06-16-2013, 12:01 AM
1. An island, set in the sea of awareness. There is a sand beach, like the mouth of a canyon, that runs in a half circle through mountains and back out. A city is built on the sand. There is a flat topped mountain that slopes to the sea devoid of vegetation, that the valley curves around. the city is very...unstable, and hard scramble, being built on the sand. What little agriculture there is is on terraces fed by rain water. It is moderatly technologically advanced, but very hard life. My awareness looks at the whole continent...its all rough rock plateau and mountains, with little vegetation. I meet with the ruler of the city, the queen or mayor, and we climb the flat topped mountain. I ask her why her people dont utalize the wealth of the sea...fish, kelp, shellfish. She says they have tried...and to demonstrate she releases a boat made of some sort of glass from the sand...it goes down a shoot on this mountain...and gets stuck. The ocean is just above the sand, and they cant built docks on it, so they are cut off from the sea despite being right next to it. I ponder, and create a large stick/staff. I walk down to the sea, that they are afraid to touch, and show how the sand doesnt suck down a persons weight. Do this i say, dig with these staffs...dig a channel in the sand, and seal it with stones....a channel in the sand then the boats can get out to see and back...to harvest energy from the sea. She is awestruck and why didnt they thing of that...but it had to do with the nature of the water and sand which they unlike me could not quite understand. She is excited to get started and runs to tell the townspeople and organize...we litterally run back to town, in the village center, and i start explaining...but then something strange happens.
2. A great doom, spell, force falls over the island, i think to stop this. People wake...i mean they wake from their dream lives and the spell is an overlay of conflicts, exagerated...from the tonal world...some of these people live their lives here as enemies...in prison, etc. this great force makes them...gives them this tonal mind, and they...start attacking, breaking into groups. Sticks, knives, rocks...start killing each other and warring. The most aware...or posesed...come after me...with great steel knives...for carving meat. I reacted tot his by freeing, and being calm...no thinking, no reactions. Even when they fell upon me with the knives. They hacked me...slices...one through my shoulder to almost my groin...im split. Another hacks from my groin up to and out my head, im split again. Im like a piece of broken wood, connected only by a few fibers, and still i stand not reacting. Somehow...after this, the calm i have spreads...and they put down their weapons, and there is like a shuddering shimmering silent shriek in the air and the heavy feeling lifts...and the people stand around looking at their weapons and at each other, and me. No words are spoken. I begin to heal or re weave like blood clotting...and when its safe, when i wont split, i move. but i have these jagged lines like pottery that was broken and re glued...like scars, but i know they will heal stronger then before. I...think i was lucky the two blows didnt split me...but i know its not lick...i cracked where i was weak, like stone under a masons chisel...and now those parts will be strong and not vulnerable. My crack dont link to shatter me.
3. From this, i am rushed, i fade and move into another dream reality. I form standing on a stage, already putting on a play. I am lucid, i see my hand, but everything is emanating a gold light...and the stage props also all shine gold. I am confused. But, this is a part of the play where the character was confused and silent...so it adds to the acting. Was that...the village...this play? I look around, the props are to abstract to tell, but i know it was related. I also know my next line, and deliver it to the audience...its like ancient greek theater with the exposition of inner thoughts. I am in a greek ampatheater, overlooking the sea....and it feels both modern and ancient, as do the audience i look out upon. The sea is green blue in the distance...the sea is the backdrop this theater was building on a bluff over the most amazing living sea. The play...reminds me, the recorder awareness in the character, things the play is like phantom of the opera, with the scar from my being split instead of a burn, but not as dark or morbid...bright and golden. It is both a play and a religiouse ceremony. And me...sen...the recorder, is one of the awareneses the character speaks to the audience about. I/he says "And so it was, from the valley of the long nights and thirsty sand, where not the people gather the bounty of the sea, for fear of the grabbing sand, came a thought! A voice, a muse that asks...who am I? Why? Who are you....and the actor me on you raises his hands and i see hes holding a staff and repeats at the audience "WHO ARE YOU!? The actors, the waves, or the audeance... the endearing stones unworn by time, overlooking the sea!" More of the play, and im just experiencing it. After more time the actor breaks from the play, it was about a hero and a queen on far islands. "and, then too, the one who asks who am i, stops asking, and falls silent...becomes the observer in the mind of the actor, a stone, the audience within, as you, dear patrons, are the audience without. And their was...comprehension, in the far lands of mir." (tonal?) At this, i seperate out of the actor, and i wear a stone mask over my head, and i become a voiced character, not in the one shinning gold...i walk away from the man/me still speaking, and i take my place int he audience...in my stone mask. Three women...fates? from greek mythology follow me and stand around me in a half circle. The middle one speaks, the maiden and crone are silent...but they all look identical, but one feels old and one young and one like a mother. The one who feels like a mother...critiques my family. Where i am, my mother and father, and others in the tonal, but does so in a magical, abstact yet specific way, so that i can see what they see, and the reasons why. A great many reasons. And a thought. All the ideas, and things we thing we need/know are...our joys and fears, they all die with us. They are not eternal. But we...are...can be...unless we follow our...ideas, hopes, joys into the blackness...of non existance. The sand at the bottom of the shallow water of life...like the half moon canyon city...at the mouths...two mouths...birth and death...each with a opening to to infinite sea...only if....if....one could deepen the chanell, so the boat could be free of the sand. It was beautiful...from the dream, to the play, and then this...the exposition, at the edge of the stage, on the ampatheatre by the sea.
