Manipulate the schema in my head and redirect those routes so I only dream of nice things. Nothing perverted or Freudian. I want to dream about flying over the grand canyon with widespread wingspan. A whole city on my back, in rocking chairs and canes, or bibs and cradles. The teenagers let go long ago. Fallen completely into the void, jeans with chains or now the day glow, drug addict spiral. Infinite quest to be twig-like.
I want to dream about watching trees grow in a matter of minutes. Calling animals to my sides and placing tokens of appreciation into their hands. We are connected aren't we? We've done enough harm, haven't we? I want to dream about botany and the names of plants or trees. Whatever is natural growing and indigenous around here. I couldn't begin to express the names of all of lush green scenery. It is beyond me entirely. But all around me. Forces at work beyond my manipulation. Unless I crash directly into them. Spiral myself into that web. That superhuman spiderweb tied up beneath the golden gate bridge to prevent jumps. Worse is the forest that compels you to end. A silent spiritual hell. Your soul becomes locked away from all of the wasted lives clogging your arteries in the air you breathe. Terror pure and simple. I cannot allow any section of my dreams to delve into that mess.
I can think about conversations. About music. Dream in symphony. Cue the lights and the stage curtain drops leaving us all blissfully exposed because we are performers we are used to this anxious feeling. A show, my god. Approaching faster than light speed radon. harlot in her sleeping palace thinks about me as she tosses and turns. juxtapose her position beneath my own and let those wishes become fulfilled. beyond consciousness where we can transcend space and time, tearing wholes through the fabric continuum. the static solution to problems time traveling.
ran into old town calabasas. and it was nice. looked like a great place to bring a date for dinner or to wander. clean appearance. the world's last bookstore. wonder when I will enter. where will there be a prize for my efforts. suddenly everything changed and I am not who I used to be. I am in transition. A prototype of a new version of myself. All other versions failed but together building up to the awesome climactic center found in all. good gracious. manager does not believe we will need jobs with the way he believes our band will explode. I am not money motivated. I am survival motivated. I am guilt motivated. I cannot be so far in debt... I am told that I must find a job. Then I am told I must just pay them once I start making big bills. Why not start on my own now? I will pay them back later anyhow. Let them not worry. I will make it just fine. 40 bucks left until new bank transaction. interview tomorrow morning. but no no. this is too real. make for boring dreams. no dreams of monetary values. i want to make music and become great and love everything and experience the world. i only want to make enough money to survive well on the road. buy car parts if necessary without asking the parents for help. suddenly, realizing I may be able to pay my own way through the remainder of my college. (no UW acceptance quite yet). but hey. fuck money. it corrupts and ruins everything. we made it all up in the first place. prestige is limited.
I just want to fill my eyes with wonder. I want to do big things. I want to be creative and keep my feet solid on the ground. Playing great music everywhere without anyone telling me what to do about that commercial hit. But hell! Why not go all the way! However necessary! I am so resistant because I do not want to write with intentions to conform. Entirely. I hate to think that any member of the band writes simply because they believe the song to be radio friendly.
Dream of water in the air. Falling into the sea again. I am alive and something is happening in the molecules all around me. A kind of leniency?
