6261

Had connected dreams last night. They were connected to the dreams from the previous night. Like a continuation or postscript dream episode. The dream involved me being picked up by an airplane at the event site. The plane was sent to take me from the event location to some other place. We never arrived. Most of the dream time was taken up with me learning navigation skills and learning too fly the plane. B was the pilot, but he was showing me all of the gadgets, how they worked, and what to do to keep the plane on course.

There was a specific instrument that was being used to set the course. I was shown how it worked. It was like looking at piece of the globe with a small tower sticking up at the place where we were going. Late in the dream (or afterwards), I recall dreaming about B's father and his crash in a lake. It may not have been so much a dream as a visual depiction of a memory of what I had heard about the crash. I was strangely aware that I was both dreaming and making up a set of images based on memory.

Not much accomplished today except reading. Finished one of the Oates's books (short novel) and just about finished the Divakaruni novel, Queen of Dreams. She's done what I vaguely hoped to do with that book--created a story with dreaming at its core. Great job! Makes what I was thinking of somewhat derivative. Reading her book is like a precog thing again. Just like I dreamed of the warehouse that appeared in a story, here I've constructed a set of story ideas that show up in her novel.

I'm not communicating this well right now. I'm tried and wrung out a bit from dance class. Need to get up early tomorrow for yoga class, laundry, care and feeding of my metabolism. And it'll be April Fool's Day... Time too sign off on this pre April Fool's Day day...

6262

Had a megadream last night. It had at least three parts and kept going on and on. I awoke a couple of times and fell back asleep, and fell back into the dream.

It had to do with a company event (LF?) where several of us were putting together prototype games that involved computers, monitors, electronics, and game content. We were building a sample of the one that would be used at the event. We were testing it out and making design changes to solve UI issues that we encountered. All in all, there was about 20 of us working on the prototype. Much of this part of the dream dealt with development, design, testing, and redo work required to deliver a working unit for the company event.

A second part of the dream dealt with the games' device being installed at the company event and it being used by people. Many of the people that were on the development team were also at the event, and also got to try our hands with the game even though we had built the device/game. In fact, that was one of the clever things we had built into the unit--that prior experience with the device didn't really help you--every time was a new experience.

In this second dream state, there was an immense party underway. There was food and entertainment, sleeping cubicles if you needed to take a break or wanted to meet up with fewer people in a more private environment (really live chat rooms). Everyone seemed to know each other and people were really having a blast.

In a third part of the dream, I was driving from one place to another (lab to party, perhaps?) and was carrying some parts of the games' device for the event. As I drove along, my truck started missing and stopping. It was as if I was having overheating problems. I pulled to the side of the road and looked into the engine compartment. I could see where steam was being released from an area on the radiator. I tried restarting the engine, but it wouldn't fire up. Eventually, I managed to get it running again and continued my delivery. I couldn't understand why the truck was acting as it did. It didn't appear to be low on coolant. It just hiccuped and then righted itself.

I kept sliding back and forth between the first two dream states--being at the lab and then being at the party. The dream states were almost tangible, as if I was actually in the different places, doing the different things.
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Lunch with L. Sunny day. We walked a few blocks to a deli where we could sit outdoors. Yes, I'm still monitoring my gut and what it is doing. Hopefully, it is regulating and I can just forget about it and let it do its thing.

Went to the library and picked up some books by Oates (novel and stories) and Divakaruni (novel--Queen of Dreams--new one that I hadn't read).

L spoke about the idea of starting a company. Seems like such a distant goal for me, from where I think I wish to be. I just want to figure out a way to get and stay healthy, write through my final years, and leave some evidence on my having been here. Time ticks onward and I've yet to knuckle down and write anything beyond these "dream notes." I've prepared another blog to catch my initial set of dream stories, but I haven't created my writing anything, so far.

April shall be the month. Of course, why not launch myself on April Fool's Day--a fitting gesture, a foolish plan. In setting up the blog, I spent some time figuring out how to estimate word count. The Oates's stories have shown me another route--write the stories as they fall and don't be concerned with word count--be more concerned with the story, the characters, the ideas.

All of the reading I have done in the past few months has been insightful. I have learned a lot from some of the master craftspeople. Each has a unique voice. I can hear them in what they write. Hear their souls.

Warm day starting to cool down. Will soon have to fire up my tiny heater to try and chase the chill from the room. The silence is so tactile right now. There is the sounds of keys, disks spinning, faint wind noises, distant automobile engines, but a rich quiet veil at this moment.

In writing here, I come to a peaceful place within me. I reach a silent center about which all else revolves and dances. It is only for the briefest of moments, but it happened and is now gone. Write until you grow still. Write until all sounds dissolve and you can hear your voice.

Lanterns sway and the sea boils foamy waters onto the shores. The cry of a distant gull pipes a series of notes into the empty spaces. Nowhere is their perfect stillness, but when you stop attempting to reach such a goal.
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I was moved and stopped, both at the same time. I could feel how I was slipping into a stream of words, wrapping the words around me like water. At the same time, I was withdrawing, pulling back, not letting go. Rivers and streams. Rapids and steady trickles. So many minutes left or spent, abandoned or used. The rhythms of the clock are not the rhythms of the seasons, the sun or planets. They can be made to appear as if they were based on time, but it's actually the opposite. Time shifts and moves because of the orbits and transitions. Cessations wind the clocks of the world. I wish I knew what it is I'm trying to say. What is it that I feel and can express?

6263

Dreamed last night of two groups of kids. There were four kids in each group. I no longer remember the gist of the dream. Just that there was something the two groups were doing (playing, competing, performing) that involved them both.

So that's it on dreams from last night.

I went to the feldenkrais class this morning. Did learn some things about moving and using more of the skeletal frame to help make the movements. I almost didn't go, but did so at the last minute. Convenient to have the place be only 5 minutes away.

Rain this morning; wind and sun this afternoon. My gut is doing better. Perhaps the acidopholis and the acai are turning things around. Hope so. I dread spending the rest of my life worried about what I can or cannot eat. I don't mind restricting my diet, but I really don't want to spend many days like last Sunday.

