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Strange vibrations all around on this nervous October/Michigan night. The Imodium has worn off, but that's not what's keeping me on my seat. There's an impending sense of doom... of Wrong. It permeates the room, making the candles flicker. And well Mr. Thompson, how are you tonight? In my thoughts i see. Sorry. Original... original. Ok, but it does lead me somewhere else. Whatever happened to MY Dr. Gonzo, MY 300 lb. sidekick/lawyer/friend? Ah, the sidekick, where indeed? I've lost the 3 that i had. Different paths, different countries, different ideas, different ways of coping (or not coping). I got the peace sign from all 3. And good for them... they need to be off in their parts of this world and the next. Let me get back to the sidekick thing, though. Not the right choice of words. More like "partner". Sidekick seems secondary. These are equals. Were equals. Life as a racquetball court... or something like that. Rubber balls & padded walls. Almost sounds poetic, but really more tragic. Life as a blunder. I remember when i was a kid i would make up sports in my back yard. Usually they involved a ball - a tennis or racquetball, many times a superball (those were fun, weren't they?). Sometimes a racket, sometimes a glove. Hours i spent, for weeks at a time, playing the games i made up. Throwing the ball against the house, playing tennis with myself - home run derby. Color commentary going on in my head. Usually i was the "hero". The "old veteran" of the sport, held most of the records, won the most championships, etc. But still on top of my game. There'd be a younger protagonist, who (give me some credit) occasionally won, but mostly was just there so that i was pushed to greatness. One more season, one more game... one more win. The crafty, crusty one, showing the kids how it's done, one more time. I even came up with newspaper headlines, complete with pictures & captions. I usually only had the lead graph of the story worked out, but that was enough. This consumed my summers... & hell, most of the school year, too. Jesus christ! I would KILL to be that creative again. I mean, where the hell did that go? What erased that? Was it growing up, maturation? Was it the "new technology"? Sloth? It has to still be there. But what can tap into that again. I'd take just one day, one full 24 hour day, of that creativity back into my 24 year old hands. But then again, that might be dangerous. What would i do with it? What paths would it lead me down... & would i be prepared for what lie at the end of it? I've been having very strange dreams lately, but for the most part i can't remember them. I can recall bits & pieces, just enough to realize that there is some crazy-assed, fucked up shit going on in my noggin at night. But maybe that's where it's stored, that creativity gone cold, lo so many years ago. Or maybe that should be "yea". Sometimes i feel i've let my friends & family down... talking narrowly on the creativity bit here. I'm not really prepared to get into the plethora of other ways i've failed them. Not tonight/this morning at 4:56. Fuck no, not today, thank you kindly (goddamn you Thompson!). And not just my friends here. I think that a lot of people have missed out on something. Jesus, i'm sounding really egotistical here & i haven't even made my point clear yet. I don't think. Of course i know what the point is, but then again, i'm writing this fucker. Shit. Back on course. I've always had a sincere longing to share certain parts of my brain with the public, but i've never really been able to. I used to write things when i was younger... sometimes even stuff that i thought was worth a damn & then burn them. I guess i was always waiting for someone to actually ask me to read my stuff, or ask what was on my mind. Yet, i never told anyone that i wrote, or that i thought of shit more fantastic than anywhere you've been (there goes my head, again). At 19 i was planning the writing of my autobiography. Or, actually, a semi-autobiographical story. Not necessarily based on events in my life, but more on the things that went through my head. I actually had a large portion done... not done, but sketched out... or something like that. But i ended up throwing it all away & i'm not really sure why. Afraid of failure? Stupid? I just don't know. Maybe i was just worried that no one would give a shit. Unfortunately i've come to a point where i can no longer choose (i think i've shifted gears). But i don't want to get into that either. Blue TV screen, cold room, 400-Disc Changer on shuffle. What's the score here, what's next? Uh? Well, ah yes, here it is... an obscure Nick Drake tune. Not a bad pick, Mr. Random Selection Mode. It's now 5:13 & i'm not any closer to making a point now than i was a couple days ago. I've got some sort of onion/rubber taste going on in my mouth & i'm not sure why. The Sheesha? Ham crouisannt? Spell-check? Wait. Here we go, old Beatles stuff. This is more conducive to writing a love song, which is not what i set out to do, but it IS something i've always wanted to try. I think "The Couch" is the closest i've come. I don't think i've taken enough pictures. The main reason being, i can't remember a god damn thing. My life in pictures kind of goes in waves. Lots of pictures, then none, then some, then none, then a lot, etc. I've always wondered if there was a pattern to the people who were skipped at these times. I'd like to get them all in a room together & study their habits. These creatures must be stopped! Er... i mean... watched? Sometimes i wonder what the dog does when she's home alone. When i put her outside on the chain & there is a light on, then i bring her back in & that light is now off, does she know? Weary memories... where do they go? How do they travel so far? Off in space, colliding with one another. Have you ever accidentally received someone else's memory? Christ, what a shocker that would be. Unless it was something erotic. The dog is dreaming... little yelps & barks & foot waggings. RUN FREE!!! I need to wrap this up, it's 5:24, Tull is on, & it seems a good time to try to get some sleep. I have things to do, or maybe i don't. I look back & see that i really didn't say much. Or maybe i did. I don't know, i'm answering questions with answers to questions that had answered other questions. And that's the truth. |