4. From here, like a link, i am pulled to a study place. A room in a library or highschool or university, but it...seems... more a school of acting, of doing, and seeing. I am called to practice, to practice my singing and acting, to prepare for a big play/stage production. I meet one on one with an older lady...in her 50's or 60's with very short cropped hair. She is like my coach and tutor. We practice lines and singing. After some time, the director of the play comes in to check on our progress. this being seems older, and he eminates energy, awareness. He is kind. I know, i recognize in this place, that i am not smart, and i am not the best actor. What i have is "personality", and what this means is i am open to many options like a web of possibility. I am now doing a task that is like...writing short answers, perceptions, to difficult questions. It is also scripting my performance. My little nephew comes, he is also working on his plan/script. He has some he can not answer yet, and asks me for help. I want to help, i want to do it for him, but the director and the lady have an air of balanced expectation. I know i cannot. To answer his would be to limit mine...my personality. So i say ponder it some more, wait, i will check back latter to see. This is the correct answer, it seems, as those two exhale and smile. I didnt get off my task to help with anothers, even someone close, when i knew i could not really help it was to assuage their need for assistance. He said...oh...ok...and went back to his own papers. I complete my task, and do it well. I had no problem reading and then writing in the dream, and that was good, as the task was very delicate and prefaced on that ability to even attempt to do it. The lady gives me a pile of notes...typewritten with hand writing scrawl in the margins. They were difficult to read because they were typed on a typewriter with a low toner cartridge, but they were rock solid in terms of stability. I had to look very carefully, and my task here was to write them out, a clean sheet that could be more easily read. there is a long paragraph about the movements, and revisions lines crossed out and hand written parts. It is about tengresity! Its Carlos casteneda developing the idea, his personal notes...the parts that were crossed out and re written were about how to explain it! He quickly rejected the angle that they were an eastern equivallent to nagualisim...i read how he went back and forth saying there were a device left by the first of the new seers, or that they were a secret passe don for don juan. I didnt read enough to see how he explained it. I was only given one sheet. Im not sure how that was explained in reality. But it...they...they were going over the notes, the director and this lady, as if...they were potentially revising the script somehow, but they did not tell me how or why. when i was done i handed my work back to the lady. She positively beamed after reading my sheets. She out of no where, told me that i am a very nice person. I got back to my early musings. I confided, that i am not smart, or rich, all i have is personality. this was deeper then it sounds, as personality...if i were a angry man, or proud, or paranoid, my path forward would be limited. To fighting, or what openings in my maze of perceptions and walls i could find...if there is any way out "to the sea" at all. A maze, shadows on the wall. So personality, in context, means being open, and seeing fewer obsticales, confining and defining. It doesnt mean personality, like how we feel about others. Its something more. She laughs and says i can play Troy Akin. Im not sure who that is, but i see what she means, so i simply reply "I can see it". When i woke i looked that up, maybe she meant that country singer with a similar name, but it was very specific as i wrote it.
