the old-school guestbook archives
my amazon wish list... my favorite astrologer... my favorite artist... yerba mate revolution! erowid: a travel guide for interior journeys... no more war: MoveOn.org United for Peace and Justice True Majority seek the truth: Common Dreams Unamerican Activities The Nation people I adore, diaries I read: rev.raikes ariana cubiclegirl epiphany glitter333 laurakay wammo the music: the asylum street spankers backyard tire fire blue highway bill camplin wendy colonna freedom tribe joules graves guy forsyth band hamsa lila hanuman libby kirkpatrick leftover salmon pamela means medeski martin & wood the motet the nice outfit nickel creek open road rose polenzani railroad earth south austin jug band string cheese incident taarka tha musemeant the devil makes three tim o'brien band trolley wild sage keller williams yonder mountain string band |
dreaming and waking ~ September 13, 2001 - 12:50 p.m. "It was like no dream I've ever had before... it was like the dream. It felt like I was being prepared for something." --from "waking life"
I'm still not sure why. the tests of scorpio maybe. I woke up heavy. and then I cleaned out my car. my car's dead, did I tell you? Chi, the peugeot, love of my life and bane of my existence. I left it with tim and sam while I was on the road with ozone, since their bus had broken down. right after I got back to town, my car broke down as well. they had someone look at it, something computerized, said the mechanic. expensive. I still thought I might take it up to my peugeot guy, have him look at it, but when I went to pick it up, I knew the minute I opened the door. you can feel it when the soul has left a vehicle. so, yes, time to let Chi go. I towed it back to ozone's, he's going to donate it to someplace for the tax writeoff-- me not having much of a use for tax writeoffs. and today was the day for cleaning it out. the smell in there, that musty-vinyl-roaddust smell, took me right back to my solo roadliving world. when that car was my house and home, and carried me faithfully thousands of miles, through magic and hard times, angels and adventures. cracked windshield, broken side mirror, crooked headlight and all, I loved that car, with its V6 engine and giant sunroof, 18-gallon gas tank and heater that cranked. and you know what's funny-- I'd just, finally, renewed the registration. it was legal and running for all of about two months. but, hell-- my cars seem to have a lifespan of about a year. now I'm keeping my eye out for the next one. something japanese this time, I think. my last three cars have been european. I'm ready to end the run. so I cleaned out my car, made some tofu with green curry, and then collapsed in a ball on the couch and didn't want to move. ozone and I made plans to go see a movie, and I napped there, on the couch, until it was time to go. we walked to the art theatre around the corner and saw "waking life". which was excellent. and seeing it in my own dreamy just-woke-up state was perfect. it's animated, and yet you can tell that they filmed it with real people and then animated them. so it's real, but dreamy and strange, and this guy is wandering through his dreamworld, (which looks like austin, texas) realizing again and again that he's dreaming, becoming more lucid and involved with his dream, waking up and realizing that he's still dreaming, again and again. and through it all he's talking to people who are spinning all of these philosophical webs, but really it seems like they're all talking about this moment in humanity, this place of awakening. waking life. it was beautiful, and exactly what I needed. and then the credits rolled, and I realized that one of the characters-- a dream-eyed boy wearing a bare chest under overalls and playing a sweet little tune on a ukelele-- was played by, animated from, guy forsyth, and I just started laughing. guy forsyth is a smile like a ray of sunlight, the mists over a mountain range in nepal. a night in austin filled with laughter and some of the most fun I've ever had sober in a smoky bar. guy forsyth is the dream I never took ahold of, a door left standing open. guy forsyth owes me a song. I left the theatre feeling good, feeling connected, feeling alive. I dragged ozone to the store to buy me candy, craving that sweetness left on the tongue by the dreams you almost cannot bear to wake up from, ragged streams of light slipping through your fingers in the ache of morning. awakening. such pain. such sweetness.
(((rings))) |