Around 4:30AM

My Mother died five years ago this December. Last night I had what I believe is the first dream I've had with her in it, at least what I can remember.

It was in flashback, my son was small, and I was trying to get some rest in the basement of her house on Long Island. All I remember was my son running around in the living room, and a group of people coming in the house, including my mom.

She came downstairs to check on me and asked how I was doing. I told her exhausted but I am not going through chemo the way you are. She could not stay, had to go back to the hospital. I could not kiss her goodbye because of her condition.

Then she left, and I woke up.

Planning well in middle age

It was a year ago when my Brother called to tell me an account in my name had been set up by a brokerage firm. So my ignoring those emails from it was not the best idea. In about 24 hours the life and future of my family was altered. I've tried to do wise things, have made a few mistakes but have done some good moves also. Here I am learning about cost basis, mutual funds and strategies. As long as it all does not tank. Which in this day and age is not outside the realm of possibility.

This freedom allows us to do things like see Brian Wilson. To have a couple of cocktails in the new bar in the LeVeque Tower before the show. I got the practical car, and it has worked out very well almost a year in. It allows us to travel where we want when we have the time. And we're trying to help others too.

Later this week, another dream will arrive. Something I've wanted for about 40 years. I researched, went to local shops and finally pulled the trigger on eBay. I'm terrified, but it's cheaper and healthier than cocaine.

Reverting

I've been dreaming of two different places recently. One of them involves being in some resort, and there's a room called the Branson Room. It's not in Branson, Missouri, but more of a theme park like place. In any case, there's some sort of orientation and when it's over some people leave, some move on, others stay and sing gospel songs.

The other has me working in some dive bar on no notice or experience. I'm pouring drinks, getting customers the wrong beer and I do not care when they complain. I'd rather be anywhere else, and it shows.

Here in Scotland for one final night. It's been a good trip.

He had a passport

We were in Paris, hanging out by the Eiffel Tower when my son disappeared. Emma and I went after him, for some reason my stepfather came with us but he stayed put.

I was running, not as fast as I used to and noticed that. Age caught up to me. Lost track of my son. Now there was a missing non-verbal teenager in a country where there is already a language barrier.

That moment where you think you spotted him from behind but when you got there saw it was a French kid wearing a similar shirt happened.

Fences and barriers were jumped and rolled over, stairs were climbed. There was a small place to eat at the top of one flight and my son was not there. When I turned around I saw my Wife and we each had the same look of exhaustion and horror on our faces.

Dead icons and not wanting to hear it

Not sure what led up to this but one segment had my son removing one earplug and placing it on a bookcase in the dining room. He then took out the other earplug and threw it on the floor. I told him to pick that up, which he did and he put the earplug with the other one. Why he did not do that in the first place is unknown.

The other part involved Nelson Mandela giving a lecture in a small room. He did not really look like him, but like a bespectacled Greg Morris from Mission Impossible.



So he's giving a talk as Mandela but not looking like Mandela, who is dead but that not seem to matter. My friend Alexis was also attending. He seemed to have problems with cleaning his glasses so I got my sunglasses case out and handed him my microfiber cloth. He really appreciated that and made small talk with Alexis and I. Mandela kept asking us about getting a clearance, access or something we had to get online, and the password to get to the site was Mandela62.

And that's how that dream ended.

No idea how he knew me

Bruce Springsteen was playing somewhere in Columbus. I did not recognize the venue, but there was a park outside of it where people gathered before the concert. I found my friend Alexis and one other person who I did not recognize and we hung out.

Then a very hairy Springsteen walked by us, carrying an acoustic guitar around his back. He was walking fast, to avoid being stopped and hounded, but he was also very friendly.

"How you doing?" He said to the ladies.

"Hey Ed!" He waved as he kept right on going.

So I got a Boss shoutout.

We then got in line to get in the concert hall and we were packed right in front by the doors, trying not to get crushed, trying not to think about Cincinnati.

No one was hurt, but I woke up before the show.

The parallel universe of sleep

There was some sort of self-help writers convention in town. I was in Stauf's, which did not resemble the actual coffee shop, but some other Stauf's. I saw Dr. Phil alone at a table writing on one of those longer notepads, when I passed him I glanced at what he was writing. There was one long ass list being started. It was all numbers down the page and the rest was blank. I guess Phil had some work to do.

There was also an author named Jerry Spears. A name I do not know as a writer but as the owner of a local funeral home. The coffee shop was in some sort of indoor mall and authors whose faces I recognized but names I was not sure of were walking in trios into bars, one in front of another.