Over and over
I tried to prove my love to you
Over and over
What more can I do
Over and over
My friends say I'm a fool
But over and over
I'll be a fool for you
`cause you got personality
Walk, personality
Talk, Personality
Smile, Personality
Charm, personality
Love, personality
And of Cause you've got
A great big heart
So over and over
Oh, I'll be a fool to you
Now over and over
What more can I do
Over and over
I said that I loved you
Over and over, honey
Now it's the truth
Over and over
They still say I'm a fool
But Over and over
I'll be a fool for you
5. I am in a large house near christmas, christmas decorations. I am cleaning and getting ready, it feels like there is a week to go. There are many people milling on the street. I am listening to my father, doing as he instructs me to help him and the family. I notice...he doesn't think things through completely. He thinks something will work so it has to work or he will fall apart and its all ruined. Back to the meaning of personality again. At night, during my visit...i see the shuffers on the window began to bend like somebody pushing on them. He freezes in fear. There is a large wooden door, like to a carriage house, in this wing of the house. A man pushes his way in. A horrible, waxy looking...dead man. One of his arms is a chainsaw. We stand still...he looks around, and ignores us, and scoops up the christmas tree, decorations and all. He brandishes his chainsaw hand but never turns it on. When i leave, i ask my father, does he ever lock the door...no, he never thought of a lock, he believed he would not be robbed, so it was not necessary. My fathers skin, it had a purple tinge now...he seemed unwell. He looked...he looked as his body did, in the hospital, when i went to say goodbye, waxy, bruised from them trying to revive him. He went to lay down. So i stood thinking. this is not good enough. I...what can i do? something. I call an expert...well, a security gaurd. A very large, tall, and fat man in a security uniform. I briefly explain the situation and he says he can keep watch...but this seems a strange solution. He needs locks on the door. this being somehow inspires me to act... I find metal...and screws. I can place an iron bar that swings up, and a bracket on each door. That way weak thieves wont be able to just push the windows doors open. I work all night. In the morning my dad returns, but he has almost forgotten he had a tree, or christmas. He is insistant that he never will be robbed. It takes gentle prodding to get him to sorta remember what had happened. I have to show him the fallen needles to convince him he once had a christmas tree. I tell him to listen to the security man, he is there to help. He is not happy about that, but he listens, and agrees to his presence.
6. I was only at that large home for a few days, at the end, and with things more stable, it was time for me to return to the university type setting. But return is the wrong word, for i am a transfer student it seems...even though its the same place i went over the notes/pages. there are two groups at this school...the expressive actors, and the more conventional studiers. People identify and dress accordingly. My first day, i make a friend, a "gothy" artistic girl who writes somewhat bad poetry and likes to hang out smoking in the hallways. As the weeks go on, she becomes my friend, and we start practicing for the big annual play. Singing, acting, working on poetry, etc. For some reason, and it is strange to me, i got placed/cast with the more conventional studying people. But i really liked to sing and act and write. I didn't see many others placed in my roll by the teachers doing that. Wed practice our singing together, and other things, lot sof time ons tage getting ready for tryouts. We are both starting to excell, and im told im the best singer/actor. But i was being told this by the more conventional teachers. The more artsy ones are also marking me high, but theres something grudging in how they do it. I'm bringing an aspect of monty python, of self aware humor to what i do, and they seem to be going for the steriotypical melodramatic...like dark and deep. Nonetheless, in a fair system, its awareded by ability and talent. So i am assured by the trusting teachers anyway. And then, they announce the final rolls for the play. I get a note, to report to a room. And i go...and wait, and wait. No one is there. I dont understand what has happened. the way the play works, is the final script and rolls were decided the afternoon of the performance...everyone had to be ready for the big day...it was the tradition how it was done. Im sitting, trusting, but getting worried. I hear noise, and poke my head out the door...ive been waiting for about seven hours, singing to myself. Its the students, some i know see me and say its time for the big play, come on! and grab my arm. Im still somehow thinking i have a roll since i had the marks to have one. I get to the auditorium, and...the actors are on the stage. My friend is on the stage exited...i am looking at her thinking its a mistake she will call me up...but when she makes eye contact she looks away and starts talking to the director of the play on stage. I sorta collapse in my chair striken, and quiet. And then...it starts, singing, dancing, exposition, a very free form musical. But its...ehh. It tries so hard to be dark and mysteriouse. And deep. Like Twilight and war and peace. But...my friend. I think if...well, if the price that had to be payed for her moment to shine, was my...being left off the stage...that's ok...i mean it has to mean something to her, the work we did getting ready...i can give that gift, friendship i think, its ok. So I am at peace, and a smile, as im prone to do, and when she comes forwards, to give her speaking part, my awareness tugs, says here i am, and i am happy. She looks at me...and her eyes...nothing. No appreciation, only a walling off. Like one cant let the little people stand in the way of shining. Betrayal! Its not mean, but its...cold. I sit, for a moment more. And then i spring up acting. I start to boo and hiss...and this sounds a shock wave through the audience. I do my own play, critiquing the one on stage, heckling...none move to stop me, they don't know what to do. I answer the stage. I reply to a long speach with "and that is acting, dear audience...to exaggerate and self congratulate. Not to be self reflective...no, melodramatic