So am sticking to a carefully ramped up eating regimen for a few days. Been keeping things soft and citrus-flavored. Growing old is becoming more of pain that I imagined. I'm actually quite healthy, but my systems are sending out mayday messages and exhibiting brink-like symptoms. I'm trying to pay attention, but I'm also resisting at the same time.

Age. Aging. Growing old. Shall I wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled? Do I dare to eat a peach? Do I dare not eat one? Beware the lack of moisture and the drying up of the rainy sites.

About done with Oates's stories What is Where? Some really freaky ones like the mother who offs her kids in order to keep her latest man. Weird and freaky. Good examples of really short pieces (1 to 1.5 pages). All are rich and filled with images, thoughts, impressions, descriptions, characters, and narratives.

I'll finish up with that book tonight and then time for a library run once again. Perhaps one of her novels just to see how she extends in that kind of space.

What remains after reading her works and others is the sense of voice each really good writer has. Their voice. Their rhythms, their cadence. Their particular way of being as they write.

I want to find my voice, my cadence, rhythm and style. I know it is there. I've touched upon it briefly, in the past and in what I've produced. There is something there for me to uncover, discover, reveal to myself.

My concern? That I will run out of time, health, wealth, breath before I find that voice. Not just a concern, but an overriding fear that it is all coming to an end for which I have not adequately prepared. The fragility of my body, mind, spirit is not what I have envisioned for my final days. I thought, or at least acted, as if I were immortal. Now, when faced with the reality of things, I falter, stumble and turn maudlin.

I can't seem to resurrect my basic optimism, my easily encountered unconcern. I am winding down or feel as if that is so. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

So I wrap myself in that sweet deep sleep from which comes the dreams. My dreams point me the way and carry messages from me to myself. One day, the dreams will cease and I must ready myself for that time.

I hover, linger here. I do not want to leave so soon, so quickly, so incomplete. I have been a lucky person, who now seems tossed onto the heaps of those who ran their luck aground. I am starting to blither. Blithering is not the voice I wish to find. But I am good at it.

Blither no more, upon this shore. Just let the stars be history. Blither, blop and blagels...

6264

I had a writer's block this weekend. Not of the literary type, but of the more physical domain. Let's just say that I was constipated and it almost required a surgical procedure to clear my channel.

Went out this morning and bought some fiber-based supplements and some chewable acidophilus tablets. Each tablet contains about 1 billion microbes. Hopefully this army of creatures will, along with the fiber, help restore my system's balance.

Clerk at the health food store said that he used aloe vera. Might look into that as well.

So I spent Easter Sunday on the toilet. Oh, boy! Don't recall any dreams I had (except for my waking ones). Didn't post any journal notes for Sat or Sun (Sat because I decided not to; Sun for compelling reasons). 10+ hours of toilet time could have been used more constructively, I suppose (not related to suppository), but mother nature called and had to be listened to.

Maybe I'll have a need to go into the weekend's details some day, as part of a story. But (not related to butt) time to move (yes) on with things.
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Went back to Health Food place and picked up some amazonian (from the Amazon, not warrior female) drink made from acai berries. Twice the antioxidants in blueberries plus also helps with the digestion. We'll see. Had dinner at L's--great mix of veges, prawns and scallops. Was good. Now will see how my system reacts.

No chai today or pastry, sweets, etc. Couple of dates (Mahjdool) to top off the evening. Made to the chiro and am supposedly doing well. He didn't pick up a lot of kinks despite the rigorous workout from yesterday.

Am hitting the bed early tonight (was up a lot last night). Have turned on my mini-heater. It's turned fairly chilly tonight.

Need a kitchen. I've not had chai today so am starting to get caffeine withdrawal symptoms. Not bad, but noticeable. A cup of green tea might help, but too much of a hassle to make one using my coffee pot. Might blow a fuse. I need a kitchen. It's becoming more of an issue than it has been. The longer I go the more I see the need.

Maybe things will return to normal tomorrow (I can hope). Have a feldenkrais class in the morrow. Not greatly enthused about the class, but will see it through and see where it takes me.

Been drinking more water to see if that helps with the digestion. Kept me up a lot last night. Do I seem to be obsessed with my diet, body, health, etc. Well I am and need to get over it so I can move on to other things--like really writing. So off to beddy bye and whatever dreams may come...

6266, 6265

No detail posts over Easter Weekend... back on Monday, 3/28

6267

Tree-crashing dream happened last night. I was in a house/cabin that had a big downhill-sloping back yard. Outside the window that overlooked the yard there was an old dead tree. It had been partially sawn into big segments except for a huge branch that still hung from the main trunk.

As I was looking out the window, the large branch broke free and fell on the pile of sawn pieces. The impact kicked several of the sawn pieces loose and sent them rolling down the hill. I looked out and saw that there was a fence across the property line at the bottom of the hill. There were people walking about on the other side of the fence. I ran to the door so I could yell a warning to them about the rolling logs headed their way.

By the time I got to the door and opened it, the logs had already started to hit the fence line. Fortunately, several of the careening logs hit some trees that were planted along the fence line, which kept them from crashing through the fence at those points. There were some kids in those areas and I was relieved to see that they were unharmed.

Off to the right side of the fence line there was an open stretch of fence and the trees that hit there carried the fencing onto the property across the fence line, narrowly missing a woman who was standing in that area. She watched as the fence collapsed and was pushed deep into the yard where she stood.

By that time, I had made it down the hill and stood in the space where the fence had once stood. I asked the woman if anyone was hurt. She indicated that everyone was fine. I then offered to get the fence repaired. She said that that would be acceptable, but that she needed to go to her place to get the papers on the house and fencing. She was the owner of the house where the fence was, but lived in another place just up the hill from where we stood. I agreed to follow her to her place.

We walked up the hill, keeping to set of crisscrossed, well-worn trails. Eventually, the trail became a single path that led us along the ridge and to her cabin. The cabin was set on the ridge overlooking a canyon. Other houses and part of a road could be seen below.
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And that's about where I awoke. I recall feeling quite relieved that no one had been struck by the heavy, fast-moving logs. I was sorry that the fence had been damaged, but glad on one was hurt. The fence could be replace.

I recall some initial feelings of guilt when the branch fell and the logs were knocked loose. I had a momentary thought of it being my fault, that I had not completed the task and had set up the conditions for the accident.

