Friday, September 04, 2015

I dreamed we went to a blazing pink diner located somewhere on the edge of the Meadowlands heading toward The City. Inside were two bickering Puerto Rican gangs seated at one of the main tables. One of the gangsters was portrayed by a heavily accented Johnny Depp. He wagged his finger at an opposing player, some kind of stool pigeon. As if on cue, two waiters grabbed the man and held him while another shook out some batteries and cut them open, pouring acid into the victim's eyes as he howled. Meanwhile, other patrons continued to eat, unperturbed.


I dreamed I was starring in/was watching a show about a Dutch detective and his shambolic, hulking comrade. They found a dumpster knocked over the in the street; inside were printed books that chronicled the grisly murder and dismemberment of an unknown female victim. They had to find out who she was! They gritted their teeth, and, scouring the shipload of books for clues, finally hit upon a suspect. They cornered the man at a crowded airport. He began to run. My/his partner finally tackled the guy on an escalator and began knocking the poo out of him. Stop, we need him for interrogation! But it was too late. In his enthusiasm, my/his partner had pounded the suspect to a pulp.


I dreamed Kelsey Grammer wanted me to play a small role in a pilot about a rogue CIA operative that he was developing and starring in for NBC (it was also star the guy who played the ruthless Marlo Stanfield in "The Wire.") If it was cool, he would e-mail me my lines and he'd meet me in Central Park with his camcorder on Friday to film the bit. Could I afford to take off Friday? I wondered. I talked it over with Jenofur, and she agreed I could. I called Kelsey back and said okay. He was delighted.


I dreamed my daughter was the captive of a king with the head of an eagle and a ridiculously bejeweled sword. He resided on the banks of the river in Kearny in a rather small castle. He had planned to embark with his demonic underlings to Liverpool (UK) overnight, to seize the city in a raid. I waited in my Volkswagen Beetle for them to depart, then drove it through the wall of the shoddily built thing, and told my daughter to get in. Then we zoomed off.

Thursday, August 06, 2015

I dreamed I was watching a Bill Murray-John Goodman-Gene Wilder golf movie called "Magpie."

Everybody knew it, but I did not.


I dreamed my friend Pig and I were in a giant maze that was also a museum (think the Met) that was once a junior high school. We were stalking/being stalked some guys in Ancient Egyptian garb. They had guns. We had nothing. Pig discovered a cache of swords. We both took one; I played with the handle of mine until the thing bent, and then I was just carrying the naked "blade" (it was a toy weapon). We were trying to kill these guys and find our kids in the Labyrinth and then get out. We got on an elevator and, as we rose, passing by a floor, I saw in desperation what looked like another sword and grabbed it. No luck--it was the armor of a knight's foot. Pig and I both laughed. I tossed the armor away. The next floor--stop--the doors open. Like a video game, bad guys appear. One guy doing capoeira; I get in a boxing stance and start wailing away. Then we get into this misty maze stalking the real bad guys. Suddenly we see a TV with kids' baseball being played on it, animated, like "The Simpsons." One guy old guy with a toupee is just repeatedly pitching the ball, and the ball is uneven and weird, and his pitches get worse and worse. Everyone is laughing at his pitches, until finally he says, "God is, for the next few years, a black man. Thank God! Named Pickles McHenry."

I woke up.

I dreamed I was in this old five-and-dime store in the old fashioned shopping plaza in my old neighborhood. It was a multi-level affair. I was trying to find a place for my son to go to the bathroom. We went up and up, until at last we were inside some kind of mysterious, high-ceilinged attic. There were myriad old clown dolls, life-sized, piled up in there. My son and I were both freaked out, but we found the can, so he went to go pee. Then a security guard, a big burly dude I recognized from high school, found us and told us we had to get out. He escorted us down, jovially enough, asking whether I was armed or anything. "Not except for this knife," I said, laughing, and showed him the blade. He looked surprised, then laughed. We left.

Then I woke up.

Sunday, July 05, 2015

When I was a kid, I used to wonder about the arrangement of houses and roads, the whole suburban lifestyle, though I didn't put it in those words exactly. Why have a yard--this distended area, somehow theoretically distinct from your neighbor's, where you grew grass on it? What was the reason? I was too young, I guess, to have a grasp of history and the historical development of urban and suburban America, and the primary mover of that epoch--the automobile. It's obvious, once you think about it, but it's a massively important factor in our civilization's existence that can almost get taken for granted.

Every day, a great number of Americans pile into hugely heavy vehicles that are operated by ultimately irreplaceable fuels (that includes the electric cars; where do you think the @#*!? electricity comes from? The magicians?) I credit guys like James Howard Kunstler and the Archdruid for constantly reminding us of this unreal daily reality that we seem to ignore.

My dad, who came from extreme poverty and (I reckon) could not imagine going backwards was adamant that, don't worry, the supply of fossil fuels was endless. And while the "peak" of Global Peak Oil was predicted for sometime in the Aughts, the reality is that, despite apocalyptic pretensions, the dwindling supply may hold out for a little bit yet. But so what? What is a generation, in terms of scale? If I get to drive for the rest of my life, and my children and children's children are to face a future world that has been destroyed by our collective choices...what's the point?

These days, my Ma often says she's glad she's at the twilight of her career, and likewise her mother has said, pityingly, that she's afraid for the future. That's not the kind of sentiment anybody wants to hear.

"Future looks like shit, kids. Sorry!"

But that's where we've come to in America, and the world, today. Maybe that's how every generation has been--punished by the shit moves of their forefunners. But what a way to live.

Those seeking to understand "modern life" need look no further that the depredations associated with fossil fuel and ore extraction. They (still) explain virtually every aspect of our civilization and its predicaments: geopolitics to auto dependency to how we arrange our towns and cities to how we conduct business and our personal and communal lives.

I cannot imagine how "renewables" will replace the epic scale of fossil fuel usage, especially when many of the products used in the renewable process are produced from fossil fuels. One last wild swing, I imagine, to get through the long night.

And the financial aspect of our economy is a superstructure built atop the "real" economy (the exchange of goods and services, all of which is facilitated by fossil fuel consumption). It has become so detached from reality that it seems to serve no purpose nowadays but funneling notional "wealth" into the hands of the so-called 1 percent.

Not sure why I'm sharing these thoughts. It's just something I keep in the back of my mind, even as I go about the daily business. The seeming futility of it all--motoring to a bullshit job to get a smidgen of "money" and pretend like you give a shit--does not make me despair. For behind the machinations of human beings looms nature, the unstoppable brute, that is biding its time. We live inside this system; no amount of tinkering is gonna get us out.

Cold comfort, some might say. But for me, the idea that our "worldly" concerns are just a kind of mime-dance on a wack, temporal stage is kind of a relief. Let it come. Bring it.