drivel. There is one acting like "Kristen Stewart" and i see some "true blood". But where, pray tell, is the princess bride? Were is wesely saying "As you whish" to a self absorbed counterpoint. He stand here! I say, hopping on one leg, demanding to know, from the principal the speed of a "swallow". somebody from the quiet audience chimes in "african or European" and i laugh, and say "I dont know that" and launch in the air and do a backflip, land back on one leg, and bow, and start chanting running up and down. Sot he audience is looking at me, and the stage, and starting to also "act". The people on stage don't like it, but what of it. They "Self selected" for like traits, and left half the students out. they don't get to be like that. So then my nephew runs up and down screaming obsenities from an angelic face, and people laugh. And the stage actors end the play. And its very tense, and they are angry. I think it might get ugly...a split, between the two haves, like the knife that cut my body earlier in dreaming, before the self aware play i was basing this act on. And then, the disruption, summons the "principal of principals" He silences the room with one hand motion, and does not speak, sits silently. I start to speak, and he looks at me...i can see he barely tolerates me...but he is proper. After silent deliberation, he makes his judgement. He says, as a simple statement. "He was correct". Meaning me. And leaves. But as he turns and leaves, he turns and smiles, shows emotion, and points at nephew. He also says "he had a potty mouth laughing" And he does something with a finger. a lock of his hair flls over his eye, in a curl. He says hes cursed with a cute curl until he washes his potty mouth and laughs...and walks out of the room. and its done. I finish my school year there, only a few months left. I am elected class president, and we change things, in the way of the play, for the better, better in that all more have a say and a part. Not the tyrany of the self absorbed and gothy. My friend and i are even friends again. She...didn't question when the teachers said i wouldn't fit int he play, and tricked me "acidently" to the wrong room. She...like everyone else, didn't question. And it was wrong...and double wrong for choosing what authority says when it has no justice/fairness behind it. I cant help laughing...and yet you wear the non conformist cloth...sheesh. You people. And we laugh. I finish the yea, and i have many friends from all over, more, and good memories when i leave. And the plays...they included more "non dramatic" people for stability, and they got nicer, everyone both hemispheres/sides agreed.
7. Last dreams of night, so rich i thought for sure i didn't have to shorthand them. Well, i was partly correct...i remembered the power item/moment clearly. The related things...not as well. I took a meal, in a cafe. I ordered steak and eggs on one level, on another country fried steak, and on the third sheet of the page/version of myself...it was sushi. And they all tasted great, and even better, when i tasted them all at once...like how i sometimes listen to three videos at once...can see thing sin the taste, like can in relation of sounds and my silent reactions. Yum yum gimmie some. Three meals, and then three walks down a street, at the same time, different mes in different dreams...but all tied together...they all merge on the level of dream narrator/recorder...the awareness closest to the tonal me. All three of me (was more even, but i couldn't hold that many at once for long periods of time) find a stick. A thick branch, laying in each version of the street. Its..carved, roughly, like painting done with a trowel, or beaten copper, or....in one version...chainsaw art. On one level, it was as if the guy who stole the tree carved it. On another, a painter like van gogh, and on a third, a blacksmith beat it with a hammer. What it WAS....it was an animal. Like a wolf, but if i turned, it was...could be a jaguar. I did not look at it alone. I was with...a poster, that lives in my area. I wanted to ask somebody local about something i wasnt sure what, so this person was here. The head of the thing...the art/totem creature. Was a animal skull...carved, painted, beaten...with no flesh. From the skull, which seemed odd on the body, were two tapered branches. One sticking almost straight up and one from th side of the face curving to the left. It was left for me to find, and it was full of power/energy. And i did touch it. But i consulted with the local lady, and we did not pick it up yet...was no need. For you see, after we looked at it, when we were done...it got up, and walked to the left, following the curving branch. And dissapeared into a wall/forest/void. (was a bit different on each level). And then, i woke for the day.
2. A great doom, spell, force falls over the island, i think to stop this. People wake...i mean they wake from their dream lives and the spell is an overlay of conflicts, exagerated...from the tonal world...some of these people live their lives here as enemies...in prison, etc. this great force makes them...gives them this tonal mind, and they...start attacking, breaking into groups. Sticks, knives, rocks...start killing each other and warring. The most aware...or posesed...come after me...with great steel knives...for carving meat. I reacted tot his by freeing, and being calm...no thinking, no reactions. Even when they fell upon me with the knives. They hacked me...slices...one through my shoulder to almost my groin...im split. Another hacks from my groin up to and out my head, im split again. Im like a piece of broken wood, connected only by a few fibers, and still i stand not reacting. Somehow...after this, the calm i have spreads...and they put down their weapons, and there is like a shuddering shimmering silent shriek in the air and the heavy feeling lifts...and the people stand around looking at their weapons and at each other, and me. No words are spoken. I begin to heal or re weave like blood clotting...and when its safe, when i wont split, i move. but i have these jagged lines like pottery that was broken and re glued...like scars, but i know they will heal stronger then before. I...think i was lucky the two blows didnt split me...but i know its not lick...i cracked where i was weak, like stone under a masons chisel...and now those parts will be strong and not vulnerable. My crack dont link to shatter me.