As I followed the woman to her cabin, I was intrigued to learn that there were paths and trails, and other houses all over the ridge. From my cabin there was little evidence of the number of people and houses populating the ridge, and no idea of the maze of trails that we walked.

Dream says a lot of things. About unfinished tasks and consequences of not completing, but also how it can lead to new things, new insights, new paths, new places. Following the feminine, the owner/manager of the properties. The fact that there were trees in place that helped prevent injury to the children and others. How the unprotected section did not have anyone in that part of the yard and that's where the breakthrough happened. A rich symbolic dream, filled with obvious meaning.
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Lunch with C. Good to catch up with the state of LF and other things. Started reading another set of Oates stories. First piece, Lethal, eerie and dark. Good writer, but content that makes me squirm.

Lunch was great. Scallop salad and fresh sourdough bread. Delicious. Topped off with a warm bread pudding. Dessert was over the top, but goodly tasting.

Bright sunny day. Want to get out of my chilly cave and spend some time in the healing shine. Will do that, and pick up my laundry, mail, chai, and then prepare for a dancing evening. It's good friday, so let's go dancing. BYOC--Bring your own cross.
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Back from dancing. Was good to go and move a bit. Easter bonnet theme was a bit much and took too long between sets. There were people in bunny suits.

Full moon tonight and traffic reflects the mild mania. I was zipping along coming across the bridge and suddenly a highway patrol passed me. I was a good 10 miles over the limit and could have been cited. Guess he had other things to do. He made the loop and headed back the otherway at high speed.

Time to sign off and read a bit of Oates and then to sleep...perchance to dream.

6268

Blame it on Pattern Recognition, the Gibson book. I read the entire thing over the past 36 or so hours. Couldn't put it down. Very different book from Nueromancer and his other ones. More of a Da Vince Code style of book, but with a techno twist. Sinclair computers--I had completely forgotten about those devices (Timex 1000). Good blend of computerania and recent stuff, including jabs at the dot com bust.

Dreams last night completely slipped back into the dream river after I read myself awake last night (this morning). I've been noodling on the dream story front, but megaread took its toll on promised projects.

P dropped by today and we had a good visit. Good lunch at M's and then back to the Gibson work. Will see C tomorrow and then off to dancing tomorrow evening. Dropped by L's today for a chai and again tonight for dessert. Went to chiro this afternoon. Feeling good. Feeling fit. Feeling like I'm ready to write. I'm right to write.

Still looking at how I'm going to have to structure my days so I can get things done. Need time to write, to read, to research, eat, etc. But need to firm up a schedule or plan--one that helps me keep moving once I put things in motion.

No dance lessons this week and next. That makes for more time, but I've really not used it well. Well, so what? Looking for a well along with Murakami.

Keep thinking of how to stabilize my situation; set things up so I can concentrate on writing and not on the peripheral issues. Going to have to move in May so I can get myself a kitchen. Not having one has become a thorn in my saddle of stability. Have to keep making plans that involve going out to eat. Would be so much simpler just having a kitchen, no matter what the costs involved.

Everyone obsesses about something. For me right now, it's getting a kitchen. Will happen soon. Six weeks left on the lease here so will need to start looking soon.

Once I get settled, perhaps these journal notes will get more interesting. Right now they are repetitive and boring. A report of the day's (some of) events. Nothing of depth or meaning. Bring on the depth and meaning, please.

I hear fragments of news on the radio. I listen as I move around (since I don't have a kitchen) and hear interesting tidbits about which I would like to learn more. Nano technologies. Health issues. Death issues. New game device, PSP. And so much more.

But, it's breakfast/lunch/dinner time and I have to get up and move, go somewhere. What a drag, on my time and my pacing.

Enough of this wimpy rant over kitchen facilities. My life has to be about something more than that. Doesn't it? Doesn't seem that way.

I did dream last night. I thought I had recalled what the dream was about as I arose today. But, I let whatever I dreamed to slip away. I intended to write it down after I got up, showered and got ready to go to lunch (no kitchen). If I had a kitchen, I could have prepared lunch, skipped the shower, and recorded the dream. Yeah, in my dreams, maybe.

So what else was I exposed to today? Schaivo, interest rates, explosions, and miscellaneous local issues. Reality. I was also exposed to reality, but it didn't penetrate the Teflon barrier that I've erected around my thinking. I am in a constant state of failing to remember. Constant, persistent and deadly. The days move by like a chain of elephants, trunk to tail, marching off into the distance, always looking the same no matter which elephant is standing on my foot.

6269

Don't recall any of last night's dreams. The precog dream I had the night before stirred up a lot of energy of its own. Based on that dream and some noodling around with it, I've decided to flash write a set of stories related to dreams and dreaming. The DreamThrower blog is ready and waiting.

Been kicking around story ideas that would involve dreams and dreaming. Been, sort of, dreaming about writing dreaming stories. An Escher exercise applied to dream themes.

Haven't really done much so far today (and today's running shy of time). Set up the DreamThrower blog, had lunch with L, did a bitof shopping, talked with P about meeting tomorrow, sent emails to R re chiro work and C re meeting for lunch. Found out he's been let go from LF. Surprise.

Feeling good about putting everything into blogs. Like a part of me has been set free. No reason that I should be feeling that way, but the symbolic gestures seem to be working.

Lunch with P tomorrow. Lunch with C either Friday or next week.

Don't have much to add here tonight. My attention is on the Dream story blog and what that portends. Sense that I may need to alter my schedules to make the story blogging work well. Need some time each day to just research for the next story or continuing a piece.

Seems to be warmer tonight. Even warmer than it was during the daytime hours. Probably means more rain. Also could be having put some food in the belly. The old metabolism likes them calories.

Decision days approaching. Have to decide if I'm going to move, look for another place. Not anxious to be moving, but need a kitchen. If L goes to work, I'll need one even more. Time enough for those details. After the flash blast and a month of churning.

Need to contact J and let him know that I talked with C. C being laid off doesn't make him a prime candidate for investments, but who knows.

I did a quick calibration and figured out how I will be able to determine when I hit 1,500 words on the DT blog. It looks like it happens when the scroll bar requires 10 clicks to move from the top to the bottom of a document. Good enough.

