Poet-Doctor, Drugs and Dreams Are Your Friend

Le Rêve du docteur by Albrecht Dürer

"I never dream. When you’re psychotic, you don’t dream. Mugwort is an herb you can pick up at any local herbal shop. Although the tea is mildly poisonous, it can be drunk. Mugwort tea induces vivid, memorable dreams. Dreaming makes me feel normal. I feel connected with everyone through dreaming."

- from a conversation with a local poet and friend, David Rhoads

_______

Night in the suburbs, I jangle out onto the main road in a banged up old Volvo. The car is full of assorted items, the floors are mostly covered in piles of junk and the like. As I step on the gas, I see I’m driving unusually fast, though only about five mph above the speed limit. My lights are never working fine; I’m usually pulled over every time a cruiser spots me. 

In a shadowy nook, I see the dimmed lights of police, out for the catch. As I approach, the lights whir and sound. Still, I am in disbelief. “Again!” They must know me well by now. The cop who stops me perks with dissatisfied boredom as she clambers around awkwardly in the car for an extended time. My friend and I stand outside the car, weary and stung with silent cursing. Then, the overweight female cop raises one finger; it is covered with a green dust in the blaring flashlight. 

She inspects the dust carefully before swiftly grabbing my arms and locking them in a tight hold. “I’ve found marijuana in your car, you are under arrest!” I fight with murderous intensity. “What! All you found was a fingertip swipe of dust!” I am in awe of the local law’s asinine decision-making. As I squirm in contempt, defiant with unforgiving intensity, the lady cop calls for backup. 

In a matter of seconds, an SUV pulls up ahead of the first cruiser with two large, burly officers emerging in a torrent of violent forewarning. They attempt to handcuff me with riot strength, steaming in a haze of purposeless might. I loosen myself easily and struggle with unmatched will. Suddenly, I’m thrown back ten feet with a blood concussion, face puffed with blood, roughed up interminably by a single blow. 

On my way from a police car onto the steps of the police station and courthouse, I regain consciousness. A man on the sidewalk recognizes me. “Remember your permanent residency application!” he advises warmly. I am put before an authoritative lawman. I state my case. “Sir, this is an unjust conviction, I am on my way to gaining residency to live with my wife, this will put me under, don’t let a finger swipe of dust ruin this man’s life.” He takes pity on me. 

Later, I go on to liberate the entire northeast of North America from its bitter criminalization of personal marijuana use.

______

Drugs
"The interpretation of drugs in your dreams depends on the relationship you have with the drugs in your daily life and if they are doctor prescribed or not...The drugs could be suggesting a need for healing and getting in balance. Your unconscious mind may be suggesting outrageous things in hopes that you get the message to 'have fun, dream dreams, and get out of your own head!' Please keep in mind that the purpose of dreams is to raise our consciousness and to assist us in having better lives." (iDream)

______

"preposterous!"
said the proud visiting Englishman
in dismay,
"the army and police force will be trained
by the crown herself,
and no undue report will become of any loyal
to the blank calm
that befuddles our propaganda-fed livestock population"

- excerpt from "preposterous!"

Moroccan Blues Visitations and Riding an Exotic Animal through Suburbia

Traum by Franz Marc

In a small home, I barely have any clothes on. A recent friend made, a calm, collected man from Morocco, lover of music and conversation, appears to be somewhere near my door, expecting me to engage in a night on the town. Instead, I act as if I am unprepared for the visit. He says to me, “Well, what about the Blues!” as if I need to see some live blues music. There are some other people in the small living space, I am still getting dressed as about three others pull out electric basses and other instruments. I also take out a bass, and while we all begin to jam, I get extremely creative and lead the jam with an experimental, percussive approach to the bass that is at the same time quite bluesy. The people in the room admire, and the Moroccan man seems to have had his fill of blues and respectfully exits my living space.

Next, I am in what seems to be New England suburbia, exploring a yet to be developed area of housing projects for the upper middle class of America. I find myself boarding the top of an elephant-like species, a huge towering animal, that is at once friendly and at the same time seems to represent an extinct being, with great tufts of light, matted hair and an unusual shape. The animal is very warm with me as we stride carefully along the margins of a paved road as it ends unexpectedly off into the under-developed woodlands of the northeast coast American ecology. Suddenly, the animal takes off after letting me down, through the forest. I watch, feeling an empathetic compassion for this animal and its charge into an unredeemable fixation with a wilderness on the brink of being tamed.  

Friday, October 7, 2011

Snowstorm Homesick Landing

Houses on the Hill (River Bank) by Paul Cezanne

Taking off, looking into front view of plane, seeing a man not so experienced in flying take off into a snowstorm, feel of the engine burning as we land in two different cities, and I appear in my driveway of coastal suburbia, Massachusetts, USA and find in a large cab car, friends from high school who I greet, and we drive off into the night

Fri, May 13, 2011