Tuesday, December 29, 2009
"What is going?!" The guy barked.
"Hold still! Hold still!" the officer ordered back.
"Why am I out here?"
"Finally coming to eh? Congratulations. You fucked up and killed a man. Although he nabbed your liver, so congratulations, you'll die if you move an inch and lose the flow of from the baggies."
The guy looked back at the prison.
"No room left, but you are good and trapped here. Move an inch, you pull the plug on your IV and you'll die within minutes. Congratulations."
The officer finished what he was doing and the guy under the gray skies of late afternoon.
The night chill whipped the guy around and made the liquid entering his blood stream icy, near icing. His body temperature dropped drastically. The officer watched from the tower and laughed. He finished his warm tea and flicked on the auto beam and declared he was ready for bed. The auto beam would scan the prison yard in a constant rotation with a spotlight and sense any change in movement or space.
"The guy's fucked," the officer grumbled.
The guy shivered. And shivered. His skin whitened as though bleach popped and spread from his goosebumps. The guy's eyes glazed over. Thunder patted in the far distance and a slight warm breeze shifted through, for only a moment. It was a moment enough to give the guy the ounce of body heat needed for a lucid thought.
"This is bullshit," the guy gasped.
The guy proceeded to remove the IV tubes from his arm veins and trotted off down the prison yard and hopped the fence. Fifteen minutes later the auto beam landed on the spot where the IV bags still flapped but no longer ran to a body. The alarms sounded and all officers were called on alert.
The guy hid in the back of a garage down the street. The house seemed to be empty. He found a dirty blanket and laid out in the tube of a rolled up a rug. He could hear the sirens tread the surrounding hills and shouts from the woods, a search party. Four hours later the guy was still alive, without crude dialysis. He felt the rising scab on his arm. He recalled no such event when he killed a man. Having found warmth he now felt quite healthy.
"What kind of bullshit is this?" the guy mouthed silently in the rolled up rug.
Monday, December 28, 2009
The Bears Took My Sleeping Mound
The next night arrived and my cousin snored from the floor of the living room. I could easily have exited the front screen door through the porch with saggy holes in the floor boards, but I enjoyed the process of sneaking up onto the roof and out. I enjoyed the jump from the smoothed out panels and into the moist ground made of old leaves. I enjoyed sinking to my shins and pulling my legs forth, streaked with wet dirt. I read once that the elements in dirt can revive certain mental abilities and I admit I felt a tad more open minded. Well, a better way to put it would be "open sensing." Everything felt clear, sounds were crisper and my pupils seemed to dilate and gulped the blue/dark world before. I walked up the slope again, anxious to claim my little open aired nest to sleep below the stars. The buffalo grazed and from the distance their shapes triggered thoughts of old friends.
Upon arriving at my nest from the night prior, the buffalo which I had assumed, was actually a bear, a big black bear which roared at me and I stood very still. I cannot tell you what I did from there or what he attempted to do to me, because I awoke mid morning, unscathed, laying on the roof, looking up at the tall length of trees. Noises pounded from the canopy, and as my eyes adjusted to the light poking through (it was noon) I could see the figures of construction men with hard hats, clinging to the trees by rubber saddles and laying the foundation of an elaborate tree fort.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Thin Strip of Hair
Last night I had an intense dream which actually has inspired within me a new idea for a play. I will begin working on it in the new year. I've never tried mead before, and I think I will make it my new year's resolution - to try mead. Fermented honey correct?
Last night chocolate chip pancakes made an appearance in my dreams and this evening my girlfriend suggested we make some. What a great manifestation it turned out to be!
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Tonight I'd like to induce a dream, where I drink absinthe with an unknown and forgotten novelist in Belgium, in the late 1800s. We will revel in the absinthe guzzline and exchange thoughts.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Droves and Acorns
There were tones of my dream that reflected and resembled some themes in the book I just released: Turban Tan. I hope you get a chance to check it out. I had a good time writing it and putting it together. It's a piece that means a lot to me. www.TurbanTan.com. Below is a little trailer for it.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Turban Tan is Now Available!
