JUST LIKE DAYDREAMING 11
This morning I dreamt about mud. A friend and I were walking down a muddy road. There were fields of mud on either side. In the distance was what looked like a muddy hill. Headlights. A bus was coming. We had to get off the road or be splashedwith mud. So, we walked off into the field where our shoes sank in up to our ankles.
Just walk in small circles, I instructed. Youll sink in less that way.
Someone threw a wine glass at my feet, it was a guy we knew but I didnt recognize.
The light is beginning in the distance, the woman with me said. I cant wait for this darkness to end.
That was the end of the dream. What the hell does it mean. What? You know?? Oh--(insert insincere laughter here)--sorry, chief, time for a commercial break:
Shazam! This journal entry is brought to you by alcohol! Drink more! It keeps you numb, keeps you placated, keeps you from *doing things*, and, uh, we dont want you *doing things*, do we chief? Heh heh, noooo. Just keep up the office job, Jody, dont go back to school, just continue to be an ineffectual office drone making enough money to BUY STUFF. Hey, look over here, no no, not at your computer, (you might learn something), look over here at the TV. You like? Look at this beautiful TV, this gorgeous new Lexus with a built in phone thats hands free. Look at the gorgeous model in the passenger seat; *of course* she comes with car, buddy--(pat pat)--of course she does. Shazam! You could have been writing last night, you could have been a Big Brother, you could have done many things, Jody, but you decided to drink lots! So you called in sick and slept past noon. Dont worry, youll make it in tomorrow! Get on permanent at Indenture Temps, maybe become an assistant middle manager or something, youve got another thirty years or so of EARNING POWER and, hey, we bring this up because EARNING POWER is SPENDING POWER. I see that look of recognition in your eyes, yes, just as we suspected--youre a clever one! Now, look back at the TV, precious, look at all these wonderful pills to make you feel good--(may cause severe side effects!)--heres another one for alcohol! Look at all the happy, attractive people listening to energetic music and jumping around! Of course its because of the beer! What will they be like after ten years of partying and drinking that beer? Uh, youre not a *troublemaker*, are you, Jody? Now, be a good boy. Heres a Quarter Pounder with cheese--
A Quarter Pounder with cheese is good.--Reality Bites
--we like you, we really do, but you ask far far too many questions, too much thinking, Jody. Is that good? (pat pat) *Of course* it is, of course it is.
This commercial break is being interrupted for a little shout out to the clown that designed the Sacramento State University website: Did your parents have any children that lived? Oh wait, that was *rude* of me, gosh, okaylet me rephrase that question: Were your parents brother and sister? Come on, dont get mad, its just that I smell okra and hear banjos when TRYING TO NAVIGATE THIS USELESS FUCKING SITE YOU DESIGNED! Did you fall and hit your head at the last Star Trek convention? Okay, okay, I am calming downIm sorry, its justno, dont cry, have half of my Quarter Pounder.
And now back to our commercial interruption:
Tuesday morning. Thelmas current drama has something to do with a field trip her son is suppose to go on. They want her to sign a waiver. He has asthma. She is concerned they wont monitor his condition. Her monologue is interrupted by a phone call.
Allrighty then.
I have considered keeping track of the number of times Thelma says allrighty then each day. At five o clock Id either hand her a Post-it with the number or just say it out loud with no further explanation.
I wonder if I have another of those fat girl meals in the freezer. Damn, I got this call from a collection agency last night. I said to put everything in a letter and mail it to me and this woman started yelling at me. Yelling. She screamed at me for five minutes and I finally just hung up. Allrighty then. Im hungry, where are you guys going for lunch?
I got a postcard from my dentist yesterday. It was a reminder that I havent been in for a cleaning since April of 01. You know, Id love to go to a place that fills my heart with terror and have my teeth scraped but sadly I dont have insurance. Do dentists live in the real world? I mean, they dont seem to understand that a lot of people simply dont have dental insurance. But, thats a good thing. Socialized medicine would just make people lazy. Keeping people healthy wouldnt make them more productive and able to make more money and buy more shit or anything like that, noooo, that doesnt make sense. Better spend the money on something safe like a bomb or a drone or keeping up a military base in a country that hates us. Its times like this I really miss my grandfather the raving socialist. I imagine the conversations wed be having about Bush and his obsession with avenging his family name.
