Dreams Again

There are these strange mornings when someone calls you and wakes you up, and it happens to be right at that moment of waking where all of your dreams come swimming back to the top as you are waking, and then it seems there was a deeper narrative going on before you awoke, and it was all leading to this phone call that startled you out of bed.

I wish I had a better grasp of how to describe it. But I can't. It's almost recursive.

From what I remember there was a hostage horse, and they were all on a large wooden arrow on a sort of tension lock. If you threw a spear at the construction in front of them it would snap back and release the arrow and they would all be flung into the sky. This was beneficial because it was a force too large to fight. There was also a towering glittering city sort of like New York but ornate like Rome and there were highways and hills and suspension bridges and we were sorta lost but it was alright.

There are these buildings in the hilly forests and we are always on the run from something and we can fight back but only so far. I have the feeling that this has happened before.

These mornings are strange because it seems your head has been busy with things that you didn't really know about. And we think we know ourselves but there's this huge wealth of machinery that's doing things according to an ancient principle. Maybe the first principle. And it seems the experience is a part of the ride and there's not much else we can do.

So it seems anyways.

You Missed Out

I was very drunk and I had decided that I wanted to see this place's patio. Because I just simply like patios. Someone had told me that there was a patio out back so I went.

I passed two girls on the way out; they turned and yelled at me. So I turned back.

"Where are you going?!"

"I'm going to see the patio."

"Come on, come with us! Come party!"

"Hang on I gotta see the patio. I'll be back."





I got to the patio and I thought: what the fuck are you doing.

On Jeronimo At 5

The drive home from school on Tuesdays and Thursdays is in rush hour, and quite a miserable experience at that. There was a man in a black SUV today that did something that made me think all the way home, almost crashing several times in the distraction.

Well what he did was come up on my right going at least 20 over the speed limit. There was a slow truck in front of him and I suppose he wanted to get in front of me. I was going about 10 over the speed limit and I didn't want him to get past me because just seconds earlier he had tried to wedge his way up the merge lane and get in front of me and I didn't let him. This was just. I was waiting in line. He wasn't. Anyways. He ended up getting past me, and he switched lanes like a madman, his truck jerking to the side, the car movements full of potential violence or some such Dangerous Chases-esque state of being. I let him go, and found that 2 seconds later he switched back in front of the slow truck and turned off into his neighborhood. And I pondered that a long time. That 2 seconds. The trees on that street are right against the sun and at that time of day they glow a green-gold and I almost enjoy coming down that street when I'm not being anal-raped by the maniac behind me. He could have taken that 2 seconds to enjoy the trees. But I doubt he even saw them. I doubt a lot of people on that street see them. Like a cell phone-talker staring straight ahead, looking right at something but not really seeing it. Strange. Those feverish American Power Grabber eyes.

I wondered if this man was poisoned with competition lust. If every day on the road he obsessed over passing everybody he could see before his destination. Maybe it made him feel important or that he was winning some sort of unseen game. Or maybe he was poisoned with the vengeance lust. Maybe he was one of those unhappy souls that has to take vengeance on every action done to them, whether justly or unjustly. Maybe he was sore about me not letting him pass one more car on his little express-asshole merge lane. But this vengeance was not a "just" vengeance, if that is the case. Because yes, as I said, I did wait in line. This was unjust vengeance, certainly. Maybe he is poisoned with a little of both. And there are many denizens like this on the road.

I have this fixation with thoughts on daily driving and the implications of the larger patterns that emerge with vehicle crowds. Nothing could be more illuminating for the Great Struggle than that pulsating river of car bodies. When human selfishness grows embarrassingly visible. And I myself am one of them. I used to be an innocent, magnanimous driver. I wondered how people could become so callous and angry. And now, yes.

I honked at two people today. Probably the two people I will honk at all month. I felt sorry after both. It is survival, but nevertheless, they were caught off guard for just a minute, they made simple mistakes that I too could have made in a second. There is an infinite reflection of hypocrisy within the river. Once you are in it, you are part of it. Whatever that means.