May come back and add more later, but all for now... Sweet dreams (or maybe not so sweet).

6270

Warehouse dream. I was in a huge complex with a massive, abandoned warehouse. There were several of us walking through the property where we found huge caches of discarded items. It looked like the previous occupant had stripped and carried off everything they could handle. The remainder was left piled and heaped in corners and cages throughout the place.

It seemed that a company or organization had recently agreed to take over the facility. We were part of a scouting team that was looking at the place, assessing what could go where, and identifying debris that needed to be carted away.

At one point, there was a mysterious person who appeared and ran off into a part of the building we hadn't been through. I sent a message to the others to be on the lookout for this person. I presumed we had to be careful since I thought the place was empty and it was not.

There was a part of the dream where temporary office spaces had been set up in a large open bay. Each space corresponded to a company function, but the places had been chosen with no particular order in mind. To add to the confusion, each space had been assigned a number, but not consecutively. So space 403A was between 39C and 17.

I was directed to go to a particular space, but I quickly got lost in the milieu as everyone darted here and there in search of a number that matched their paperwork.

The warehouse was on the banks of a river, set high up on the bluff. It looked like a section of the Mississippi River near Memphis. There was a familiar feeling about the building and the location. As if I had been there previously. Also, I seemed to recognize the person who ran through and darted out of sight.
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Went to a Feldenkrais class this morning. Small class with several elderly ladies, a group of younger women, an older man, and me. Focus is on awareness. Slow, simple movements and attention to what is happening, what is changing. I almost forgot that the class started today. Just popped into my thoughts last night as I spoke with B, by chance. The classroom gods are taking care of me.

Left there ravenous. Also left there in the rain, which has started to fall steadily. I finally ended up at an Indian-style lunch buffet. When I walked in, there was a loud man on a cell phone. He was telling someone about a deposition he was involved with later in the day. He had set up office at his table. I almost walked out. Took a deep breath instead, and picked out my food. He got up and walked outside to finish up a personal call. He then came back in and took some food. The rest of the time I was there he was quiet, thank goodness. There was playful Indian music in the background and the food was excellent.

Didn't get my flash novel blog in place last night. Perhaps today. Been thinking about themes and plots, characters and locations. Nothing substantive so far. But soon, soon, soon.
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I precogged a story that I read today in a SciFi mag with the dream I had last night. The mood of the story and the description (images evoked) of the warehouse in the dream was very much like the warehouse in the story. Woo, woo, woo, woo.

The story was like something associated with B and his brother, and his brother's demons in and around construction/development sites. Woo, woo, woo, woo.

Slept a bit after reading some. Rest of the day lost in space. Went to dinner with L. Memphis style BBQ. Finally made it back here to close off this post and stir up the dream demons.

Late evening cup of chai helped keep me focused, but getting to be time to post and become a ghost. Adios-t.

6271

Vivid dream last night about CW line dancing. Music was playing and people were invited onto the floor to choreograph a dance as the music played. It was sort of like follow the leader. One person would start making movements to the music and others would follow. When it was my turn, I drew some waltz music. I began to weave a set of waltz steps into a pattern and people followed along. The sensation was a cross between a creative act and a teaching situation. It was energizing.

I slept late this morning. In part I did so because I wanted to sleep and didn't want to get up. Also was pulled to stay asleep by the energy of the dreams I was having. There were other dreams, but only the line dance one stayed into my waking state.

Weather remains gray, damp and cool. Finished the Morrell stories last night. Macabre final story that probably triggered dreams that I failed to remember. Twilight zone story with a dark and sinister twist -- If I Should Die Before I Wake... My "favorite" bedtime mantra/prayer.

World spins on today, with or without my contributions. Feeling like I want to keep moving today. Don't want to stop and be accountable. Want to keep moving and be unaccountable. The days stretch out in front of me like a highway leading to no specific place. Images of road and fields stretch out before my mind's eye. I see road and uncut grasses. I don't see other people or vehicles. No one passes me; no one comes at me. There is just the road and the movement.

Stranger danger. Danger stranger. What the wooly comes my way?
Got to run now. Need to run now. Cannot stop and cannot play.

Reminds me that I've been writing narrative elements and have not been adding to my "poetry" collection. Which then reminds me of my thoughts of creating a poetry blog, a 7th decade blog, and other blogs on other themes. Welcome to Bloggersville. My name is Will. Can't find a pill. The cat's standing still.

Why not? What do I have to lose? I'm only marking time and space as it is. Why not expand the scope of it all? Why not? Why knot? Why naught? No promises, but will ponder the possibilities, the scope of the quantum gap.

The universe expands to accommodate the available fantasies -- or some approximation of my friend B's (also G's, SD's, and other personalities) favorite saying. Had some thoughts around the topic of explaining where my blog name comes from. Will do so at some point and put it into the description box. Hint: Laran and StarThrower brought forth LaranStar. That's enough for most to ferret out a probable explanation.

Thoughts cascade all over the blog-o-space today. I imagine thousands (millions?) of blogger citizens sitting in their respective places, tethered to the Web, entering their thoughts, their ideas, their concepts, their dreams, their fragment of the whole. People everywhere, at all once, press the keys, click the buttons, add to the collected merge.

My thoughts retreat. They pull back like a snail pulls back into its presumably safe, but really fragile shell. Last night I stepped on a snail as I walked into the house. There was a sharp crunching sound as my shoe crushed the unseen creature that had ventured away from the safety of the flower bed in the dark. Is there a safe place for anyone, for anything? You may think so, but you may discover your snailness and become unnerved (or worse).

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Afternoon went by in a flash. A mix of chai, McNeil Report, rain, chiropractor, more chai, frittata, a flood of ideas, seeing people (B, M, R), and an aimless wandering that finally brought me back to my room/cave/suite.

Just lost part of an update to this post. Freaking computers. Maybe it had something to do with me editing the HTML--which I did and it seemed to work. That is, until the crash.

