spent most of my night (saturday night, mind) writing letters to Congressmen. i've a great big stack for the post. amazing what you can do with a beat up printer, a ragged few hour's time, and a couple postage stamps with 1920s model cars on them. note: if you're writing your reps, send the letter to their district office as opposed to their DC location. correspondence takes several weeks longer going to DC, what with all the security checks and other hullaballoo. you can look up all pertinent information, from your local officials on up to king george, right here.
i don't exactly expect i'll see these letters acted upon. i've lately come to feel pretty disgusted with deluding myself and not a little suprised at how much i found myself doing just that. but like a wise man once said, it's not who you are but what you do that defines you. or something like that.
okay, okay, fuck you too. Batman IS a wise man, dammit. how can he not be, what with the cape and ears and cool car? fucker always gets the girl, you know. that is, at very least, something to like, for pretend-guy or not.
my second journal entry, way back in dec '03. funny how things come full circle and some things...don't.
"i can't shake this meloncholy. i won't ruminate on why it may be there. its always ambiguous and most likely a conglomerate of several widely different and personally tragic things anyway. to try and pin it down and put the very human-like urge of categorization to it would cheapen its poigniency, its martyr-like, tragic sweetness.
transition to dream discussion. i had a dream two nights ago that i was a kindergarten teacher. i couldn't keep the kids in line and they (as in the adminstrivia of the school) ended up firing me, but it was all sort of funny and cute. i was the type of teacher with finger-paint all over my clothes and face, who took naps on the floor when the kids did, who spilled juice and laughed at the sheer ludicrisnees of the birds bathing in the mud puddles outside the watercolor-painted window.
i had one of those dream nights last night that is many different episodes of the same theme. i dreamnt of a random girl i'd dallied with in high school (10 years gone). i suspect, however, that the spefic girl wasn't what it was all about. i think my mind was just using a memory to put a face on what it wanted to play in my head. in the dream, there were all kinds of things going on to include; being caught sexing each other up as teenagers, being captive of some mad scientist together where a leering, smocked lunatic stuck i giant syringe in my thigh and injected quicksilver into my veins (while she thrashed in her bonds and screamed for me), to being on some a man-made, massive flottila in the middle of the ocean, diving into the water and swimming in the deep blue sea together. i remember how she felt in my arms, small, yielding, vital and a little mad. we both, i think, were a little mad; which perhaps was the hinge of our bond.
what distinguishes this dream from any other run of the mill, testosterone-driven fantasy is the strange feeling of a trusting, achingly intense love, mixed with a pervasive and ever-present and over-arching feeling of dread. it was as if, throughout our numbered and strange adventures, we were privy to some secret that made us so close, so completely devoted to each other. i've never felt that way in a dream. it was grand. it was amazing. i'm certain if i met someone for whom i felt that way, i'd marry them on the instant. it was so trusting and devoid of the usual crippling detritus that is ever-present in relationships or any other dealing with other human beings. it was beautiful and indescribable. my feeble attempts at trying to depict it depress me even further. but i digress.
now, to the dread. the crawling blackness at the edge of my vision in the dream. the feeling like a low rumble of glaciers moving inexorably southward, weight and inertia unstoppable. dread like the deep, surrounding sound of a sonic boom from far away on a grey, cloudy morning. it was as if, in the midst of a happiness so profound it was painful, we were waiting for something to happen, something dire and unknowable but altogether real. it was maybe the reason we were what we were to each other.
the amazing love nor the creeping dread was never fully realized in the dream. the invasive and altogether horrible klaxon of the hated alarm clock ripped me from my bittersweet dream...as it does every goddam day. i shulffled around in the cold grey light of dawn alternating between brief memory flashes of this profound dream and the realization, like a dull blade in my skull, that i'd transitioned back into the realm of the deeply boring and drab reality i long to be freed from. there's something wrong here. something extremely unnatural with the way we prosecute our daily lives. how can a dream, mere fantasy, something that is most likely nothing more than the random firing of synapses in the brain, be so much more desirable, vital and moving than that world in which we toil through our waking hours? how to reconcile our minds and hearts betwixt the two?
sometimes i think the howling, chaotic minds of the insane, the poor souls we lock in chains and drugs, are a better reflection of our true, inner human. how comforting would it be to lose one's self in a mad dream, in a constant state of blissful unreality, forever? to live a dream in your head for the rest of your natural life, while your reality-self is in a halcyon state of isolation. that is a dream in and of itself.
strange what your soul sings to you on cold, frightfully grey mornings when your coffee is steaming up your monitor."
i don't exactly expect i'll see these letters acted upon. i've lately come to feel pretty disgusted with deluding myself and not a little suprised at how much i found myself doing just that. but like a wise man once said, it's not who you are but what you do that defines you. or something like that.
okay, okay, fuck you too. Batman IS a wise man, dammit. how can he not be, what with the cape and ears and cool car? fucker always gets the girl, you know. that is, at very least, something to like, for pretend-guy or not.
my second journal entry, way back in dec '03. funny how things come full circle and some things...don't.