When You Go Through Old Pictures

I remember looking into that deep blue frequently during the trip on that ship. I'd be out on the deck by myself, the only depressive on the entire cruise ship (probably not, but it seemed that way), gazing over that railing into that incredible blue. A perfect blue it was. I'd wondered how deep it was. And what strange things it could hide. I'd thought about suddenly throwing myself over the railing. What the experience would be like. What it would be like to be left behind in that beautiful terrifying sea. It would be cold. I know that much.





And then the last evening we were on the ship, some gathered on the bow of the ship just under the radar tower and watched where the horizon met the sea. I was alone with my thoughts among the few up on the catwalk, and the wind was powerful that evening. I remember gazing after that horizon, thinking how terribly infinite and wonderful the world seemed. Those are rare times, rare feelings, that come and go. I believe everyone else was off having sex or drinking or just hooking up with other people, and I was out on the deck watching the sun go down and feeling the wind and watching the stars start to burn into the dark purple. It was a profound time but also lonely and somewhat regretful. I traded some things for others. I was in a bad way that entire trip for whatever reason. That cruel chemistry at work I suppose.

I looked at all sorts of old pictures. Some colorful, some gray. Those old feelings sure come back easy enough.

I still have pictures of you, K. I often wonder if you are still out there, even on the internet, drifting, seeing what there is to see. You are in a Kafkaesque story now, like I figured you always wanted to be. In my mind anyway. I guess I did too. And in a sense I am there as well. It has been nearly a year, and sometimes something reminds me of you and I miss you very dearly. I suppose there are a lot of things that remind me. Left a strong impression it seems. I wonder if you are out there waiting for me to begin a search for you. And maybe I will when I have the means. I also wonder if that is that and you do not want to be found. I wonder a lot of things a lot of the time. That's alright. A year seems like a very long time with a feeling like this. And it is.

It seems I'm already tired, a little too early. I worry about this. Already tired of the race. And I haven't really started. It only took watching it from afar...to realize its absurdity. Well.

Attempt At A Parody Of Philosophical Dialogue

Pradadicus: Please oh great master, enlighten me with your masterful inquiry.

Daniel:Well yes but we must not be too hasty Pradadicus. But yes I do believe that eternal truths are the most noble and non-changing truths, and that they order the universe in a perfect way, so that temporal truths, to be distinguished from eternal truths, follow from them, and are less immutable and subject to change. And the only things more important than eternal truths are farts.

Pradadicus: Wh...what master? What did you say?

Daniel: I said farts, Pradadicus. Is it so difficult to comprehend?

Pradadicus: It is just that I with my feeble mind am having trouble digesting the overall idea.

Daniel: Well it is quite simple. Farts are very important because they are funny. When rightfully used. It becomes important to distinguish between the different farts and their relative hilarities. But that is for another time, please let us focus on the matter at hand.

Pradadicus: Oh yes I see it now, you have shown me the way quite masterfully I must say. Let me join you in your knowledge.




Without reading a real philosophical dialogue this parody will probably be quite meaningless. I don't know of a lot of people who read philosophical dialogues in their spare time. I suppose this is meaningless. But it is what a dialogue looks like, most of the time. It is meaningless. Meaningless.


Oh I don't know what I'm doing. The freeway was cruel as it always is. The commuter crowd is especially nasty and callous. The most wretched and jaded of all drivers. There is a sickness within the traffic that creates a certain hostile mental atmosphere that takes hold of you and you become one of them if you aren't lost in music or some such thing. A woman cut in front of me and I jerked around her and shot past her in contempt. And the contempt turned into a frenzy and I gazed at my bloodied hands in horror. Or something like that.

Everyone is locked up in their own private spaces and the car exteriors obstruct one another's views of each other and it is dehuminizing and soon everyone is taking hold of one another's necks to get two or three seconds ahead. Look out...allegory.

I guess the economy is in a recession and everyone is cranky and pessimistic and someone kicked their trashcan in anger, or so I heard.

Life in the workplace is rotten. But school stays the same. Interesting and somewhat enjoyable.

Didn't think I'd be saying that. I suppose sitting outside and having a glass of wine and muttering nonsense and complaints to something huge and immovable and already in motion helps the nerves. That and writing parodies on philosophical dialogues. Maybe.