I kept trying to get on my iPad to post to Facebook that Dr. Phil was writing a list but the keyboard kept messing up.

Another author came over to me and I called him the wrong name, which made him very pissy. Oh well, that's life in the publishing world.

Dreaming of the past and those gone

Somehow I found myself in a situation in which I was going to buy into or begin working in a wine shop. I was not sure of the ownership, if the boss was telling the truth about employees scamming him or if he was the scammer.

Somehow a friend of mine became involved as a potential investor or part time employee.

We were on a large couch, she was on one end, talking to people, I on the other and her late husband, J., was in the middle. He looked younger, I think around the age when we first met. No one was talking to him, she did not seem to notice he was there.

So I said to him, “You’re the ghost between us,” and he laughed. I said he looked well, and he said he was alright and that he was making sure his widow's business dealings were on the level. I was the only one who could see him because I was getting odd looks having a conversation with an empty space next to me on the couch. It was a pleasant conversation.

Then I woke up. And that was it, I let her know about the dream and she seemed pleased, and she let me know she was not in any potentially risky financial deals - neither am I.

Have to say it was a comforting dream. I rarely remember them and it was good to see J., he's missed.

This Day

I thought it started with the monkeys, but that turned out to not be true.

It started a bit earlier, the night before on a simple Facebook thread about cars. A friend had an accident and may be shopping for a car. I jokingly sent her a link to an old Citroen DS I’ve been lusting for, then to my utter surprise found a Craigslist link to a 1957 Rolls Royce Silver Cloud that was driving on my own street two weeks ago.

That was one of the more surreal things I’d ever seen in this city. We were driving home and I pointed out to my wife what something very interesting was moving toward us. The car was gorgeous, still had a British license plate and right hand drive.

I sent the owner an email, that I did not have the $35,000 but seeing the car on my street was a day maker. He shortly after emailed me and said he lives on the West Side, close to my house and that he tries to take the car out once a week. In all the time I’ve lived here I’ve never seen it. If he emails back I’ll offer him some Jeni’s for a ride. I mean, if he takes it out once a week why not have a passenger or two?

In that Facebook thread to my friend I was talking about old Volvos and their problems. Had to mention that my Hyundai had never left me stranded.

Until today anyway.

After emailing the Rolls Royce guy I went to bed only to be woken a couple of hours later.

It was a dream I had, about the monkeys. It was 1:44AM and I had been woken up by a very disturbing dream about kicking monkeys onto plates. I’m not sure if I was very large or if the monkeys were very small. It was disturbing because I was one of the people kicking the monkeys and I have no idea why. All I remember was that these monkeys lives were not going to last much longer.

This morning I was planning to go see my son swim but the car would not start. I suspected the battery from the beginning, the lights were not working, there was no click from the ignition when I turned the key. There was a weird continuous ticking sound from behind the dash that was a relay switch struggling to do its job with no juice.

Called AAA and the guy was a bit dumfounded by the whole situation. The battery was dead but not dead. He suggested last night’s cold temperatures may have had an impact. The car did start when he charged the battery. The alternator is fine. I drove the car around to charge up the battery after he left.

The car seemed to be sluggish and that symptom really manifested itself at a higher speed. The revs were higher and it was much louder than normal. Took the car to a repair shop, but they were not able to fit me in today. Took it to a parts store to have the codes checked, but there were none to check. The clerk there did make a suggestion about an oxygen sensor failing. Made a mental note to call a repair shop on Monday for an appointment.

Later, my wife and I went out to lunch. While driving, the sluggishness had disappeared and the car was driving as always. Meaning normally. A friend suggested I have the transmission checked as he had the same situation with one of his cars. Well that’s just perfect, if that’s the case I may have to kick a monkey.

Only in my dreams though, and I do hope my friend finds a decent car.

Sometime around 6AM

We were on a road trip, I think my wife was with me. For some reason we were driving through Ohio, no idea what part, or why - just driving.

At some point my car, the car I have now, had one weird steering issue. It was slipping while I turned left and I had to over steer to compensate.

Then we got to the town of Jack Vine, Ohio where the car started running badly and a shut engine off light started flashing on the left side of the dashboard.

I pulled into a parking spot in the middle of the town's business district. It looked like a small town in Ohio. Any small town in America. That's when I woke up.

Not sure where Jack Vine came from, but there does not seem to be any town called Jack Vine anywhere.

Now if there really was a Swear Jar millions would be made

I was on stage at Kafe Kerouac reading a poem. It had a few very naughty words in it. Mid-poem Rachel R. got up, came on stage, looked around and asked, "Where's the Swear Jar?"

