"I bring the thunder, you bring the lightning. Let it rain." - Jamie "Thor" Christians
Last night...ohhhhh last night.
Went toe to toe with some unknown Beast and though at first I'd thought I won the rest of the night left me doubting. Things I know, things I sow, things that none of us can control.
Dream 1: I'm in a store. Sort of looks like Costco. I think it's supposed to be a mall. I'm with a group of people. Some younger, some older. I think they're supposed to be people I know, but they're not exactly right. It's sort of bizarro. It's getting late. Someone hands me a phone, they want me to explain to their father that I'm keeping an eye on them and that I'll get them back safe. The man on the other end of the phone doesn't seemed concerned in the least. He tells me the world is ending. But not to worry. Someone is hugging me.
Dream 2: Solomon Grundy born on a Monday christened on Tuesday married on Wednesday took ill on Thursday grew worse on Friday died on Saturday buried on Sunday. That was the end of Solomon Grundy.
Dream 3: I'm singing, but it's not my voice. It's quiet and peaceful and I sort of enjoy it.
Dream 4: I'm sitting at a table in a dark cafe with George Clooney and Jake Gyleenhaal. My mind is screaming at the potential homoerotic subtext that this dream seems to be presenting. George shoots Jake through the head, drops his gun and walks away. I continue to sip my tea.
Dream 5: So soft. So pretty. So not who I friggin' expected. Dreams that quickly become nightmares though very little has changed. Suddenly I'm screaming because I'm no longer in charge and my mind has sort of done it's own little thing here spinning me around and around. There is a voice. I know him. I push her out of my mind and reach out to the voice that is calling me. When I see him it all stops. Scary.
And then I'm awake, contemplating a conversation I had and a letter I received from a man who I'm certain doesn't exist. I call it:
The Thomas Monroe Madison Missive
Dearest friend,
I
think
that the
only thing
stopping us from
being that which we
were truly born to be
is the unrelenting and
unforgiving truth that
men like us are few
and far between.
It would seem
that the only
knowledge
allowing
victory
is lost
to us.
Stumbling about in the darkness I bumped into a man resting under a barely glowing streetlight. He offered me a smoke, which I of course refused, and he began to lecture me on the wonderous workings of the mind of modern man. I looked about, uncertain of where I was and unable to interject to ask for directions. I simply waited figuring he would talk himself out soon. Instead he implored me to join him for a drink at a pub I had not notice before. We were the only two customers but while we drank he whispered his theories as if he were afraid the walls would steal his man secrets as if I, a stranger, was anymore trustworthy than the dusty bar stools and unkept tables. The tale he told me that night was one which has stayed with me ever since. The story of a man held together only by his steadfast and unflinching convictions. A man who, when everything around him changes, stays exactly the same. A man whose world is molded from his beliefs and fears and desires. A man who controls everything...but has control over nothing. And while we drank, growing more and more drunk, the story continues twisting and turning and rambling out towards a distant conclusion I could no more guess at than create myself. And as the story built, just as it seemed we were getting somewhere, my new boon companion excused himself to use the loo...and never came back. I went in search of him, but he was gone. I paid the keep for our drinks and asked him kind for directions, but when I stepped out of the bar I didn't need them. I was on a street I knew well, in place all too familiar to me. I went home that night and dreamt of rough beginnings and stories I was eager to tell.
In just a few hours I make another decision.
One day something I decide will make a difference.
I promise you friends...today is not that day.
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