I am absolutely psyched - my next book Turban Tan is now available on paperback. Best place to get a copy is at the website - http://www.TurbanTan.com. It ships pretty quickly too! I hope you enjoy the read! I am really excited with how the book came together and it's proven to be a pretty important book to me. Please let me know your thoughts on it when you get around to reading a copy. Your readership means a lot to me.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Last night I was at a poetry reading and a fellow was reading a poem in Spanish. Now I only remember minute snippets of high school Spanish so in a sense it was a blur of words - yet there was a precision in his delivery. Despite lack of comprehension on my part there was a sharpness of content being communicated and expressed before my very eyes and indeed I was “looking” at words much as one would a sign post or even a strange plant or tree. I’ve been tossing around the idea lately of learning a foreign language, some thing that it is far removed from English in structure, some thing more ancient or based in different alpha characters or symbols, perhaps Sanskrit, Hebrew, or Arabic. I’m often intrigued by how a language that is structured differently affects the thought process of those who speak it. So, by learning a new language and working towards fluency in that, I’m curious how stepping out of the gestalt of my English tongue, and processing ideas through a different linguistic construct, will affect my expression of ideas through writing. I’m feeling more and more serious about this idea. I have a lot on my plate now but perhaps I ought to start clearing some room to embrace this long term experiment. I believe it was Samuel Beckett who wrote all of his plays in French. It not being his native tongue, it forced him to truly think about each line, each word, each thought. In the end I find it quite miraculous, that as animals, we can even deduce ideas and emotions from words. But listening to a cat’s meow, dolphin’s chuckle, bird caw, perhaps there are subtleties of timbre that are conveying a different construction of language. My cat must be telling me something when he purrs. I have chalked the cat’s purr to being their physical equivalent a sort of laughter, a giggle. My good friend Ian Randall once stated on a drunken evening, King Cobra peeking from the paper bag, “Language is just agreed upon nonsense.”
Monday, November 23, 2009
Last night I dreamed that the north side of Chicago needed to be evacuated due to spraying some chemical to burn a potential virus. We were given vouchers by the city to stay in a hotel downtown, downtown had been evacuated and there was a strange musical "residents"going on. The logic was confusing as to how this would prevent disease, it would just be spreading the disease to more places I thought. But they had some scientific answer planned on developing immunity by slight exposure and evacuation for spraying a residual chemical that would serve as anti bodies when we digested or breathed it in. Anyway, my girlfriend and I headed down town and packed our bags for a week. I realized I forgot my swim suit (the hotel had a pool and jacuzzi - and quite a view) but could not get back into my apartment for it was sealed for the time being. Unfortunately none of the stores downtown had any swim suits, apparently. I ended up having an issues with the valet when I returned from my swim suit hunt and it took awhile for a space to clear up, so I waited. When this had been taken care of, I entered the hotel, and my mom and brother were suddenly there and had got us access to a private movie theater in the building and were set to play a series of movies. I feel like it was Star Wars. Although I was kind of upset because they had dinner without me while I dealt with the valet dilemna and so I wanted nothing to do with the movie until I had some dinner. In my dream I also started to re-read The Hobbit.
Dream Log 11.23.09
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Terrible T i v o
-Tivo yearly service - $129.00
-Because it is an older model, it was designed to connect with the Tivo service line through a land line. Getting it set up with a wireless adapter ($31.00) was not successful. In order to set it up the Tivo unit needed to complete guided set up, and the last step was to connect to their database.
-Linksys, we needed to configure the wirless router to open up some ports so the Tivo could work with the wireless adapter and finish the last step. This involved calling Linksys support - apparently our warranty was up, so would cost us $29.99 for a one time service or $39.99 for a six month service plan. We went with the six month plan. He opened up the ports, we rebooted the Tivo - it did not connect successfully.
So far we were $199.00 the hole with out a working Tivo. He mentioned he could pass this on to their sister company, where a team of engineers could solve our problem for a one time fee. We opted no, asked for a refund, and we were successful at that! We cancelled our Tivo service plan. We are over this costly and time consuming process to get an electriconic box to record more television shows for us, when we still have to finish our Twin Peaks, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia marathons. And when it comes down to it, we have an old fashioned VCR.
Tivo will be up on e-bay at some point soon if you want to give it a whirl.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
We did a little short movie for a Second City video sketch contest. Feel free to check it out and vote for it if you enjoy it! http://chicago.metromix.com/home/article/vote-so-you-think/1614353/content. We're number #31 - (Bee)tnick Poet by Wood Sugars Comedy.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
I was sleeping in a motel, hiding away from an enemy of sorts, I knew he was trying to snipe me. The goal was to lie low, with the blinds closed - only in this shoddy motel slabs of the blinds were missing, leaving open shafts of transparency. This did not please me, and in notifying the front desk, they apologized and offered no other room as they had a bit of a "mini blind" problem. As predicted, my enemy began to snipe at me. I clung to the floor, gripping the rug as though my claw of a hand were engaged in a desperate bear hug. The sniper entered the room, but to my lucky advantage, the television set had been jury rigged by a kindred spirit from a similar predicament to act as a flame thrower. I utilized this in a rush of resourcefulness and blazed my foe to a black crisp of skeletal residue.
