Straight Shot
You made a straight shot
with your phone
calling me to see
if I was at home
And a straight shot
with a text
got me out of a tiny little mess
I had with my ex
I took a straight shot
from your eyes
the kind of look like donuts
that goes straight to my thighs
The straight shot
from your lips
made me pucker up fast
and get ready for a kiss
Then a straight shot
from your mind
and you know I thought
I had it made
Everything was fine
But a straight shot
from your gun
and just like that, dude,
t’was no more fun
The Fake Military Dream
I dreamed now that I wasn’t in the military, but others were pretending to be in the military.
My wife and I were at a social gathering. Packed and chaotic, it seemed so odd. Cakes were being served. People were drinking coffee and lemonade. Nobody was in a uniform but a man who claimed he was a colonel was demanding subservience and respect because he was the ranking officer. He was an old and bent, gray fellow. We were to obey every order, even though these orders were nonsensical. Obeying him and doing as he told was part of the social gathering. Part of it, as example, was that we, the fake military, stood at attention in rank and file, making fake weapons out of paper. I told my wife, “This is ridiculous. Why are we doing this?” I was ready to step out of line and walk away.
She replied, “Shhh. Just go along with it.”
Her response annoyed me as much as doing the fake crap, but I was doing this for her. The fake weapon-making finally ended, though. Relief flooded me. Walking away, I said, “Thank God.” But no, more crap was to come. The colonel was to give me a haircut.
I wasn’t willing to go along with that. One, I didn’t need a haircut. Two, I wasn’t going to get a haircut just because of some set of tradition, fake rules, or crazy personalities. I didn’t quite grasp why my wife and I were going through this mess of socializing and obedience, and I became more irritated and impatient by the minute.
But I acquiesced, for my wife. I was led to a small, crowded cubbyhole. Sitting in the worn, red-leather barber chair, I closed my eyes as the fake colonel cut my hair and talked to me. I understood little of what he said. First, he had an unusual accent. Second, he spoke an erratic syntax. His statements seemed unconcerned with whatever had been previously said.
The haircut was fast. He barely did anything. Eyes still closed, I attempted to get out of the chair. I didn’t realize that I’d been belted into it, and that a restraining arm was down over my waist. Hitting them, I stumbled to one side.
I caught myself without falling. The colonel said, “What are you doing? Why did you get out of the chair?”
I answered, “Because I wanted out of the chair.”
I’d briefly opened my eyes to see what had happened, and then closed them again. The colonel said, “The customer doesn’t decide when to get out of the chair. I tell you when to get out of the chair.”
“I don’t agree with that,” I replied. “I wanted out of the chair, so I did it.” Then I added, lying, “Because I was dizzy, and I wanted to stand up.”
My wife then arrived, asking what’d happened. I told her about it, including the lie that I’d felt dizzy and left the chair to feel better. I kept my eyes closed as I talked to her.
Then I said, “I lied. I was’t dizzy. I wanted out of that chair.” I immediately felt better.
The colonel asked for payment. Opening my eyes and looking around, I saw the crap around me and shook my head. My eyes were open. I was done there. It was time to go, and that’s what I told my wife.
The dream ended.
A Changing House Dream
I dreamed that I was outside somewhere. Late afternoon, the sky was a deep azure and completely cloud free. It seemed to be a festival. Many people were there, but I didn’t know them.
Celebrations had been going on. I felt tremendous, — relieved, relaxed, and happy. I was celebrating an achievement after a long effort. As part of that, though, I’d also changed houses, selling one house, and buying a new one. Today, I would take ownership of my new house. I was looking forward to that with excitement. Meanwhile, though, I was enjoying this festival.
The festival, which had some food booths, was located alongside a lengthy bluff. Beyond the bluff was the blue, majestic ocean. Calm, powerful, and deep-looking, sunlight splashed on the waves like tiny diamonds were being spread over the water. As the day ended, the organizers were showing a movie outdoors. I’d been about to leave, but decided to stay to see what the movie was. After the opening scenes, I recognized an old hit movie, something from the late eighties or early nineties, that was really just so-so. I decided that I didn’t want to see it again, so I began heading indoors. As I went, almost everyone else made the same decision.
I was going to a large, modern, white building. It seemed to be a luxury hotel. As I went, I had a thick magazine about houses in my hand. It was a glossy, colorful production about great places to live in the area, and so on. In the middle was a tear-out section. Made of thinner paper and in black and white, that section was about homes that had been bought and sold, or were available to buy. I knew both of my homes, the new one and the old one, were in there, and made a halfhearted attempt to look them up as I walked. I thought it was pretty clever of the magazine creators to have this middle section that could pulled out and easily updated and replaced.