Spent part of the afternoon thinking about putting up other blog spaces--one for my poems and one for a flash novel (30 days, 1,500 words/day). About what? Not sure? Why keep agonizing? Why not just write and see what appears, see what emerges? As good a plan as any that I've produced. I put up a "poetry" site (StarThrower). Will continue to write here about my "dreams" and daily stuff, but will expand my sphere (or some other part of my anatomy) by following my muse. Or is it my bruise?

What have I got to lose except another 30 days? Why do it? Why not? Why? _?

6272

Spring Equinox knocks on the door. Lots of rain falling. Verdant scenery to be found in all directions. But the slithy tove doth gyre and gimbel in the wabe.

Went dancing last night, finally. After waffling around and over the issue. Was a good thing for me to go. Better that I be moving instead of sitting/standing, locked in place. Had a delicious corned beef and cabbage plate from the Whole Foods place in RC. Was a perfect meal to eat and then dance around. I ended up coming home early. Just wanted to read and crash. L called and came by when she returned from the EB.

Had a rather elaborate dream. I was heading up a creative project team, a woman (R from LF), two young guys (Front Men), and a rather foppish older man who was a content specialist. We had thick project binders with a huge number of drawings, spec sheets, and technical data. R had come in late and I was having to bring her up to speed on the status of the project. I had done a briefing with the others that morning, but she came in late and had to be updated.

There was a sense that the project was moving rapidly and that there were immanent deadlines that we were expected to meet. The dream seemed to play out for a long time as I worked with R, caught her up, and then started interacting with the whole team. I awoke while the project was underway so I didn't get to see any results.

The product we were creating was never mentioned or made clear. It was the "project" and not a specific item, although there seemed to be one.

L and I got up late in the morning. Transferred to her place so the dog police could make a visit and go over some procedures she has to deal with since her dog bit one of her friend's companions a week ago.

When dog report was done, we went to MV and grabbed some coffee/chai and a couple of pecan bars. We then spent some time looking through a book store. Then came back to the library so she could pick up a copy of Angels and Demons by the author who penned the Da Vinci Code.

I was pleased to note that I have read all of Murakami's books except for the latest one, Kafka. Had also read all of Divakaruni's and many others. Noticed how Murakami led me to Munro, Divakaruni to Doctorow, and so forth.

Read a posting in the bookstore by Bukowski regarding being a writer. Here's a link to that piece--
http://oldpoetry.com/poetry/43542

Seems like food is on my mind, or on my plate. Just consumed a mini pizza and feel the better for it. Hadn't really had much to eat today -- a waffle, a pecan bar and two cups of chai. Also a cheese stick and a few crackers. Let the garlic call me and went for a pizza. Started to get another cup of chai, but thought better of it and got a dark chocolate brownie with nuts.

Street person standing outside the grocery store. Pathetic looking woman who was smoking a cigarette. Can't find it in me to give a person money so they can buy cigarettes. An odd bias, but one that I seem to manifest.

So according to Bukowski you either have the desire or you don't. Sort of like when you're hot you're hot, and when you're not you're not. I guess I don't know yet just where I am on the Bukowski scale. So until I find out, I guess I keep on spreading word-cheese and making the motions. I have to admit that this blog, so far, doesn't fill me with inspiration. Most of what I've written has been self-contained and kept very PC.

The idea that someone else might read what I've written is affecting what I'm writing. Breaking a Bukowski rule, but that's what's happening right now. I've hinted at, but haven't cut loose so far with one of my jumble mania meanderings. But I sense that this introductory period is coming to an end. I feel the tides pulling me into deeper waters, into the path of a wave set meant for riding.

If this were the last thing I wrote, what would I write about? Too freaky to think about. Too maudlin and made up. I'm not ready for such a confrontation. I feel myself backpeddling and wondering why I ever thought to write that question.

My thoughts shift to my home town. I think of my two friends there, one who has had a stroke. It's been years since I've seen him or been in contact. (About the same for everyone I know.) I think of making a trip back there. I also think of the hassle involved. I continue to be unable to generate a coherent set of plans and follow them out. I keep waiting. Waiting for Godot.

Locked in timeless amber. Enclosed in casings and wrappings. I imagine, but don't follow through. (See what the pizza makes me do.) Nonsense. I am filled with possibility, unexpressed.

The generic reasons run like water from the rainclouds. They drip and fall, make puddles, and then seep into the earth. The regimen demands more attention, more involvement. I refuse to make that happen. I grow old with my trousers rolled. I emit brief noises, not unlike a trapped bird that sits frozen in a state of panic.

The clocks run on. Their movements, activated by electrical impulses, tick and spin. The clock faces remain mute and undeterred. Ambivalence howls. The earthquake remains stuck at 7.0. There are no remedies, no acts of solution. The emerging seasons demand new considerations. There are too many people. Nature will take care of this dilemma.

Time to return to the books, to the story lines, and wrap myself in dreams. May all our dreams be powerful on this night of season changing.

6273

I dreamed I was at a dinner party. It was in a house that was in the woods, a place that was relatively isolated. Lots of people there. I seem to recall having to take a steep, hilly road to get to the place. It was warm and inviting. At one point, a huge dump truck pulled into the yard. It was filled with debris such as pieces of broken concrete and asphalt. A couple of the guests or people who lived there ran out and started heaving the debris onto a mound of similar stuff.

I felt welcome and at home there. I was just a guest, but it was pleasant and comfortable. I knew that I had to leave eventually, but there wasn't a lot of tension around that issue. The dream seemed to have several parts or episodes, but only the truck scene stands out now.

The people who owned the place and had issued the invitations were mostly people from LeapFrog. C was one of the people and seemed to have a major role in the place. She was serving as the hostess and kept things moving, introduced people, helped with the food.

***************************
I awoke early, but fell back to sleep for another two hours. Finally awoke and made myself get out to get a cup of chai. Picked up some snack foods and returned. L is heading to sauna today. I keep thinking that I'll skip J's party and dance. I feel that I'll be better served by dancing instead spending time with a noisy, drinking crowd. Not totally decided yet.

Just left L's place as she gets ready to head to sauna. Feeling restless. I feel like I want to do something different. Some sort of change of pace would be in order. I've become frozen and ritualized. I don't feel like I'm moving freely, which I am not. Gardeners outside today with leaf blowers and mowers. They do battle with Mother Nature for a fee. Rains earlier this week made them postpone their normal blow-and-mow activities.