Dream Log 10.21.09
Friday, October 16, 2009
Abode Becomes Ice Boat
I am also amazed that I did not have a dream with this-man. I learned about this yesterday, finding it almost creepy. I'll admit it made me slightly apprehensive for sleep, as though I'd be entering a realm where I am most vulnerable to the weird presence of an ambiguous fellow. And so I thought about Nightmare on Elm Street. Find out more about "this man" at Thisman.org and see if you have dreamed him prior. I thought for sure just thinking about the possibilities of him being in dreams would bring him out it my dreams last night. However for now I have avoided him.
Dream Log 10.16.09
Monday, October 5, 2009
Sea Nots and Flapping!
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Coming Up for Air
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Dreamy of odd Beachy
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Visions from Sleeping in the Woods
My good friend Alicia Dorr (now serving in the Peace Corps in Zambia, Africa) got in touch with my phone, we were having an excellent conversation about her current projects. I arrived at work at the Museum of Science and Industry, and saw Eliaz Rodriguez leaving, he quickly mentioned that one of our film shoots would once again be delayed. I realized I had a few more minutes until work, and wante to continue talking to Alicia so I stepped outside as not to lose signal, and into a massive windstorm, she could not hear a word I said. Matt Sullivan, a fellow colleague of mine at the day job, only he now works in a different city, was out huddle against a wall and alluded to the wind as though it were like the dropping of an elevator, and how everytime he took the elevator down at the John Hancock Observatory, a tourist would say "looks like your the fall guy" and Matt exclaimed to me how he had always wanted to point out to them that he as a college degree!
My mom and dad bought a very futuristic looking car, with a dome like glass acting as roof and window, although of a very oval shape as to allow for an aerodynamic windflow. They parked this on the roof of a city building four stories tall and took a ramp down into and alley when taking it out for a spin.
Dream Log 8.13.09
I embarked on a ferry of sorts, from a very foggy coast. It took me to a fishing boat, earthquakes were taking place below the surface, making for some thrashing waves, which did avide well when I tried to descend from the crows nest with a wine glass in hand.
My friend Alicia was in town, I met up with her at her friend's place, a four bedroom apartment, long in length from one end of the brown stone to the other, longer than usual, with an especially long kitchen counter. Three of the roommates were chefs and they made me the most delicious macaroni and cheese.
I was at Swanny's, meeting up with Swanny and Fauser post a meeting they had with a seasoned theatre director who solicited by Swanny to give them advice on making theatre. Fauser and I were heading back to my home. I was walking my bike, Fauser was calling his girlfriend. In telling her about the meeting, he used the phrase "felt like he really brought us up to speed" which his girlfriend heard as "they took speed" which made very an ugly misinterpretation and explanation and an overall shitstorm of judgement. We returned to my home, in the dream I was living with my mom and brother. Fauser was suddenly gone, and I had to enter through the living room of a different family to get to my home. There was a mother, father, and three fat, snotty, spoiled children. One of them hissed at me for getting in the way of the television. I reverted to some petty behavior myself and spun the television set away from him and called him a string of names and insults based around the fact that he was a fat chunk. I hustled off into my home, the front entry room was a styling salon run by my mom. I decided to hide in my brother's room as I could hear my neighbor, the mom of the fat kid I ridiculed, come into the salon to tell my mom on me. I didn't want to face the fire nor deal with the nonsense so I figured my brother's room would be good for the time being. I pet our eight legged cat and retreated into the dark, unlit private bathroom of my brother. There I realized I had the urge to piss, but also understood that I would have to hold it as to not compromise my hiding by the sounds of a pee stream cutting through the water level of the toilet bowl. This is when I awoke and had to pee like a -
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Dream Log 8.11.09
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Dream Log 8.9.09
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Douche Bags in Post Apocalyptic Apparel
Dream log - 8.8.09
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Green Art Dreamy