These Dreams by Heart is on the radio. What the hell happened to Heart, anyway? They were amazing in the 70s, one of those really good bands that lost it. Heart. Neil Diamond. Aerosmith. The Cure. Rod Stewart. Elton John. Dont get me started on Elton John with his ridiculous wig and repeated bending over for an incubus driven by the spirit of Walt Disney. ACDC, they havent changed at all. Theyre all around sixty by now, dentures flying out of their gobs as they warble Hells Bells, the throb of their Marshall amps causing the seams in their diapers to disintegrate. God, Im a bastard. Truly on the highway to hell.
The light is beginning in the distance; I cant wait for this darkness to end.
The following is excerpted from Bierce, copyright Knopf 2058: I have read extensively of the work of Jody Bierce. He was clearly someone who spent too much time alone, too much time in his own head, and yet this is partially where his inspiration came from. Isolation. To be a writer, you have both be able to observe other people and to isolate yourself form them in order to bring your observations to life. I dont think he appreciated other people; he liked to think he had some grasp on humanity, but in the end he was just another selfish albeit talented misanthrope. Instead of talking to his girlfriend, instead of having a conversation with her to find out why she hadnt been cleaning up, he assumed she was just another in the long line of people that had disappointed him. He bottled up his resentments until they exploded, and she drove off to her destinyand his.
Journal of a Temp was the first book of his to be published and--start to finish--the best. With the Bierce, Inc. pie being split up more and more among cousins, nieces, nephews, half-brothers, and lawyers, more and more of his work was published and immediately gobbled up by his readers until they got to the stuff that Bierce hadnt had the time to edit and rewrite or simply hadnt been inspired about in the first place. Ive read everything youve read and more. Ive gotten friendly with a couple members of his family and read a couple of the novels Jody Bierce wrote in his twenties. I found myself getting closer to my subject, I started feeling an emotional connection to him and have to ask: Is this what you wanted? Youre a published author, youve been dead for over 50 years but people are still reading what you wrote and will probably be in another 50. Is it worth it? Is it worth missing 40 or 50 years of your life, the possibility of having children, of seeing the world change (a change I think you would find fascinating)? Why did you let her run out the door? Was it an inability to admit you were wrong? That once again you were being a petty, little shit? What? I read what you wrote between her death and yours. It is amazing, brilliant but extremely flawed and disturbing, all these images of beautiful young women nearly bisected by car crashes and dead babies. The last thing you wrote was about this doomed young woman leaving to drive off to buy some aspirin for her boyfriend in the middle of the night. Before walking out the door and leaving him forever she says this:
The light is beginning in the distance; I cant wait for this darkness to end. (end excerpt)
Two hours until lunch. Mr. Ives reveals his favorite author is Harold Robbins. I am going over the paperwork of an applicant: Kimberly LaRock, an unmarried woman formerly known as Kim LaRock, an unmarried man. There are two bags of crisps and a packet of Tootsie Rolls on the snack table. Mr. Soggy has a cold, but still helps himself to chips. Everyone chides him for this, for putting his germ laden hands in the packets, but then they go right ahead and get some for themselves. Later, they will actually be surprised when they catch his cold.
I have been going back and forth about asking Trish out for a drink again. Maybe her excuses were genuine, maybe I really had asked at a bad time. On the other hand, maybe she was looking for an out--maybe she has no interest in spending time with me outside of work and asking her again would just creep her out. You can get in a lot of trouble for that sort of thing. Back in the old days you could grab a dames ass and those were the breaks. Of course, its good that sort of thing has ended, but it seems weve gone too far in the opposite direction. I dont know about other guys out there, but I am scared of the repercussions of the most innocent invitation, the most innocent comment. Even if you dont mean anything by it, it can come back and bite you on the ass. Speaking of:
This journal entry is brought to you be Preparation H, temporary relief from the burning, the itching, the swelling of hemorrhoids. (Cue Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash).