I just discovered my first attempts at creating a blog. Did so by entering the wrong blog ID name. Nothing in those blogs, but the system has preserved them. Robust file saving features. The old blogs are years old. Back when I was experimenting with putting up a blog from within another ISP. Ancient history.

I'm reading a collection of short stories by Morrell. Interesting story called Front Man that deals with an aging writer and how he breaks through the firewall meant to keep out older writers. He tricks the gatekeepers, sort of. His writing is clean and clear, interesting but not phenomenal. He's been prolific, like the character in his story, but is having problems breaking through the latest barriers to creative work. So many good writers.

And so many bloggers. Blogging looks like it has unleashed a demon. It is impressively prolific, although subjects and content don't seem to be its strong suits. There are exceptions, like there are in conventional writing, but not a lot when matched against the volume of stuff being blasted into blog space. Yes, even I am contributing to the deluge.

Tsunami. Deluge. Catastrophe. Cataclysm. Sunshine breaks through the sky full of clouds. The garden lights up and sends sparkling shimmers everywhere. Little photon demons awake and cause the beams to dance and sparkle. Mower noises begin to fade, to move away from the garden and concentrate on the front yard. I am swimming in light now. Waiting for the return of the clouds so I can justify my actions.

I find myself free for the moment. Free and unattached, floating on the wind. The skies mirror the chaos. I see nothing in the heavens that will make the outcomes tangible. I think of the lottery and the ritual of handing over money in the hope of breaking free. Freedom manifests in the darkest corners, in the places of shadow.

I am writhing not writing. The spelling nuance makes all the difference. Like the light beams, I reflect, refract and attenuate. I bend with the medium; conform to the cadence. Imaginary miracles inhabit my deepest thoughts. I see myself performing acts of kindness. I also see what I have done. There are no traces of anything. The slates are clean; the markings erased. Someone has scribbled a joke on the headstone of the dream.

Nuance and nanometer. Miniscule magic maintains a mountain where there was no image. Directly, the sinuses explode. They detonate and spray the room with organisms, tiny and remote. I hear the sound of a returning mower. The operator seems uncaring. He only wishes to kill the grass so that the flowers may prevail.

I watch the flickering lights and imagine that they are signals from another dimension. They carry encoded messages and covert instructions. They hold the secret of life, but no one can decipher the encrypted notes. Only the most powerful computers will succeed in exposing what they might say.

Illuminated, I stand. Luminous, I attend. The garden speaks a language of plants, water, earth, light and reflection. The reflected pools of light emerge as the day unfolds. There are whispers and associated vocalizations, but the garden remains intact. It survives, fully.

The hours drift past. The day subsumes. Immense cataracts of water fall in perfect silence across my soul. I am weeping and exalting. I favor the dreams. I am the dream and I will never wake. So goes the day.

6274

Drizzle day. Light rain falling. Feeling out of synch. Perhaps some residual from yesterday's adjustment, but more likely just a normal funk cycle.

Dreams from last night not surfacing. Recall tiny flickers of scenes with a lot of people, but nothing concrete. Skipped yoga class this morning and substituted a chai and scramble. Did some mastication yoga.

What is the question? What am I looking for? The magic way--looking for the magical path through the mystical forest. Living on Forest overlooking a magical garden. And still there are missing elements. No clear visions. No transformative dreams.

I need not explain. I only want to vent. There are particles stuck in my throat, in my tongue, in my head, that seek determination, seek release. But I find no way to let them go, let them loose. The forest grows and closes around me. I can only see greenery. The bright luminous colors of the leaves.

I observe, but grow anxious with the seeing. Woman this morning in the coffee shop sat with two kids. The boy was perhaps 9 or 10, the girl 5 or 6. The siblings kept picking at each other, as kids will do. Except the woman seemed to direct most of her attention (negative) toward the girl. She even gave her the "evil eye" treatment. She was trying to control them both and was doing so with the old "evil eye" technique. The kids had obviously been subjected to such scrutiny before and basically ignored the woman, which only escalated everyone's actions.

I watched for a bit and then realized that their interactions, plus the din of the other people in the coffee shop, was making my internal springs coil and contract. I had to breathe and relax, clear my head of the external energies, and get on with my day. But, the woman's "evil eye" remains with me. I see the flashes of her eyes and the intensity of her gaze. Beware the Jabberwok my son, or daughter.

I actually was already in wind-up mode last night. I thought getting to bed a bit earlier would help smooth out the coiling and twisting. Sleep did help knit up the raveled sleeve, but the new day continued with a resumed set of tensions.

Empty. Empty and cleanse. Empty and extract, let go and become. I'm writing this morning from a point of reflex, of imagining. I imagine that if I write out enough words that some will eventually take form, make sense, and even perhaps be of use in some weird way. The dusky road stretches away in front of me and I see myself walking. Walking, walking, walking. With no goal in mind except to cover distance. To move from here to there, wherever those two points in space and time are mapped.

Is that it? Is that everything? No. There are always layers. There is always more. What exactly that might be is the mystery, the journey, the part that gets discovered.

As I move around each day, my attention is on the radio and the NPR broadcasts. I imagine people in other countries trying to survive as I, and others, ride around listening to descriptions of their struggles. The sun rises on a very different world here versus the one over there. What does that mean to me? It seems that it should have meaning, but I fail to find out what it might be.

So I sit and write a raft of random thoughts. A miscellany of words and abstractions that lead to no particular conclusions, resolutions or actions. A flood of syllables, signifying nothing. That is not my hope, but it may very well be my reality.

****************************

Just met with J regarding his games and resource needs. He's got orders and needs the cash to turn on the manufacturing. He has a long way to go to make it happen, but he's determined.

Found myself drifting away as we talked. My body kept tensing and gripping. It's cold in here today and I'm not comfortable being cold. But I was also just hypertensing. I kept feeling like I was on a road where I couldn't stop or turn around. I rolled forward at ever increasing speeds, but had no way to brake, slow down or leave the route. I see myself sitting on a road that is moving steadily upwards so I can't see what's in the distance. I can only see the immediate road and fields of high grass off to each side.