"i can't shake this meloncholy. i won't ruminate on why it may be there. its always ambiguous and most likely a conglomerate of several widely different and personally tragic things anyway. to try and pin it down and put the very human-like urge of categorization to it would cheapen its poigniency, its martyr-like, tragic sweetness.
transition to dream discussion. i had a dream two nights ago that i was a kindergarten teacher. i couldn't keep the kids in line and they (as in the adminstrivia of the school) ended up firing me, but it was all sort of funny and cute. i was the type of teacher with finger-paint all over my clothes and face, who took naps on the floor when the kids did, who spilled juice and laughed at the sheer ludicrisnees of the birds bathing in the mud puddles outside the watercolor-painted window.
i had one of those dream nights last night that is many different episodes of the same theme. i dreamnt of a random girl i'd dallied with in high school (10 years gone). i suspect, however, that the spefic girl wasn't what it was all about. i think my mind was just using a memory to put a face on what it wanted to play in my head. in the dream, there were all kinds of things going on to include; being caught sexing each other up as teenagers, being captive of some mad scientist together where a leering, smocked lunatic stuck i giant syringe in my thigh and injected quicksilver into my veins (while she thrashed in her bonds and screamed for me), to being on some a man-made, massive flottila in the middle of the ocean, diving into the water and swimming in the deep blue sea together. i remember how she felt in my arms, small, yielding, vital and a little mad. we both, i think, were a little mad; which perhaps was the hinge of our bond.
what distinguishes this dream from any other run of the mill, testosterone-driven fantasy is the strange feeling of a trusting, achingly intense love, mixed with a pervasive and ever-present and over-arching feeling of dread. it was as if, throughout our numbered and strange adventures, we were privy to some secret that made us so close, so completely devoted to each other. i've never felt that way in a dream. it was grand. it was amazing. i'm certain if i met someone for whom i felt that way, i'd marry them on the instant. it was so trusting and devoid of the usual crippling detritus that is ever-present in relationships or any other dealing with other human beings. it was beautiful and indescribable. my feeble attempts at trying to depict it depress me even further. but i digress.
now, to the dread. the crawling blackness at the edge of my vision in the dream. the feeling like a low rumble of glaciers moving inexorably southward, weight and inertia unstoppable. dread like the deep, surrounding sound of a sonic boom from far away on a grey, cloudy morning. it was as if, in the midst of a happiness so profound it was painful, we were waiting for something to happen, something dire and unknowable but altogether real. it was maybe the reason we were what we were to each other.
the amazing love nor the creeping dread was never fully realized in the dream. the invasive and altogether horrible klaxon of the hated alarm clock ripped me from my bittersweet dream...as it does every goddam day. i shulffled around in the cold grey light of dawn alternating between brief memory flashes of this profound dream and the realization, like a dull blade in my skull, that i'd transitioned back into the realm of the deeply boring and drab reality i long to be freed from. there's something wrong here. something extremely unnatural with the way we prosecute our daily lives. how can a dream, mere fantasy, something that is most likely nothing more than the random firing of synapses in the brain, be so much more desirable, vital and moving than that world in which we toil through our waking hours? how to reconcile our minds and hearts betwixt the two?
sometimes i think the howling, chaotic minds of the insane, the poor souls we lock in chains and drugs, are a better reflection of our true, inner human. how comforting would it be to lose one's self in a mad dream, in a constant state of blissful unreality, forever? to live a dream in your head for the rest of your natural life, while your reality-self is in a halcyon state of isolation. that is a dream in and of itself.
strange what your soul sings to you on cold, frightfully grey mornings when your coffee is steaming up your monitor."
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Anyway, I kept waking up, kept not getting to sleep, eventually kicked her out of the room, and ended up having some dreams that were weird but in a not-so-bad way.
My dreams ended with a group of young people with handicaps, like MS and MD, jamming on guitars/ drums in a noisy, Sonic Youth way. They weren't in wheelchairs, but they were handicapped to the point where normal, heavily-practiced, rhythmically-regimented music of a "popular" nature would be impossible for them to play... yet they found their niche playing sloppy, aggressive music (to use two of my favorite musical properties).
When I woke up, I thought, "Wow, that'd be great in real life; if handicapped young folks looking for something to do could make some hardcore-ambient type music, like Merzbow or freakier SY and so on.
There were earlier parts of the dream that involved someone being assassinated from miles away with a blowdart gun, but that has less potential real-life application.