Oh, come on, everything has been co-opted by corporate interests, I may as well cash in too. Speaking of:
Visa. Its everywhere you want to be. Mastercard, international, so worldly so welcome! American Express: Dont leave home without it.
Bored, I wandered past the oil painting of Aaron Burr and down the hall. I walked past the Battle of Gettysburg, past the girls working at the loom, all the way down to the stairway. Last time, I felt a strong sense of foreboding; like I shouldnt walk back down the hall towards the office, I should *run*. This time the sense of foreboding was there, but it wasnt as strong. Whatever was down the stairs probably wouldnt hurt me, but I probably wasnt ready for it. I looked across the room at the stairs curving out of view. Whats down there? Will I ever be ready?
The following is an excerpt from the Autobiography of Malcolm O by Malcolm OShillens 2058 Ballentine Books: High school was fucked up. My being there seemed to serve no purpose. I mean, I wasnt going to college. I knew Id end up with a crew, know what I mean? Either spending my time on the street or in prison. So, I hung out with some gs, know what Im saying? Shit happened, things I cant write about more than forty years after the fact. My Moms saw what was going on and sent me to live with an aunt cross Sac, got me transferred to a high school that wasnt in quite as bad a part of town. I was just biding my time, see, just chilling until my aunt got sick of me or got a man or a combination of both and sent me back to my Moms. I landed in this history class taught by this strange white man. He seemed to be singling me out, you know? Maybe he was a fag, I had no idea, but it was making me uneasy. So he had us write a paper and, maybe in an attempt to sabotage my stay at that school, I just went off. I did my research, but I added lots of swear words, put a lot of anger in it. Jody--(No need to call me, Mr. Bierce, Im not really a Bierce anyway)--talked to me after class. I walked up to his desk, I wasnt going to give him the satisfaction of showing any emotion when he gave me my F. He hands me my paper. I had gotten a B.
I would have given you an A, Malcolm, but you can do better than this.
You dont know shit about me.
Had I actually sweared at a teacher? Shit, I was about to be expelled! He didnt seem too bothered, in fact he smiled a little bit.
Youre right, I dont know shit about you, but I do know youre smart
We talked all through lunch hour, I told him I wanted to rap and instantly felt stupid. I mean, I was a young black guy, of course I wanted to rap or play basketball. Instead of patronizing me, Jody told me about his own love of music and asked to see some of my rhymes. Thats how it started. Anytime Id find myself slipping back into my old shit, hanging with my old crew, I instinctively would seek out Jody and talk to him, take him my latest CD, whatever. He didnt get me my career in rap, he didnt pound on my door everyday to make sure I was staying out of trouble, but he had a part in my doing what I always knew what I was meant to do. For that, I owe him this little shout out. I heard he died earlier this year, I hope he knows I appreciate him giving me that B, you know what Im saying? (end of excerpt).
Wednesday morning. There should be a special place in hell for people who are cheery before 10 AM. There is a Channel 3 news van across the street and a helicopter circling overhead. I imagine something dramatic is unfolding, maybe a hostage crisis. Two women run by. Fleeing the scene? No, theyre laughing. Joggers.
I just got the call. My position at Indenture Temps has ended after 19 weeks and three days. As I was the temp that had been picked up last, I am the first to go. In other words, the Bird Lady is still there. Competence had nothing to do with the situation, seniority did. Its a bit sad, though; I liked working there, liked most the people I worked with.
The light is beginning in the distance; I cant wait for this darkness to end.