I feel out of control and also have a desire to get myself back in synch, back in touch. With what is the question. Not sure what I'm wanting to be or do. Life today is cloudy like the skies. A steady rain falls and paints the garden with its dampness. The sounds of the rainfall echo off of the gutters and awnings. The rain makes ticking sounds as it hits metal and leaf.

I'm running the heater to help knock off the chill that permeates the room. It makes a lot of noise that is pleasant to not hear when it can be turned off. I feel groggy and dissembled. About time for another chai and perhaps a bite to eat. Back to the basics. Food and drink filling up an emptiness that goes beyond the physical.

I'm stopping here for today. Will head out soon to pick up laundry, get a chai, check for mail, take a short nap, and get ready to go dancing tonight. Friday blues, you come my way, makes me want to go out and play...

6275

Happy St. Patrick's Day! Outside, everything is coming up green. Not a lot of sunny shine this day, but lots of greenery.

Read late into the early morn last night. Slugging my way through Yoga Hotel. Not as interesting a story teller as Divakaruni. Does catch a lot of the detail of India, but stories are not as deep, not as mythical. More like reports than stories. (So goes my critical review.)

Remember a dream fragment from last night. Had to do with everyone having something special that they carried around. It was like a travel bag or travel case that everyone carried wherever they went. It appeared as a dark object next to everyone in the dream.

There was a railroad station where people stood on the platforms. Next to each person, I could see the dark, crumpled shape of a bag. If anyone moved, they picked up their bag and carried it to their next location.

It seems that there was something unique about the bags children carried. Not sure, now, what that was all about.

***********************

Although the dream involved a train station, there was no action or movement. People were just standing around, waiting. I never saw a train enter of leave the station. People were exchanging words, but I heard nothing. They were too distant from where I stood. I knew that the bag each person carried was of importance. No one walked away and left their bag. If anyone moved, he or she picked up their bag and carried it to their new location.

A dream of waiting and of weights. Each bag contained some crucial part of the person who carried the bag. Some aspect of the person that could not be abandoned or separated. The dream exuded an aspect of anticipation, but it was also dark and clandestine, secretive and mysterious.

**********************

Went to the chiropractor today for a sacro-cranial adjustment. Marvelous experience. R, the practitioner, has the hottest hands of anyone with whom I've had bodywork. They get scorching hot as the session progresses. My neck and head feel totally relaxed. I feel like a bubble head when she gets through with her treatment.

Of course, the morning has gone by quickly and it's now early afternoon already. The day zooms by. I just got a call from the medical people saying they don't do referrals to chiropractors. So that leaves me possibly stuck with the bills. Have to contact the insurance people to see if I can find a way through the bureaucracy. More, later...

***********************

Back after several hours of miscellaneous meandering. Had a delicious dinner at L's (also had lunch there). My bubble head is still bubbling. Stoked on chai, food and desserts, and starting to feel whole. I'm experiencing problems with waiting to eat when I feel like I should be eating. Bottom line, I've got to get a place with a kitchen. This magic garden location is quiet, peaceful and lushly overgrown, but I miss not having a kitchen. It's become a mantra--something that I notice several times a day.

Waiting to eat lunch put my system into a dull mode. I only just started feeling like I'm waking up. It took dinner, desserts and some warmth (it's starting to get chilly once again -- March going out like a lion?). I had to break out my small space heater (or is it my space heater that's not very big--not a heater that heats small spaces--although the space that I'm in is small. Oh, well!) since the main heat is not turned on. The landlords probably got the bill for last few months of cold weather and are in utility bill shock.

L is a great cook. She made some Finnish pastry delicacies that were great. Rye flour crusts, rice porridge filling, and egg and butter topping. Mmmmm, good!

Time to close off another day and another blog installment. May the morrow bring wondrous things--for everyone.

6276

I did dream last night, but they've faded back into the shadows. Something, I believe, about making some form of toys. The dream demons will press the replay button tonight if it's something to be reprised.

Read into the early morning, slept in and awoke in time to meet with J. Mixed set of feelings in seeing him. He's still producing exquisite images, ideas and futuristic visions. He's also still being mashed between the plates of realities. He's almost there, again. Almost home, nearly.

We met in the little cafe near the midtown area. They do make a great chai.

Not much I can do for J. He's once again up against it and has to find his way through the maze. I told him he could use my name, etc. when contacting people. We will meet again and I'll do what I can do in terms of research and locating possible funding sources.

***********************
But enough of those things. Rest of the day has paddled by without any meaningful results. Had an encounter with a bicycle nazi in the early afternoon. I was driving to my postal box to pick up mail. As I came to a stop at the intersection, this guy pulled his bike in front of my vehicle. That was fine with me. I assumed he was trying to make room for anyone who might be turning. He looked back at me in a nervous, twitchy way. My inner radar kicked in and I figured that he was some kind of possible trouble.

When the light changed, he started peddling, but was in the wrong gear. He wobbled and weaved, and finally started up the street. He didn't move close to the parked cars, but maintained a place near the center of the lane.

I waited a bit to see if he would make room and when it was obvious he wasn't going to do that, I accelerated and passed him. In doing so I had to cross the center line. I zoomed by him and swung back into the lane, caught the next light and made a left turn.

I pulled over to move into a parking space and as I was parking, Mr. Nerves pulls up, turns his bike around and heads back my way. He appeared to want to say something to me. I rolled down the window and asked if there was a problem. He was shaking and seemed either nervous or upset. He asked how close I thought I had come to him back on the other street. I told him I had pulled around him, crossing the center line, and didn't get close to him.

He was of the opinion that I had come close. He then acted as if he were memorizing my license number and started talking about the police. At that point, I knew he was wacky and not exactly rational. We exchanged some alpha male noises and he rode away.

I managed to maintain a somewhat even keel until near the end. At that point, I was starting to lose it, make growling sounds, and was ready for battle -- even though I knew that doing so was foolish.

I've seen the guy around town forever. He looks like a casualty. He used to look more solid, more intact. I'm sure I'll see him again. Will watch out and not fuel the fire. Even though he was acting irrationally, I still needed to give him the room he wanted. In retrospect, I should not have passed him and should not have done so like I did. But that's all history at this point. A new traffic day begins.

