11:09 - 11:29
black tea wearing all grey, the house show last night was quiet, two singers and acoustic guitars and an awkward staggering of the self when surrounded by emotional triggers, like pianos, or a certain select series of notes to wrench out the heart from the chest, still beating, like Aztec god-kings and to let my head go rolling down the steep steps of a pyramid, sewn off with a dull slashing axe, a dull motion spun neck and my vision of the sky and the steps and the vast landscape, green, would alternate depending on what my skull bounced on, boing boing, the crowd below bloodthirsty and gut hungry and eye tired, they've been in the sun all day long with rotten fruit.
Piano notes tinkling along with the experimental haze of someone waking up from a fog. Is it clear that this person, myself, has begun to slip, to lose the mind into an eternity of insane thoughts so convoluted that there is no tether to line me up into a prose-poem even, or an avant grade hand me down bookstore where poems go to hide and burrow? Colors of friendship last night were the turquoise, aqua stairs that lead down into the basement. Hot in there. Our lungs filtered, filtered air and dust when the drunk banged on the furnace piping along with the rhythmic thump of the acoustic guitar and yelling vocalist, passion hitting the notes straining the vocal cords, it is an investment in the cause, the notes and the feelings rather than a simple gestural performance piece with stage lighting and make up and nervous hands in the audience. How does anyone without beer or a camera know what to do with their hands?
Low ceiling. Eagles rest. Outside the black cat chases off a raccoon. We talk freely amongst ourselves as if given an 'at ease' command by the sergeant. Whoever. The clouds hold themselves together, only shedding a tear at the mention of her name. Margot, perhaps. Jane. Sunshadow breaks through the clouds sadness and they disappear without the relief of tears. Well it's night now and the clouds can glower and threaten to sob all they want, the city goes indoors to hibernate for a few hours.
In my hibernation I experienced such obscure lucid dreams. I saw my uncle with huge scars tracking up his arms, huge arms, huge gashes, and his impatience. Taken somewhere beautiful to accomplish a task. Make my eyesight work. I had gone insane in my dream. I was perhaps hospitalized, or drugged. That is a common theme for my confusing psychological nightmares. I announce the causation of my forgetfulness on a strange drug someone slipped into my drink. Never had blue ice cream tasted so guilty, it turned to mustard and the scene swirled about. There were cathedrals. Jungle beaches. Perpetual sunsets. Two attractive lesbian women in the reception area, exceedingly cramped, with odd names. One was David. the other an inanimate object. something I can't quite remember like most the dream within the dream. I had forgotten the elements that made up that world as I was still a part in actively creating it. This forgetfulness caused anxiety within the dream. How odd. The world I created was within my rules and boundaries and I was embarrassed by my inability to remember what I had previously created. I guess that is similar to forgetting an old song you wrote with your first or second or third band. Some old art wears out and the new material replaces it with kashmir increasingly.
I dreamed myself incapable of getting the story straight within my dream. I had persecution delusions all from within a world I could absolutely control.
