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.

The tone I've been looking for

When people are looking through over 40 years of your life on one side of the room, and you are on the other - holding forth and making gin cocktails, it can get a bit stressful.

The Westgate Cavern was festive on Saturday night. We had a very nice party and everyone hung out in the basement this time out. People were looking through my record collection without me hovering over them, judging my life's work. I'm sure all the cool stuff they liked was added by my wife. In the end, it all worked out. The worst thing was one record being misfiled - I hope a librarian did not do that. Got to add some new vinyl as my brother's partner came to the party, gifting me of his record collection. I spent some time yesterday weeding out the duplicates and what will move along and added some cool stuff and things he had that I lost in the flood to Discogs. That Lloyd Cole Rattlesnakes record is damn good.

There's a new member of the family also. Finally bit the bullet and got a new amp. The Supro Comet is a little tube dynamo. A ten inch speaker powered by six or fourteen watts of power, and it cranks at both. Good reverb and a smooth tremolo makes it what will be the last amp I ever need.

It was a bit of adventure getting the amp. I had bought from the company before and thought I put in my new address. I did not. Saw that it was shipped to the old address and races over there right away. When I got there, the guy had his laptop open and said, "You work for Ohio State." He was googling me to find some contact info as he suspected I'd need this, and he was right. And he is an honest man, this renter of my old house. Also, apologies to all the people I spoke with at UPS over the past week. My tone was not appropriate.

So it is good, a solid party turn out despite steady rain that ranged from a hard drizzle to near biblical. The puddle in the downstairs bathroom held off forming until after everyone left.

The bridge I torched

So many seem to do everything to cling to their childhood. I think my problem (or one of) is that I wanted to distance myself as far away from it as possible.

Even after having a child, and the experience of autism, it's been so hard to reach and relate to it all.

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.

Phone Calls Never Received

If you do not turn left a very stupid consequence can happen at the end of a 1.2 mile stretch of straight road. Two and a quarter tons moving forward into a November night.

An untried conclusion staked out the way a field goal kicker sees between the uprights before taking the kick with two seconds left. Accelerator pressed so hard you hope your feet do not go Flintstone, or the engine does not throw a rod. You wonder about the safety record of Volvos as a long scream is breathed out during the last quarter mile. Hands off the wheel at the last possible moment. The final surge of adrenaline. A brief flight over a ditch. Plastic and metal, Swedish steel, shred flimsy chain link before slamming into bark and maple bordering a cemetery. The car too old for airbags, only the headlights remain on - shining through a ghostly mix of steam and smoke, as multicolored fluids leak out from torn hoses and broken reservoirs

Passwords are left in prominent place in a notebook at home. Sealed letters in the back seat. God, you hope the car does not explode. An ID left in a conspicuous place. Seat belt left unbuckled. Final songs blasted out of unaware speakers. How fucked up is a life for it to reach this point. How broke do you have to be. How broken is a marriage that you want to break your body, make it irreparable. How much do you have to hate your job to manufacture long distance grief? Leave your family and friends to pick up the pieces of your mess from afar. None of them capable of understanding any of the failed puzzle you kept silent. You watch the tachometer rise and fall with the car still in park. You wait for your hands to stop shaking avoiding touching the wheel before turning away. The best act of cowardice complete, letters are ticker tape in the Scioto. A few minutes later you pull into a driveway of debt and consequences and start a fight in the kitchen about an affair that has not even happened yet - but free to continue being human, making mistakes. No, not that one

Making a forward leap

My favorite park in Columbus, which has several wonderful ones, is Schiller in German Village. It's relatively quiet, has a nice playground and a tennis court for my son to do laps around. I lived down the block from here right after marriage two and really loved the neighborhood.

Even when I did not have a car I liked to come down here and chill. Good place for a picnic. Not sure how it is for first dates though, back in the summer of 1998, it left me a bit dazed.

All I'm saying is that boasting about fellatio skills on a first date is not the best idea, nor is looking for someone whose lap you can sit on and call him Daddy. After being out of the dating scene, first one back out of the gate was a theater major. My kryptonite. That was my fault for not recognizing the sign of the Drama, among other things.



Nothing happened. It was all for the best. Big River was being performed by the Actor's Summer Theater that night. I think she's tried to find me on MyLife. I'm not hard to find.

A few months later, on the day of my first divorce, I burned the marriage license and gave it a Viking funeral in the pond. What the Hell is it about me and silly rituals?

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.

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.

While Waiting in the Vision Therapist's Office

You, ok, I think of the weirdest shit sometimes. Ok, maybe more frequently than sometimes. More than a top ten list, here's a list of -

Rejected Christmas Gift Ideas

Tickle Me Brett Favre's Penis
Tea Party Rally Sign Spell Checker
Unicorn Barbie
Salmonella Fruitcake
Dale Carnegie's "How to Win Friends and Influence People" with a new Forward by Lebron James
Birth Control Sponge Bob
Jan Brewer Racial Profiling Kit
Blu-Ray Charles DVD Player
EZ-Bake Oven (Dachau Edition)
Charlie Sheen Roomba Recyclable Drug Dispenser
Circus Clown Black Ops
Texting While Driving Barbie
Mr. Potato Blight Head
How to Finally Let Go by Virginia Thomas
David Carradine Memorial Neck Tie
Slam Poetry for Dummies by Jory Farr
Obama/Biden "Two More Years" Commemorative T-shirt
Madden '11 - the One with the Buffalo Bills on the Cover
Kanye West's "Guide to Taking Turns"
2013 Mayan Calendar
Siamese Barbie

Scared, in Front of a Crowd

Last night's dream involved my first wife and I doing a team piece at a poetry slam. A big poetry slam. A Nationals type event. Somehow when we printed out the poem, the part she was doing printed out fine, but mine only had the first part of each line so half my part was missing.

(Don't bring up memorization, it's my dream ok?)

So we got up to the stage and after the applause died down, I deliberately woke myself up because I did not want to know what would happen next.

Took the family out to a graduation party yesterday. N's been to this place before but was among a mostly unfamiliar crowd. So he was standing there looking a bit lost. Even enticing him with a lollipop did not get him to move. I took him by the hand and sat him in my lap, where he stayed, very content, for the next two hours.

At one point, I got up to mingle, and he stayed in the chair just fine. I looked over at him and he held his hand up as to give me a high five but when I gave him the high five he took my hand, pulled to to the chair and said, "Do you want down?"

Meaning, sit with me Daddy.

He's a very sweet child, even when he woke up at 4:30AM he's still sweet.