The majority of tonight was spent riding around with my compadre, Jason. Windows down, the ridiculous music and spoken word pieces and audio sketches that we've created playing on the radio. Much needed mirth and fresh air time. Somehow it morphed into us talking about the possibilities of space and time getting wrinkled or collapsing in on itself. What if we were driving down the street, saw ourselves from 11 months ago walking out of the paper goods shop, while Jason's car carrying us from 3 months ago passed by and heckled us from 11 months ago? What if we passed by and saw ourselves ordering food at the pizza place down the block? We worked ourselves up into such a giggling, school-girl like frenzy that when we got back to Jason's and I rang his empty apartment's doorbell, waiting for his past or future self to answer the door, it legitimately gave us both chills and sent us fleeing into the parking lot.
It sent back torrents of memories and possible scenarios. What if it was back in April and I was dying on his couch again? What if we passed behind that drug store where I collapsed in a heap into the garbage cans all those months ago ... and saw it all happening again? What if I saw myself upstairs walking into my old apartment? The good times are always nestled within the nasty stuff. I enjoy my memories. Reminiscing is an important part of my every day. But, it's a mixed bag that can't necessarilly be separated. It's like wrapping myself up in a warm blanket that has a few loose and sharp safety pins hidden within.
But, I like it. I like tonight. We passed by hundreds of people out reveling, getting drunk, trying to get laid, trying to get high, just trying to be SEEN. But, our fun is different. I enjoy the purity and joy of being allowed to be a fucking child here and there.
Night before last, I had a dream that I was in a train wreck. It was a large passenger train, and we knew something bad was about to happen as we entered a tunnel. The lights went out and there was screaming and the sound of metal coming apart. Next thing I know, I'm being flung, tumbling down the track. I land in a heap and see Hunter S. Thompson behind me, in a wheelchair, screaming about "the end". What the hell is THAT supposed to mean? I'm pretty sure it just means I shouldn't eat spicy food before going to bed anymore. Lesson learned.
4 comments:
According to my trusty Dream Book, (it has clouds on it) dreaming of Hunter S. Thompson literally translates to "queef hunter." Hmmm. This is a serious logic hole in my Dream Book.
I dunno, Meagan. Joe seems to be on a neverending quest for pussy farts.
time warps...dude....weirds.
hey, i agree with you. it's a mixed bag with the good and the bad times... i absolutely cherish all the good. i have incredible memories especially incited by the weather. yes the good memories... ultimately, those are the only things worth holding on to... unless the bad memory was hilarious... then that too. xo.
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