Sunday, March 30, 2014

dolphins, not sharks


the forms deep in the water, thinking shark.

then recognized as dolphins when when they ascended.

reminded of the three dolphins dream.

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

heartshaped world

for quite some time i've been encountering hearts and/or heartshapes in my daily routine, whether a heart-shaped divot in asphalt, the way a piece of paper has folded in on itself, or string or stain or shape of a smudge of tar on the sidewalk, or decorative hearts (alas, no actual organ yet), they have arrived like breadcrumbs along the trail, to the point that now i expect a daily event.

last time i was at my mom's house in texas i went to her gravel driveway in a state of rather heightened awareness, knowing i would find a rock heart.

and i did, pretty quickly.

the chip imperfection is what makes it perfect but that's only my sensibility.

a few other recent examples, all on the sidewalk: 


you can be right but not good
win a fight but not the way that you should
go all night with a pill that turns man into wood
talk shit what you'd do if only you could

you can have it all and go on parade
down the boulevard in the escalade
cause someone wrote a jingle for marmalade
that turned into a single that got someone paid


you can smile at the boss and sneer at the bum
go to church every week and keep taking from
whomever you can for a handsome sum
that keeps babs' boobs buoyed and comfortably numb

you can live the good life on great-grandad's dime
or whatever you please cause you got the time
and it isn't like you're committing a crime
trusting the funds that float the sublime

you can be captain but serve better in steerage
you can get the girl and fuck up the marriage
buy the best horses and crash the carriage 
say good morning in a way that's meant to disparage

Monday, March 24, 2014

Flying Home Dream Revisited

lucid, having left the building (just in time), i am in the street and decide i want to fly.

i sort of gather my will, that's how it's done, by faith, and aim my hands upward ala superman, and i'm up, up, and away, in rapid ascent.

i rise over a bel air-like hill covered by villas and incredible homes on lots of land.  

the higher i go the more my point of view is as if zooming out.

i then decide to allow myself to be guided to wherever my home is.

and so i am kind of carried as if by wind and i ascend to the top of the hill, where my house is, and i am turned somewhat, at just such an angle, my legs tucked into sitting position, and i am dropped gently into the warm water jacuzzi adjacent to the cool water jacuzzi.

the place is incredible, something that in "real life" would cost at least a few mill. i can only see part of it from where i've been quite comfortably seated.  the style somewhat recalls Ricardo Legorreta. i'm in a kind of disbelief, but dammit, i live there.

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Found Fortune 5

sidewalk, right out the door.

Thursday, March 13, 2014

Dreams: Idaho, Flight to New York, an Elvis

taking a good look at a map of idaho, focusing on an area in the central part of the state, near a lake.

the usual getting to and waiting-for-my-flight-to-new york dream. don't know anymore how many of these i've had. i'm on a particular level at an airport and realize i need to go down a level for departures. no particular rush this time but i want to get there. and i do, and sit with a few other people to wait to get to the ticket counter. it's nine and my flight is at 9:30. (daytime.) as usual, i'm wondering if i have my ticket. there's some concern about not having my passport but i realize i won't need it. also, waiting to meet a certain someone, as we're on the same flight.


speaking of planes, i'm on one, and we've landed, and a group of people are getting off, including elvis costello, who receives some pages - i know it's a script, because we've talked (though not in the dream) - and, hopeful, i get up from my seat - i guess my flight continues on - and walk to the group and, sensing my presence and knowing i'm interested, he hands the pages to me and extends his hand to shake. we shake. it's like nothing is written yet, the contract gets signed later, but it's as good as a done deal. i have the part. i feel this and am very happy. 

(waking, an early association, maybe because the six-degree things is peripherally on my mind, has to do with diana krall.) 

thank Yi.

Sunday, March 9, 2014

Dream: Meet Sam Shepard, handshake.

but first there was the opening segment, being toward the front of a long line of men eager to use whichever port-a-potty might open up. a lot of jostling for position, and the guy behind me with his hand aggressively on my shoulder, trying to get ahead.

i was the only one, it seemed, not in a race to get there, nor was i aggressive. my thinking was i'd just wait my turn; i didn't want any part of the competition.

in retrospect, the episode seemed to perhaps reflect a kind of pissing contest.

at any rate and to cut to it, i ended up being the one to get his audience - he was with wilford brimley - and we shook hands with strong eye contact. 

whatever that had made official (or whatever) i wasn't clear on but i was elated and went dancing away.  

thank Yi.

