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Fevered Dreams of a Lost Volvo
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 2151
(A dodgy slice of pizza from the most dodgy corner shop in the world, chewy cardboard, dark lighting, and yesterday I'm surprised, runny nose, sore throat, fever, feel like shit all the work-long day. I was fine the day before, all I can think is to blame the pizza, home from work, bed, sweating up a storm, the recollection of dreams...)
...That I'm somewhere on the East Coast, Philadelphia, say, driving around in the inner city hoods, old hotels, houses, I park my car, a newer model Volvo SUV or sports-wagon, and go to sleep on a sofa some hippies have left on their lawn...the next morning, getting up, I can't find my car, walking around the block, there's a wreckers, and I'm concernedly checking there, everywhere, ask the hippies when they come outside, nobody knows where my car is...
Everywhere the air of faded grandeur, of wealth gone to ruin and decay, inside an old hotel, high ceilings and gilt peeling from plaster, it's a precinct and I'm asking the police about my Volvo, where is it? And they find out that it's been towed, and I'm asking where to, and they're telling me someplace far away, how much? they don't know, outside it's dark and I can see the lights of the city twinkling...
The dream changes...
Now, at atmosphere of infinite melancholy, of a love affair gone terribly wrong, I'm half participant, half observer in this dream...
There are a couple of dark haired children, a boy and a girl, and there's somebody with me, I don't know who, female, and we're in the woods near an old house, looking for works by a famous American Folk Artist who worked with twigs and found objects, old boats, lumber, trees, we know him, have seen his works in museums, but here, everywhere we find only the places where he's cropped his inspiration from, twigs missing in the forest, the imprint of a boat, a log removed from the leaves, it's everywhere twilight and the dark haired children run away, laughing and playing, and I'm waking up, want to see how this works out, I don't understand, is the love story about them, or about the other and me? ....
(Wake up, the sheets are soaking, feel marginally better, long night...)
The Mystery of LinkedIn
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2484
I never use it, signed up a long time ago when I was a little more professionally employed. But I still get updates, amazed, I know they harvest your emails to make suggestions, but it was suggesting people I'd went to University with 30 years ago, long before the internet and computers and things...people I only vaguely remembered.
...Just good luck, I figured, coughing up people with similar skills and from the same alma mater...
Then yesterday, a list of 3 ex-girlfriends, Paulette, Sheryll, Cheryll...one of whom didn't even go to the U of A.
This is weird, eerie, and I'm wondering - well, what's up? Where are they getting these names from? Really? And going to the site, I discover, of course, that they're recommending people who've viewed my profile. Curious, especially since I've got far more going on away from LinkedIn. Maybe they don't know how to use Google...Paulette, New Zealand? Really? I mean, I'd get Europe, Africa, but...And Cheryl, Medical? Puzzles me. But the mystery at least is solved, although I'm surprised by how many people remember my last name...
Boots, Macrame Belt
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Found
- Hits: 1914
And other finds these past couple of weeks, a beaded and macramed leather belt with an open fringed end that looks as if it was worn to Woodstock. Probably it was, who would remember? I need some accessories to pair it with...$1.00.
And a pair of leather, knee high riding boots, guessing ex RCMP (no manufacturer printed), $8.00, the perfect accessory to my saddle...
Our Story of Atlantis...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Books
- Hits: 2339
I almost passed it by, read the title, meh, then upon second glance...
Copyright 1917, printed 1936, Esoteric, Fringe New-Age, in the league or school of Madame Blavatsky, The Golden Dawn, etc. Occult, Spiritualistic stuff...
The title page convinces me to give it a chance...
"OUR STORY
of
ATLANTIS
Written down for the
HERMETIC BROTHERHOOD
and
THE FUTURE RULERS
of
AMERICA"
By
W.P.Phelon, MD
This could be good. Real good. File under intellectual treasure. The cover displays the Society's logo, pressed in gilt:
To describe it as follows: A braided rope around a triple embossed triangle, within the triangle a winged globe flies beneath a skull and crossbones. Above the pyramid a ships anchor on the left and a fiery lantern on the right (guessing). The word (Acronym?) TRY is embossed beneath the pyramid...
Reading it ... I know, old school, old book, paper and all, but I have to read it...
PG 27: "It is a conceded fact there have never been, since the fall of Atlantis, so many reincarnated Atlantians upon the earth at the same time as now. This accounts for the almost universal demand out of the Astral records for the forgotten knowledge of the Occult which they there recorded."
I mean, start from here and where do you go?...
The praising and description of Atlantis doesn't end, there are numerous bad verses and odes describing Atlantis as the Garden of Eden, the lost repository of mankind's knowledge, words alone won't do it justice, you need verse, music, paintings...there are references to Lemuria, Mu, all these places are referred to as accepted fact, every printed travelers tale is taken as gospel and embellished upon by the enthusiastic narrator, lost and secret cities in Mexico, carefully kept hidden from western eyes, lost civilizations found deep within distant jungles or subterranean caves, various theories propounded for the differences in race (we each were cooked at varying times in the suns intensity...I'm not making this up...)
I'm not even halfway done and I'm loving it, it's Edgar Rice Burroughs reported as fact, the ultimate attempt to unify every batshit theory, myth, conspiracy and legend...
With this book, this Bible, I will become the King and Pope of Nelson...
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