Who was that girl I was standing in the muddy field with? What was our relationship? I have so many questions, but a dream is like a temporary job: Once you leave it you can never go back. I will never see her again, as I will never see the majority of my co-workers at Indenture Temps ever again
This morning I dreamt about mud. A friend and I were walking down a muddy road. There were fields of mud on either side. In the distance was what looked like a muddy hill. Headlights. A bus was coming. We had to get off the road or be splashedwith mud. So, we walked off into the field where our shoes sank in up to our ankles.
Just walk in small circles, I instructed. Youll sink in less that way.
Someone threw a wine glass at my feet, it was a guy we knew but I didnt recognize.
The light is beginning in the distance, the woman with me said. I cant wait for this darkness to end.
That was the end of the dream. What the hell does it mean. What? You know?? Oh--(insert insincere laughter here)--sorry, chief, time for a commercial break:
Shazam! This journal entry is brought to you by alcohol! Drink more! It keeps you numb, keeps you placated, keeps you from *doing things*, and, uh, we dont want you *doing things*, do we chief? Heh heh, noooo. Just keep up the office job, Jody, dont go back to school, just continue to be an ineffectual office drone making enough money to BUY STUFF. Hey, look over here, no no, not at your computer, (you might learn something), look over here at the TV. You like? Look at this beautiful TV, this gorgeous new Lexus with a built in phone thats hands free. Look at the gorgeous model in the passenger seat; *of course* she comes with car, buddy--(pat pat)--of course she does. Shazam! You could have been writing last night, you could have been a Big Brother, you could have done many things, Jody, but you decided to drink lots! So you called in sick and slept past noon. Dont worry, youll make it in tomorrow! Get on permanent at Indenture Temps, maybe become an assistant middle manager or something, youve got another thirty years or so of EARNING POWER and, hey, we bring this up because EARNING POWER is SPENDING POWER. I see that look of recognition in your eyes, yes, just as we suspected--youre a clever one! Now, look back at the TV, precious, look at all these wonderful pills to make you feel good--(may cause severe side effects!)--heres another one for alcohol! Look at all the happy, attractive people listening to energetic music and jumping around! Of course its because of the beer! What will they be like after ten years of partying and drinking that beer? Uh, youre not a *troublemaker*, are you, Jody? Now, be a good boy. Heres a Quarter Pounder with cheese--
A Quarter Pounder with cheese is good.--Reality Bites
--we like you, we really do, but you ask far far too many questions, too much thinking, Jody. Is that good? (pat pat) *Of course* it is, of course it is.
This commercial break is being interrupted for a little shout out to the clown that designed the Sacramento State University website: Did your parents have any children that lived? Oh wait, that was *rude* of me, gosh, okaylet me rephrase that question: Were your parents brother and sister? Come on, dont get mad, its just that I smell okra and hear banjos when TRYING TO NAVIGATE THIS USELESS FUCKING SITE YOU DESIGNED! Did you fall and hit your head at the last Star Trek convention? Okay, okay, I am calming downIm sorry, its justno, dont cry, have half of my Quarter Pounder.
And now back to our commercial interruption:
Tuesday morning. Thelmas current drama has something to do with a field trip her son is suppose to go on. They want her to sign a waiver. He has asthma. She is concerned they wont monitor his condition. Her monologue is interrupted by a phone call.
Allrighty then.
I have considered keeping track of the number of times Thelma says allrighty then each day. At five o clock Id either hand her a Post-it with the number or just say it out loud with no further explanation.
I wonder if I have another of those fat girl meals in the freezer. Damn, I got this call from a collection agency last night. I said to put everything in a letter and mail it to me and this woman started yelling at me. Yelling. She screamed at me for five minutes and I finally just hung up. Allrighty then. Im hungry, where are you guys going for lunch?
I got a postcard from my dentist yesterday. It was a reminder that I havent been in for a cleaning since April of 01. You know, Id love to go to a place that fills my heart with terror and have my teeth scraped but sadly I dont have insurance. Do dentists live in the real world? I mean, they dont seem to understand that a lot of people simply dont have dental insurance. But, thats a good thing. Socialized medicine would just make people lazy. Keeping people healthy wouldnt make them more productive and able to make more money and buy more shit or anything like that, noooo, that doesnt make sense. Better spend the money on something safe like a bomb or a drone or keeping up a military base in a country that hates us. Its times like this I really miss my grandfather the raving socialist. I imagine the conversations wed be having about Bush and his obsession with avenging his family name.