Thursday, March 6, 2014


On this date in 1998 - it was a Friday - I learned to ski. I was in Aspen, Colorado, with my girlfriend, who arranged for us to take lessons. I woke that morning anxious, having no idea what to expect but looking forward to it. Fresh snow was on the ground, three or four inches. We walked across the street from our lodging and caught the shuttle to Buttermilk Mountain, chatting on the way with the driver, a self-described ski bum, a man in his mid-30s, boyishly handsome; he could as easily have been catching waves on the North Shore.

We got to the mountain and sized for boots and skis and poles and ended up in separate classes, not my girlfriend's intent, but it played out that way because she had skied before and I had not, a true beginner. I had bought pants in an Aspen consignment store the day before; electric blue stretchy stuff with white trim, mid-70s all the way. I still have them. (See below.) My rental skis were orange Rossignols. I still have the boots (though I should not).  

My instructor looked a little like Hulk Hogan, but a leaner version and better looking. Same blond-white hair, falling straight back to his shoulders. His name was Curt and he was an ex-Navy seal. He took note of my "fast" pants and we hit it off immediately. The adult beginners class was small, maybe six of us, but by the end of the day just me and him. The attrition had to do with boots that were too tight, it being too cold, this or that, some of it about just not taking to skiing. I, on the other hand, was hooked like a bigmouth bass my very first turn, a true epiphany.  

I realize now that the conditions that day were perfect for learning how to ski. The fresh snow added softness but was not so deep that it would be unwieldy for a newbie. Most of the morning was spent on the base of the mountain being introduced to equipment and basic technique, progressing to movement on skis, et cetera, but toward the end of the day, when it was just the two of us - a private lesson, basically - he could tell I wanted and was ready for more so he asked if I'd like to head up to the top. Affirmative.

We took the Summit Express, I managed to ski off the chair without incident, and off we went, me ahead of him, soon enough on blue trails, and we skied for maybe an hour. Curt would stop us here and there to talk technique, and by the end of the day, my last run, I caught a little air off a little launch spot I'd seen from the chair, linked swiftish turns to the bottom, exchanged a high-five with Curt, thanked and tipped him. It was evident to my girlfriend when she saw me that something had happened. And something certainly had. 

I don't ski as often as I used to or would like, but it's alright; it lends a certain special something to the days I am able to. Skiing is always Christmas to me; I would dare say it's sacred. It is easily the most fun I have. And turns or not, there's a lot to be said for just being in the mountains and trees. Mammoth has received enough snow lately to make a trip up in May a possibility. Fingers crossed.

"retro day" @ snowbird

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Found Fortune 4

on the crossing island on grand this morning.

thank Yi.

Sunday, March 2, 2014

Rat: Open



SCREECHING, HOWLING "MUSIC" pulsates through the front of an industrial area bar identified in red neon as Killer Lounge. Graffiti trimming. It has recently rained. A rat roams the sidewalk in front of the bar, scurrying away when A WOMAN, 30, goth, short black leather skirt and platform military boots, comes outside, looks left and right and then into her purse for a cigarette. She lights it and walks into the night out of frame. A DISTANT SIREN wails. 


She walks quickly along a sidewalk passing a junkyard and is given loud and furious company by the two guard dogs that rush to the fence and follow her until they can no longer. They watch her and continue barking well after she has left frame, then run off in pursuit of another noise. Then the POP POP POP of what might be gunshots.


She is hurrying now, looking up and around and behind her as she trudges through the wet sand in a playground, tripping fortunately onto a merry-go-round that turns and almost swings her off toward the distant trees. She continues into them, swallowed.


The wind has picked up and the light of the full moon throws shadows into suspect shapes and movement, ominous brushstrokes against the coven of trees. A figure on a limb is just a kite finally freed when a breeze undoes the conspiritorial grip of leaves, the kite dropping to the ground like a dead bird.  It is an area otherwise unlit, remote from the park's peripheries. A RINGTONE, AC/DC's Hell's Bells calls muffled from her purse. She stops, looks around, digs for and gets her phone, answers:

Hey. Where are you? Hello? Are you there?

A HAND comes from behind and covers her mouth, the other hand placing a knife to her throat. 

A man's voice: Yes. Yes I am. I'm right here, baby.

She is pulled down out of frame, eyes wide in terror.


Underground pipe tunnel, its constant puddle added to by steady dripping, lit by thin beams of light from a drainage vent above. We hear the sound of crunching and furious chewing, an unsavory gnashing and breathing and bone-crunching from a side-tunnel, hushed suddenly and replaced by the barely audible sound of sobbing.

We hear a scraping and sliding sound from the side tunnel and then see the tail coming out, huge, a thick leathery rope, thicker near the base as the owner backs into the main pipe, finally revealing the haunches of a monstrous rat and then, used to propel the beast backward, it's human-like feet. hairy with long, jagged nails. 


Saturday, March 1, 2014