Not quite sure what happened after that, but it threw me off. Lost the second page of the poem and was not happy about it. At all.

You know, I could picture her doing something like that. Heck, I could picture several people doing that.

There's your fund raising event. Swear Jar night at Writers' Block.

Not proficient

Mike Mills, former bassist of REM asked me to play bass in a band he was putting together. There was going to be a show at 9AM at some bar in Columbus. Mike told me the gig would be loose, essentially a rehearsal.

The bar was in the north campus area, around Dodridge and High, which seemed to be just across the street from my house.

While all this was going on, there was a zip line installed in my backyard which involved putting an odd, large, breed of cat on the line in a basket. There were a couple of other animals involved.

I walked to the bar early and breakfast was being served. I thought I saw Paul Westerberg or Jim Jarmusch eating, EVR was there (big surprise) as well as a guy I went to college with who was in this band. None of them knew I would be playing bass.

I almost got pickpocketed by some kid who asked me questions about Sheryl Crow as I was headed back to my house to pick up my bass. I saw the truck with all the gear pull up and start loading into the bar. When I was at my house, I realized I did not have a bass, but may have had an amp. I also had not showered, and had to go to work when the show was over.

Rest in Peace, Duck Dunn

I had a dream about him a couple of years ago. Never saw him play live.



One of the greats. Rest in Peace.

Is it the weather or am I going mad?

Had a couple of disturbing dreams recently. A loved one came into the house, seems this person was shot in the forehead while mowing the lawn. It was not a large caliber bullet as their head was not blown off but a small weapon with a small, noticeable hole. No exit wound so it was suggested to go to the hospital to have the bullet removed. For some reason we went separately with the injured party going to Children's Hospital, which is odd because the victim is no longer a child and Mount Carmel West is closer.

The other dream involved me euthanizing a cat I once had in the bathtub, and that's about all I want to say except it really creeped me out.

Who knows what is going on in my head to produce these nightmares. The weather here has been freakishly warm. Thirty degrees warmer than normal. My rose bush is starting to bud six weeks ahead of schedule. The lawn is going to need mowing this weekend. I'll do that, and hope I do not get shot.

Been thinking about poetry slam recently and its effect on poets. Slam can kill you as quickly as it can resurrect. It can create heroes as easily as monsters. I do not know what I'm witnessing in slams these days. It's not supposed to be pretty but the joy has lessened for me and it's already making me lean cynically, not even five years into the game. All I can do is be me out there, and I'm perfectly ok with that. And by me I mean a writer with little self confidence who is not afraid to take risks. That is, when I infrequently write something that is a risk. So do I take a risk and write about these messed up dreams? I questioned putting them here for crying out loud!

Slam and poetry are different beasts that can interact. Sometimes they do not play nice.

A lot can happen in four years, just ask Florence Welch. This was one of the first videos I saw of her performing.



Said then that she was going to be indie big. Looks like that happened for her. All I'm doing it writing about that, and not very well.

In better news, while he's still in serious condition and intensive care, Fabrice Muamba is communicating and appears to be on the road to a long recovery.

Note to self: Rehearse

Actually remembered a dream from last night, a woman I know only through Facebook was running for some sort of elected city office here in Columbus. That is odd in itself because said person does not live in Columbus, nor, to my knowledge, is she a U.S. citizen. She was miffed that she lost and that she did not have much support from women in her district. I tried to commiserate by saying that if she ran for office in the district just south of her there were plenty of women I could have recommended for her to get some help from.



As usual, I do not know what this means but it may be some subconscious spill over from the past Women of the World poetry slam conversations that have been happening. A couple of epic threads about coaching and safety were posted. There have been some interesting points raised. The points matter, if you get them I guess.

Last night Writers’ Block had another qualifying slam for the National Poetry Slam team. Since I can’t go I’m not competing but I offered to be the sacrificial poet last night. The poet who reads to calibrate the judges, then goes off into the night to heckle.

The poem I read needs a lot more editing, but I still gave it shot. It’s a poem I wrote about living in Columbus that other poets have also done, to varying success. Stumbled in a couple of places I should not have, made light of it while stumbling. Not a great moment and it got the 25.8 it deserved. Could have done better, knew it, and moved on.

At the end of the night a man came up to me, thanked me for the poem and asked for a copy of it. You never know, even after what you may think is a mediocre performance your words do have an effect on people. That is a good thing to take after an evening.

From my subconscious to you

Woke up at 4:30am, somehow remembering these ditties.