These Dreams by Heart is on the radio. What the hell happened to Heart, anyway? They were amazing in the 70s, one of those really good bands that lost it. Heart. Neil Diamond. Aerosmith. The Cure. Rod Stewart. Elton John. Dont get me started on Elton John with his ridiculous wig and repeated bending over for an incubus driven by the spirit of Walt Disney. ACDC, they havent changed at all. Theyre all around sixty by now, dentures flying out of their gobs as they warble Hells Bells, the throb of their Marshall amps causing the seams in their diapers to disintegrate. God, Im a bastard. Truly on the highway to hell.
The light is beginning in the distance; I cant wait for this darkness to end.
The following is excerpted from Bierce, copyright Knopf 2058: I have read extensively of the work of Jody Bierce. He was clearly someone who spent too much time alone, too much time in his own head, and yet this is partially where his inspiration came from. Isolation. To be a writer, you have both be able to observe other people and to isolate yourself form them in order to bring your observations to life. I dont think he appreciated other people; he liked to think he had some grasp on humanity, but in the end he was just another selfish albeit talented misanthrope. Instead of talking to his girlfriend, instead of having a conversation with her to find out why she hadnt been cleaning up, he assumed she was just another in the long line of people that had disappointed him. He bottled up his resentments until they exploded, and she drove off to her destinyand his.
Journal of a Temp was the first book of his to be published and--start to finish--the best. With the Bierce, Inc. pie being split up more and more among cousins, nieces, nephews, half-brothers, and lawyers, more and more of his work was published and immediately gobbled up by his readers until they got to the stuff that Bierce hadnt had the time to edit and rewrite or simply hadnt been inspired about in the first place. Ive read everything youve read and more. Ive gotten friendly with a couple members of his family and read a couple of the novels Jody Bierce wrote in his twenties. I found myself getting closer to my subject, I started feeling an emotional connection to him and have to ask: Is this what you wanted? Youre a published author, youve been dead for over 50 years but people are still reading what you wrote and will probably be in another 50. Is it worth it? Is it worth missing 40 or 50 years of your life, the possibility of having children, of seeing the world change (a change I think you would find fascinating)? Why did you let her run out the door? Was it an inability to admit you were wrong? That once again you were being a petty, little shit? What? I read what you wrote between her death and yours. It is amazing, brilliant but extremely flawed and disturbing, all these images of beautiful young women nearly bisected by car crashes and dead babies. The last thing you wrote was about this doomed young woman leaving to drive off to buy some aspirin for her boyfriend in the middle of the night. Before walking out the door and leaving him forever she says this:
The light is beginning in the distance; I cant wait for this darkness to end. (end excerpt)
Two hours until lunch. Mr. Ives reveals his favorite author is Harold Robbins. I am going over the paperwork of an applicant: Kimberly LaRock, an unmarried woman formerly known as Kim LaRock, an unmarried man. There are two bags of crisps and a packet of Tootsie Rolls on the snack table. Mr. Soggy has a cold, but still helps himself to chips. Everyone chides him for this, for putting his germ laden hands in the packets, but then they go right ahead and get some for themselves. Later, they will actually be surprised when they catch his cold.
I have been going back and forth about asking Trish out for a drink again. Maybe her excuses were genuine, maybe I really had asked at a bad time. On the other hand, maybe she was looking for an out--maybe she has no interest in spending time with me outside of work and asking her again would just creep her out. You can get in a lot of trouble for that sort of thing. Back in the old days you could grab a dames ass and those were the breaks. Of course, its good that sort of thing has ended, but it seems weve gone too far in the opposite direction. I dont know about other guys out there, but I am scared of the repercussions of the most innocent invitation, the most innocent comment. Even if you dont mean anything by it, it can come back and bite you on the ass. Speaking of:
This journal entry is brought to you be Preparation H, temporary relief from the burning, the itching, the swelling of hemorrhoids. (Cue Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash).
