Though I cannot drum worth shit, I can write and dance around in the paragraph. There are a few dances that come out of me that mimic bringing down the universe, and they need only to come out when they feel like coming out. Most always what summons them are the drums.
. . .
This is a new period for me where my dreams, my memory of them, has returned. When I wake up each morning, I’m able to hold onto them and attempt to process their meaning.
. . .
A sun is in the sky, just one though. There is that scene at the end of Contact where Jodie Foster is shot through a worm hole and winds up in one solar system where there are four suns, looks down upon a planet to see it vastly populated, “They’re alive!” she screams, and is pulled backwards into another current. Under the influence, this especially tripped me out. It tripped others out that it effected me. I have not discovered why.
It is barely raining as in it has stopped raining altogether and classical music has dried up the pavement for the time being. More storms are in the forecast. The coffee shop crowd are parking their cars and forming a line at the cash register. I’ve been sitting here writing in my journal, wondering what I’m going to do with myself. Also, reading an amazing book Breaking Open The Head by Daniel Pinchbeck, a writer adventuring through jungles in pursuit of shaman and psychedelic truths, merging them together.
. . .
Work is going well despite the usual discrepancies and irritations that probably go along with any job you’re obliged to. Find myself daydreaming a lot. The kind of anger I had in the past, I suppose I still have, but at times it subsides and I have long stints of quietude or even wired silliness that has me cracking lots of jokes.
It’s also a time of car inspections and registration renewals. The other day a cop pulled me over for no reason whatsoever, but then to my misfortune I could not find my insurance card. I was ticketed for this and sent on my way. Cops, in this way, are the ultimate nuisance, like gnats or roaches.
Gnats and roaches, after all, serve some kind of purpose, whereas cops only symbolize man’s ego, greed, and tyranny.
. . .
Clock punching
pull the car back
and let go
watch it go!
sip sipping
us and our straws
inventions
click click click
tick tick of
the clock
mind your manners
say hello
to your
boss
I have a string of
them on
a rope of
the past
this rope is
swung out over
the landscape
and kicking up dust
the saturday visions
I had weren’t short
of amazing but
there are
others to come
and I will be
spending good
time with myself
facing many more demons
figuring out the mysteries
and energies
and coming back (most likely)
to the page
the biggest difficulty I’ve found
is in verbalizing the intricacies
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