We were in the Short North, my wife was in one of the restaurant and a pan handler asked me for money for the bus. A dollar I think I knew this person already had a bus pass, and I did not have a dollar anyway, so I said no. Said person then went inside and asked my wife for a dollar, and she, being the soft touch kindest person in the universe, gave the person the money.



In another Kafe Kerouac was now some sort of wine bar/bistro. There were higher tables and at one of them we joined another person, who I think was a blogger, who had a bottle of wine and was drinking it by herself. I asked her what it was. She told me it was a carignan then proceed to pour me a glass while she spoke in French.

Release of the Dead

This is from the last Spliz Enz album, which was never officially released in the U.S. It did get recorded on the first Crowded House album. I've probably posted it here before, but it's in my head now and needs a release into the blogosphere.

Had a very disturbing dream over the weekend. I was working at the cash register at Long's, a college bookstore and Ohio State merchandise emporium I came to despise working at in the late 90's. A group came to the register and had a number of expensive items to purchase. They all spread out at at some signal they all rushed me, got the register open and robbed the place. Next in the dream was another person trying to rob me, again. This time I had a heavy piece of glass Block-O thing in my hands and bashed the guy in the head, repeatedly. I work up with a start. Very upsetting dream.

In the midst of writing a short, nasty thing. You hear about people reclaiming their virginity, to mixed results. My question is can you unsleep with someone? If you can 'wash that man right out of your hair' can you kick someone out of your bed?

Probably not, but you wonder what you were thinking, too much I suppose. So I kick myself, again and again. This isn't about erasing the past, an Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind thing. Simply trying to write through a flood.

My brain needs a dehumidifier.

Before I forget these

Two dreams.

In one I was in bed and turned on the iPod as I woke up. The headlines said something about William Shatner dying on set in Hawaii. He was filming something and he and a number of cast members were killed in some accident. I could not read it well because I did not have my glasses on.

In the other I was at work, but in a different building. The Main Library but not the Main library. For some reason I was working the floor, wearing my coat, not identifiable as an employee and I was approached by a customer with a complex question. I directed him toward the reference desk (gee, sounds familiar) and his response was some sort of insult (more familiarity!)

Later, I was working that desk with one of my coworkers, who is Muslim. We were approached by a customer whose first words to her were to try and covert her to Christianity. Her response was to call security about this guy who had traumatized her.

Then there was an announcement that I could not quite make out, but there was a cheer from people in the building as the main power suddenly went out. With emergency lighting on, my coworker and I raced down the stairs.

I think that's when I woke up.

Was it the Meds, or am I Going Mad?

I'm not sure if this dream was being watched on television, or actually happening.

John Goodman was a cop who had uncovered some serious conspiracy stuff. There was a major convoy, by rail, that I think the Russians were leading straight down the center of the United States. There were even cruise ships in this convoy, really weird looking on train tracks. The reason was unknown and if you tried to find out, you were eliminated. There was a lot of black ops technology used, a lot of surveillance used against you if you tried to speak out. Wow, who knew Henry Winkler could hide cameras that showed Goodman liked to look at nasty things!

There was a lot of bad reporting done, technology released that turned cities snowbound and Kent State being on fire was major news.

I hope this does not become a nightly event.

The Macbook came back on Saturday, with a new hard drive. I hooked up the backup and hoped. The last backup it seems was in April so all was not lost. I've never been quite sure if any of the transfers worked.

The pictures are in a jumble, which is the worst thing, and six months of photos are gone - but the better ones are most likely on Facebook. Lost a small amount of writing, what's been completed is on paper and/or archived in gmail. Lost some music, but that's the lightest loss. Overall, it could have been a lot worse and I'm thankful it was not.

Your Time is Gonna Come

Dreamed last night that my son was standing by a piece of paper on the floor. He had a marker in his hand, bent over and wrote Led Zeppelin quite legibly on the paper. Somehow, it was implied that he wanted to listen to the first album.



Maybe he liked the graphics, or wanted to hear Good Times, Bad Times. It's almost time to wake him up. He was awake at 5AM, being Mr. Giggles. It's hard to reach him when he will not stop laughing for reasons unknown, or when he repeats the same words in a circular pattern.

His mother emailed me yesterday and asked if we were going to be home when he got off the bus on Wednesday. I told her no. She replied 'good' because her mother was going to be getting him off the bus that day and she did not want the potential for a confrontation.

Is this shit still going on?

That's moving forward? Gives me little reason to be optimistic about my college homecoming in a couple of weeks. My first wife is allegedly going to be there and who knows what type of buried drama is going to be stirred up.

I do not know why I compared the situations. Two different things. Or are they? It's baggage no one needs.