I entered the building with a black family: father, mother, and two young boys. One of the boys was playing, and pretended to shoot me. I pretended to fall over dead, laughing as I did. I happen to fall over my brown sofa, which I recognized, thinking of it as my old brown sofa. (In real life, we’ve had this sofa for twenty years, but we’ve ordered a new sofa, and are waiting for it to be delivered.) As the family went on down the hall, I got up to head for my new place eager to see it.
Unfortunately, a cat woke me, so that’s where the dream ends.
The Gods of Beer
The gods of beer
won’t hesitate
to take a swig,
and make their play.
They don’t quibble
over a quaff,
nor hesitate to laugh
over another’s gaffe.
They’re there to spread humor
and good cheer,
because everyone knows,
life is better with a beer.
Rising
Like Phoenix rising, I will lift and soar,
mocking those who said, “Nevermore.”
They thought my time was done,
and now they’ll see that I’ve just begun.
Gaining power with every beat,
I will fly and press beyond defeat.
Yes, they may say that they think they know,
but they don’t know how far I can go.
Wednesday’s Theme Song
“That’s why you can’t hold me down. You can’t tie me down. I gotta gotta gotta get away.”
I awoke with Jimi Hendix 1967 song, “Stone Free” in my stream. (I think I was missing up choruses, though.) I think it came about from judgement calls on people like Greta Thunberg about everything except what’s she say. People were throwing superficial criticisms at her; some even suggested that she was mentally ill. Most also mocked her as a child because she’s still a teenager.
Never mind that she’s making intelligent points about the environment. Never mind that elsewhere people are quite willing to use teenagers as soldiers or proclaim them able to carry and give birth to a child, or to be married.
Thankfully, Greta is above being shamed for who she is and is proud of what she does. I only wish I had her balls.
The Purple Banana Dream
I dreamed that we were preparing for a celebration. I was in a sprawling place that seemed like restaurant and home, offering indoor and outdoor rooms. Although the rooms weren’t well lit, I could see that planning and setup was going on. My wife was present, doing some decorating, along with tall men who I didn’t know. Then three of my sisters and their husbands appeared, along with some of their children and grandchildren. My sisters were all young, too young to have grandchildren. My wife and I were young as well.
An excited feeling permeated the gathering. As it went, I saw my mother off in the distance and realized we were preparing the celebration for her. My other sister, the oldest appeared, walking through the complex. She, weirdly, looked her current age.
Setup was almost complete. I said, “I need to go shower and get ready.” I went off to find my rooms. Stopping by a bowl, I saw a purple banana amidst the yellow bananas. I thought, banana, grabbed it, peeled it, and started eating. I was surprised to find my sisters and their families behind me, like they were following me. They all seemed expectant, like they were waiting for me to do something.
I started eating the banana; its flesh was purple. I then thought that my sister had wanted the banana. I asked her, ready to offer her some of what was left. As she said, “No, that’s okay,” the banana was a yellow banana with white flesh again. I said, “I thought this was a purple banana.” When I said that, I peeled down the next part, The banana was purple again, with no evidence of yellow peel, but with some white flesh above the purple flesh.
Finishing the banana, I said, “Okay, I need to go get cleaned up.” I headed for my room, wending my way through the poorly-lit room around people and furniture. It was becoming quite noisy. Part of that was that the floor wasn’t carpeted and was wood, so all the people walking made it sound like constant, erratic drumming was underway.
Reaching the door to my room, I paused. My sisters and their families, without their husbands, were behind me. I said, “Um, you guys realize that I’m going in here to shower, shave, and change clothes, so I want privacy. You can’t come in.”
Laughing, they separated, going off in different directions.
I entered the room. They weren’t the expected rooms. I’d been in my rooms earlier, and these were different. As I walked into them, I saw stairs going down to my left. Straight ahead was another room. In there, I found a toddler in a high chair, eating from a bowl. Seeing the child, I realized that I was in my sister-in-law’s room. As I turned to retreat, she came up the stairs. Laughing, I greeted her and said, “Sorry, I’m in the wrong rooms. I thought these were my rooms, but they’re your rooms. I’m always getting lost in these rooms.”
The dream ended.
As I awoke and chuckled about the dream, thinking about how much of my family was represented (and then, my extended family, via my sister-in-law), I remembered the Prince song, which happens to be a personal favorite, “Let’s Go Crazy”.
“Let’s look for the purple banana until they put us in the truck, let’s go.”
Of course, he goes on to sing, “Let’s go crazy. Let’s go nuts.” Is that what my mind is telling me? Just let go?
I do know that I woke up feeling fantastic and energetic. I’m ready. Let’s go.