***********************

In discussion with G yesterday, ideas were kicked around regarding perception and how two people are unlikely to see something and give similar descriptions. It is the eyewitness issue where eyewitness testimony can be so unreliable. We talked about writing a story where each observer had his or her worldview. Like the famous Japanese movie (so famous I can't think of its name) where the scenes are played out from each person's perspective. Rashamon is the title that comes to mind.

**********************

I'm wobbling and waffling right now. I can't come up with anything compelling to write about (about which to write). So will stop for now and return later (possibly) to continue this activity.

**********************

Back for a late night blogsnack. Amazing how the hours either drift or fly by. Odd time patterns seem to dominate my attention. Infrequent drummings and spate of vocal noises hover in the shadows.

Everything is in shadow at this time. Everything incomplete and barely visible, hardly distinguishable from the darkness. My thoughts ascend and descend like the elevator I rode today. But now, everything seems lost in the haze, buried in the shadows.

Did I manage to accomplish anything of value today? Not much, if anything at all. I allowed the day to slip by, the hours to flow along without clear delineation or effect. The rhythms of the day were incomplete, inconsequential and inane. Not unlike many of my previous days.

What do I expect? What do I anticipate? I long for the breakthrough, the lance of purpose and the sword of clear vision. I falter and spin. The markings that I make are jumbled and incoherent. Or that is one way I can hold the hours passed.

I could also hold them as part of a dance, a cosmic dance that I do as I make my way through this time, this life. Sounds fancy. Sounds like I may be getting near the bone. Not so. I am really nowhere, everywhere, lost in space.

The fragments of the night and the day merge and homogenize. They mix together and form a slurry of empty context, random actions. I sense some meaning, some possible interpretation, but it does not coalesce. There are spaces in the fabric. There are alternate dimensions and probable events.

I picked up more books from the library today. Dropped off two books that I had completed. Received a new library card in the process. Good for my memory said the librarian since I get a new library access number with the new card. Just what I need -- more things, new things, to remember.

Spent a goodly time today filling out a Nielsen survey. They paid me $15 for my efforts. They sent instructions via snailmail that included $15 in cash. The money triggers performance desires and I had to answer the questions. They asked for a host of very specific data. May the statistics' gods be fulfilled.

The day winds down. It spins itself to a stopping/resting point before kicking into the new day mode. Begorra! It will be St. Patty's Day in the morrow. Get ready for the green assault. Man the corned beef barricades. Ban the potato famines.

So it is with many thoughts I end this posting and make my way to bed and to some late evening (and hopefully not early morning) readings. May the shamrock force be with us.

6277

Unmitigated. Dream demons came. There was a house, a ranch-style house, set on a large lot that faced a highway. There were dozens of pickup trucks parked along the edge of the property. I knew many of the people who had arrived in the trucks. They were there to help with renovating the place.

I had some concern regarding the neighbors who lived across the road. But I figured that they would see that everyone was there to help with repairs. The road had little traffic except for the many pickups that were arriving on my side.

Work got started somehow. No one was really in charge, but work got done, repairs were made, and people were busy doing things. Enormous piles of debris were created as old materials were pulled from the house and thrown into the yard. Several people worked to put the debris into the empty truck beds to be hauled away later.

B and the team was there. Also people from the dance clubs. In fact, there was some part of the dream that involved the three Asian women from the dance club. There was E, J and one lady whose name I can't recall. B was carrying some old pieces of computer equipment out to his truck.

*******************

Anyway, that's the gist of the dreaming for last night. Cleaning house! A dream about rebuilding and cleaning house. Some worry or concern about what the neighbors might be thinking, but not much energy around that issue. Impressive array of people who showed up to help, and did so with little direction or supervision. Sense of an easy transition about the whole scene.

Interesting that there were so many pickup trucks. Everyone came in a truck. A fleet of work vehicles ready to haul away the old, carry away the debris.

And the curious interlude that involved the three Asian women. And recognizing in the dream that I didn't know one of their names. The mystery woman.

Deep and not so deep. Replete with details and action, but not much magic or illuminative energy.

**********************

Just got a call (I'm writing this as the day moves along and I'll publish later today) from J. Haven't seen him months, but is the timing right or what? He wants to meet tomorrow to catch up and talk about his new game designs. Renovation and reprise.

So I'm bubbling along. Have several things to do today -- meet with G at 1pm, chai with L around 3pm, WC at 4:30pm, and dance class tonight -- bright, beautiful, sunshining day! Ole!

**********************

More than twelve hours have rocketed by since I wrote the preceding notes. Learned two new dances tonight. More precisely, I was exposed to two new dances. Later this week, I'll know if I truly learned them. (PS--I do country western line dancing--two classes a week and often two weekend dances.) We also reviewed 5 or 6 other dances that were taught in previous classes. Tonight was the final class in this series. After a three-week break, classes will resume.

Getting late. I'm looking forward to seeing J tomorrow. Currently reading a Murakami book titled South of the Border, West of the Sun. Not his best, but still interesting. Also reading Joyce Carol Oates newest short story collection. Reading another set of stories called Yoga Hotel. This book has a wild Krishna-blue front cover and multiple Ganesh images on the back.

In case I run out of things to read, I have the latest F&SF as well. I've been reading a lot over the past six months. Reading ravenously. Munro, Murakami, Fasslett (sp?), Conrad Williams, Divakaruni, and more. Rediscovered reading Ellery Queen periodical (Oates has published some of her works there). Have read some unmemorable SciFi novels, but some memorable SciFi stories (Orson Scott Card). Got sucked into reading several Koontz novels, but had to stop reading him. His stuff is too absorbing. Easy reads, but too engaging. I had to cut him off.

So much for the Ides of March. Time to click the Publish button and bring forth the dream demons. Goodly night!

6278

Blogging begins. Where doth it end? Wherever it goes. Just follow its nose.

In the beginning there was an end. Not necessarily an end to everything, but a close approximation. Derivative decisions not withstanding.

Must think this through. Cannot spend time starting and restarting, editing and revising, and churning capriciously. Have to leap out and tug the ring or some such broken metaphor. Perhaps let loose the dream demons. Monitor their progress or progressions. Imagine what it would be like in that distant place.