tree. There I stood with what little I owned. All that We could carry. Within a month I would have even less. Stay tuned.
Well, it was Sun. the 19th of Apr. '87. The weekend had been crazy. Dale and I drove down to Irvine (whiteyville amidst browntown). We saw two acid freak outs and the death of a nation.
That was when the Touch of Grey crowd lent a hint of blackness. After the Sat show all cars had to leave the lot and reenter if you had tickets. I had my Sunday tic and it was a great show. Then time to head north.
We hit the 5 and headed north. Maybe 15 miles later something happened. I pulled my '72 Olds 98 onto the off ramp. It was dead. I told Dale to get behind the wheel. To this day I don't know how, but I pushed this boat UP an off ramp and across an intersection, into a cul de sac. A peaceful place to sleep. The next a.m. there was a tap tap tap. I knew who it was. Dale was sleeping in the front seat.
"Paul, its the cops".
The covers went over my head. I knew they weren't going anywhere, but don't give up hope. These Irvine pigs did everything they could do to mess with us. They sat us on the curb and searched the car inside and out.
"Do you have any drugs?" they asked.
No man.
One hopped out and said "I thought you said you had no drugs?"
I looked at Dale, "You been holding out on me?!"
HE hadn't. The pigs were just hoping for an "Oh yeah...."
"Well, you got to go."
"Everything I own is in this car."
"24 hours".
We took a walk to a garage. Tow it please! Just give me time to
recover my worldly possessions. We took a walk back to my car.
Dale and I grabbed what we could. Some of my clothes, a steal your
face sticker, and the aforementioned Einstein poster.
At an on ramp in OC we stood for a while. The Einstein poster now had a peel away Steal Your Face sticker on his fore head. The first ride was bitchin ' van.
TV's and microwaves. In '87 that was wild. He dropped us off in downtown LA.
I mean, skid row. Los Angeles and 5th. It was alright, but would have been better
if we were trippin. Around the block was where the Manson girls held vigil. We still had
some where to get to but no reason.
We got back to the valley and there we were. He had a home and I didn't. It didn't bother me. I don't even recall where I slept that night. Probably at his moms house, and then back under the eucalyptus tree. There I stood with what little I owned. All that We could carry. Within a month I would have even less. Stay tuned.
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