Oh, come on, everything has been co-opted by corporate interests, I may as well cash in too. Speaking of:
Visa. Its everywhere you want to be. Mastercard, international, so worldly so welcome! American Express: Dont leave home without it.
Bored, I wandered past the oil painting of Aaron Burr and down the hall. I walked past the Battle of Gettysburg, past the girls working at the loom, all the way down to the stairway. Last time, I felt a strong sense of foreboding; like I shouldnt walk back down the hall towards the office, I should *run*. This time the sense of foreboding was there, but it wasnt as strong. Whatever was down the stairs probably wouldnt hurt me, but I probably wasnt ready for it. I looked across the room at the stairs curving out of view. Whats down there? Will I ever be ready?
The following is an excerpt from the Autobiography of Malcolm O by Malcolm OShillens 2058 Ballentine Books: High school was fucked up. My being there seemed to serve no purpose. I mean, I wasnt going to college. I knew Id end up with a crew, know what I mean? Either spending my time on the street or in prison. So, I hung out with some gs, know what Im saying? Shit happened, things I cant write about more than forty years after the fact. My Moms saw what was going on and sent me to live with an aunt cross Sac, got me transferred to a high school that wasnt in quite as bad a part of town. I was just biding my time, see, just chilling until my aunt got sick of me or got a man or a combination of both and sent me back to my Moms. I landed in this history class taught by this strange white man. He seemed to be singling me out, you know? Maybe he was a fag, I had no idea, but it was making me uneasy. So he had us write a paper and, maybe in an attempt to sabotage my stay at that school, I just went off. I did my research, but I added lots of swear words, put a lot of anger in it. Jody--(No need to call me, Mr. Bierce, Im not really a Bierce anyway)--talked to me after class. I walked up to his desk, I wasnt going to give him the satisfaction of showing any emotion when he gave me my F. He hands me my paper. I had gotten a B.
I would have given you an A, Malcolm, but you can do better than this.
You dont know shit about me.
Had I actually sweared at a teacher? Shit, I was about to be expelled! He didnt seem too bothered, in fact he smiled a little bit.
Youre right, I dont know shit about you, but I do know youre smart
We talked all through lunch hour, I told him I wanted to rap and instantly felt stupid. I mean, I was a young black guy, of course I wanted to rap or play basketball. Instead of patronizing me, Jody told me about his own love of music and asked to see some of my rhymes. Thats how it started. Anytime Id find myself slipping back into my old shit, hanging with my old crew, I instinctively would seek out Jody and talk to him, take him my latest CD, whatever. He didnt get me my career in rap, he didnt pound on my door everyday to make sure I was staying out of trouble, but he had a part in my doing what I always knew what I was meant to do. For that, I owe him this little shout out. I heard he died earlier this year, I hope he knows I appreciate him giving me that B, you know what Im saying? (end of excerpt).
Wednesday morning. There should be a special place in hell for people who are cheery before 10 AM. There is a Channel 3 news van across the street and a helicopter circling overhead. I imagine something dramatic is unfolding, maybe a hostage crisis. Two women run by. Fleeing the scene? No, theyre laughing. Joggers.
I just got the call. My position at Indenture Temps has ended after 19 weeks and three days. As I was the temp that had been picked up last, I am the first to go. In other words, the Bird Lady is still there. Competence had nothing to do with the situation, seniority did. Its a bit sad, though; I liked working there, liked most the people I worked with.
The light is beginning in the distance; I cant wait for this darkness to end.
Who was that girl I was standing in the muddy field with? What was our relationship? I have so many questions, but a dream is like a temporary job: Once you leave it you can never go back. I will never see her again, as I will never see the majority of my co-workers at Indenture Temps ever again
p.s. i like the idea of handing someone a post-it with a number on it without any explanation as to what it stands for.