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The Most Fucked Up Dream
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 2040
***(Yesterday, let off from work early, bonus day off today and so had a short nap to peculiar affect...)
I'm at work, looking into the men's room - the door is open, and there seem to be a bunch of homeless people in it - one, a short, shirtless bearded guy giving me scowls, others, they're using it to store their stuff, grabbing and stashing their possessions under the sink...
A couple of girls come out of the bathroom, green short-sleeved blouses, big black scarves, and they're talking to one another, working behind the bar, and I understand that the owner's son has hired them and will train them tonight...
Peculiar they were in the men's room, but I shrug it off, I'm off early and I'm thrilled.
Off, and I take a nap, and wake up - in the bar, the same, but not the same at all.. Old wood paneling, cupboards everywhere, like in a mall or arcade, close and claustrophobic, ...there's a regular at the bar, I don't know him, never met him, he's had a couple of drinks, a meal, I can't find his bill - on his seat another waitress - Brie (??) has his bill mixed up with her table, I can't figure out what stuff is his, and he keeps talking to me..
Exploring the bar, old wood paneling, cupboards, walls, curios everywhere, there's an old gold lighter that when you snap it open expands, a little jewel, I want to know who's it is, want it, someone says it belongs to Mildred (Who's Mildred?), and I'm trying to get the regular his bill, trying to sort it out, there's a guy with half his face all fallen in, distorted, disfigured, and he's telling me how fucked up the new computer system we have is, he owns a bar, it's the same for him, and he turns and gets up like a Picasso, melting away like a bad acid trip, he's completely out there...
The regular, he's showing me some loft beds behind the bar, climbing into the upper bunk, a fine place to crash if you've had one too many...
And this bar, it's so far from anyplace I've known or seen and then I realize that I took a nap after work and so I'm dreaming and that explains it...
The regular tells me, no, I'm not dreaming, I'm dead, I've crossed over, and it all makes fucking sense now and I think I've got to tell someone, my children, let them know, and then sit down, having just figured out that there is no communication from here, I'm dead...
And I'm taking comfort in the fact that all this, the whacked out bar and people, they are all somehow extensions of myself and if only I can get my thoughts in order things will start to improve and make sense...
***(A completely whacked out dream-within-a-dream, filled with people and places I don't know. Vivid. Blech.)
Thrifting, Glitch in the Matrix
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 1271
Out on the corner having a smoke. Kootenay Landlords. I'd promised not to smoke in the flat, on the property, but the landlady had called from the Sunshine Coast to tell me that - even as I was enjoying my cigarettes across the street - the smoke was getting caught up in the gravel pad in front of the house.
So I've taken my filthy habits to the corner.
While there I watch the neighbor. The lady on the corner is walking about with 2 wireframe record stands, a TV dinner table. Taking them inside her corner house. Probably a find from a Nelson Free Pile.
Think nothing of it. An hour later, out again for a cigarette - who should I see but the lady in the corner house - bringing in 2 wireframe record stands and a TV dinner table.
Curious. "A Glitch in the Matrix" I'm thinking to myself.
This morning, out for a cigarette, on the corner. And who should appear, dragging 2 wireframe record stands and a TV dinner into her house.
Here's a mystery.
Days off, thrifting - some finds. I make a list of what I'm looking for, a Dremel, Patio Table, Desk, various odds and sods. And - for a laugh, I top it with "Watch". It's a laugh because always I am looking for watches, I hardly need to make a note to myself, but, for a laugh.
And, what should I find? A 1957 Gruen Precision, Mint condition, beveled crystal, $20.00.
I'm laughing.
The other finds, a heavy old antique mirror, perfect for above the fireplace, an old cupboard door with leaded glass insert, broken, but I rather like the twin hearts motif.
And presents for Ken. The two signed "Star Trek" celebrity photos, a Chef's shirt, XXXXL - so it should fit, and a book from a free pile on "Boundaries" because -- well, it's always fun to accuse others of what one is most guilty of.
Ken, he likes the photos - he tells me "I've met them both" and I don't have the heart to ask why - or how. I tell Chris - "Ken speaks Klingon...", and he readily obliges by - saying something in Klingon.
I hate that he confirms my every prejudice so good-naturedly.
Bookstore and Music
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Books
- Hits: 819
Pop into the used bookstore to enquire about a couple of older editions they had in the window - Sir Richard Burton on the Discovery of the Source of the Nile - (not exact title) - which interested me as I'd read Speke's version of events and enjoyed it immensely, and Stanley's "In Darkest Africa" - also of great appeal. Both, sadly, not priced to my budget at this time. Take the opportunity to browse for other books.
In the background they have some classical piano concertos playing, which slightly stimulate my brain and get me to thinking...
When was the last time I had music? A long time. I mean a very long time. Years. I get by with the radio in the Jeep, other peoples tastes, maybe via the computer - but the quality, it shows, poor speakers, ads, pop-songs, none of the old-timey cerebral just listen to classical music...
The speakers here are great. I at first thought there was a pianist in the hall- but no.
I miss this. And so I'm slow in my browsing, the store is largely empty, the predictable side effect of an unpredictable schedule of hours decided by the proprietor on the morning of...
So, browse for books, a fine selection, better than Calgary - by far, I've noticed this before. Books on shelves, in boxes, organized every which way and not at all, the proprietor, he sits in the front window, mask on, engrossed in reading Marquez's "100 Years of Solitude" or some such, a little end table beside his chair piled to overflowing with books he has planned to read next, or has already finished, he's an endorsement of how I'd love to spend my working retirement, it's a shame to tip his chair when finally I've found my pick - "Hamlet Letters" by Henry Miller, this bookstore, it's great, never what you were looking for but always something just as good.
Gentlemen Broncos
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Film
- Hits: 745
Chris's recommendation, clever little gem of a film by the writer/director(s)? of "Napoleon Dynamite", amusing, a bit too over-the-top, but therein is it's charm. A long way from perfect, but better than the reviews at Rotten Tomatoes.com.
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