I wondered how they induced the necessary photosynthesis in such a building of marble antiquity. Yet as I lingered in the rotunda which was carved with streams and a massive waterfall in the center, seduced into a humble meditation of ease, until closing time and the soft lighting of yellow bulbs dimmed, I learned of hidden lights. With a hiss, on fizz the purple glow of black light from deep in the tiny crevices upon the ceiling. These rays danced upon the leaves and elephant ears and flowers yet hardly embraced the paintings as noticeable. We all saunter out from the cohabitation of god’s art and man’s representation in the purple glow making faces black and white loafers vibrant. We are but zombies now, disappointed at the disappearance of our metropolitan heaven and must now ready ourselves to reenter daylight refracted from tower windows and puddles upon concrete.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Upon waking, I looked up what is going on in the world of Russia so that I may see if their is any corresponding universal agitation that may have bled into the scenario above in my dreams. Of course I found nothing clear and direct, although one seemed to resonate. There was an article on BBCnews.com (http://news.bbc.co.uk/nol/ukfs_news/hi/newsid_8070000/newsid_8079100/8079113.stm) and part of the article touched upon the immense anger felt toward the "oligarchs" by the "people" who feel that their wealth was stolen and privatized from them during the turmoil of the 1990s. Looking back at my dream, I was clearly living in wealth and surrounding me was anger indeed. I am rushed with curiosity as to why I had this dream, this cerebral reflection on class struggle. I come from a middle class family, and currently I do not live close to extravagance by any means. Any dining spluring of mine is thrown on the credit card to be paid off slowly, meaning only more debt, the furthest thing from garnering wealth. So why in this dream was I singled out as perpatrator of class conflict, as an enemy of the people? Perhaps I have festering feelings of guilt, from my job, where I was pretty high up for some time until I put in an advanced notice of resignation. Before this decision of mine, many among the staff looked to as though I were the right hand man of the company, and could sway the big boss's decision with great influence. The sad aspect was that no matter how hard I tried to get a good worker a raise, a monetary bump for them never popped, and this especially felt roadblocked as the economy worsened in the fall. I'm sure I was seen by many who did not see their income increase as the kink in the chain that did not follow through for them, that in a two-faced diplomacy made promises then forgot about them. Yes, there were some that talked to me, in which I said I would see what I could do, then as the peak season consumes my scattered energies, I did forget about them, I admit. However there were key people that I pushed for that were met with rejection at the financial request. I guess perhaps I have not atoned the fact that I really did not have the influence that people thought I did, and in turn I believed I had, but still I remain as the figurehead in the field that let them down. I apologize for what I seemed to be and for trying to play that role with precision, for the hope I led on, and for the hope I ultimately did not fight for.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
The Igloo Oven Returns!
I have gone astray from this lovely platform and apologize for being absent with material. I have been busy "exit strategizing" from the corporate cog which I became heavily cranked into. The good news is: I have put in a notice of resignation from that company and by October 1st, I will be creating 100 % of my day's time. However, the creative wheel can't wait until then, so I would like to make a committment to have something new posted by every Thursday night, every week, by midnight. Feel free to punch me in the face if I fail that obligation, but I think you will lose out on that oppty, I'm feeling inspired.
Also, I have not been completely void of creating, despite the ever escalating occupational pressures I had to persevere. I acted a in a play, The Loitering Hole, written by Matthew J. Swanson of http://thegancer.blogspot.com. I also self published a book, "a bedtime story for the drinking mankind." It is a twisted folkatale of sorts, illustrated like a bedtime story, but of course a little too dark for the children's book market so I thought I'd turn to my fellow imbiber and offer them a tale to stew in their subconsious as the whiskey seaps into the bones and fuels racy dreams that perplex them through the last of their hazy morning ritual, haunting the cab ride into work due to oversleeping. The book is available through http://www.whiskeypike.com. There is a preview gallery with images, sample text, and audio if you have more questions or your interest in a new summer read is perked in the slightest.
But I will leave you with a little observation. The other day I rode the bus and observed a family of four, a father, two sons, and a daughter. The daughter was speaking to the father through sign language. The father responded in kind to the daugher. The daughter also interacted with her two brothers in like means, so I assumed the daughter was deaf/mute, and the other family members had learned to speak like so to her. But then the two brothers began speaking to one another by way of sign language, and the father to the brothers. Was the entire family afflicted with inability to speak by tongue and hear through ear? Or had they by way of learning this particular language for the sake of a loved one, taken up that language in preference to the traditional and ordinaray means to transfer everday information? Or did they learn to enjoy the privacy with communcating through a language reserved for handicap, but conveys speak with every bit as much precision, and much more emphatic?