3. From this, i am rushed, i fade and move into another dream reality. I form standing on a stage, already putting on a play. I am lucid, i see my hand, but everything is emanating a gold light...and the stage props also all shine gold. I am confused. But, this is a part of the play where the character was confused and silent...so it adds to the acting. Was that...the village...this play? I look around, the props are to abstract to tell, but i know it was related. I also know my next line, and deliver it to the audience...its like ancient greek theater with the exposition of inner thoughts. I am in a greek ampatheater, overlooking the sea....and it feels both modern and ancient, as do the audience i look out upon. The sea is green blue in the distance...the sea is the backdrop this theater was building on a bluff over the most amazing living sea. The play...reminds me, the recorder awareness in the character, things the play is like phantom of the opera, with the scar from my being split instead of a burn, but not as dark or morbid...bright and golden. It is both a play and a religiouse ceremony. And me...sen...the recorder, is one of the awareneses the character speaks to the audience about. I/he says "And so it was, from the valley of the long nights and thirsty sand, where not the people gather the bounty of the sea, for fear of the grabbing sand, came a thought! A voice, a muse that asks...who am I? Why? Who are you....and the actor me on you raises his hands and i see hes holding a staff and repeats at the audience "WHO ARE YOU!? The actors, the waves, or the audeance... the endearing stones unworn by time, overlooking the sea!" More of the play, and im just experiencing it. After more time the actor breaks from the play, it was about a hero and a queen on far islands. "and, then too, the one who asks who am i, stops asking, and falls silent...becomes the observer in the mind of the actor, a stone, the audience within, as you, dear patrons, are the audience without. And their was...comprehension, in the far lands of mir." (tonal?) At this, i seperate out of the actor, and i wear a stone mask over my head, and i become a voiced character, not in the one shinning gold...i walk away from the man/me still speaking, and i take my place int he audience...in my stone mask. Three women...fates? from greek mythology follow me and stand around me in a half circle. The middle one speaks, the maiden and crone are silent...but they all look identical, but one feels old and one young and one like a mother. The one who feels like a mother...critiques my family. Where i am, my mother and father, and others in the tonal, but does so in a magical, abstact yet specific way, so that i can see what they see, and the reasons why. A great many reasons. And a thought. All the ideas, and things we thing we need/know are...our joys and fears, they all die with us. They are not eternal. But we...are...can be...unless we follow our...ideas, hopes, joys into the blackness...of non existance. The sand at the bottom of the shallow water of life...like the half moon canyon city...at the mouths...two mouths...birth and death...each with a opening to to infinite sea...only if....if....one could deepen the chanell, so the boat could be free of the sand. It was beautiful...from the dream, to the play, and then this...the exposition, at the edge of the stage, on the ampatheatre by the sea.
4. From here, like a link, i am pulled to a study place. A room in a library or highschool or university, but it...seems... more a school of acting, of doing, and seeing. I am called to practice, to practice my singing and acting, to prepare for a big play/stage production. I meet one on one with an older lady...in her 50's or 60's with very short cropped hair. She is like my coach and tutor. We practice lines and singing. After some time, the director of the play comes in to check on our progress. this being seems older, and he eminates energy, awareness. He is kind. I know, i recognize in this place, that i am not smart, and i am not the best actor. What i have is "personality", and what this means is i am open to many options like a web of possibility. I am now doing a task that is like...writing short answers, perceptions, to difficult questions. It is also scripting my performance. My little nephew comes, he is also working on his plan/script. He has some he can not answer yet, and asks me for help. I want to help, i want to do it for him, but the director and the lady have an air of balanced expectation. I know i cannot. To answer his would be to limit mine...my personality. So i say ponder it some more, wait, i will check back latter to see. This is the correct answer, it seems, as those two exhale and smile. I didnt get off my task to help with anothers, even someone close, when i knew i could not really help it was to assuage their need for assistance. He said...oh...ok...and went back to his own papers. I complete my task, and do it well. I had no problem reading and then writing in the dream, and that was good, as the task was very delicate and prefaced on that ability to even attempt to do it. The lady gives me a pile of notes...typewritten with hand writing scrawl in the margins. They were difficult to read because they were typed on a typewriter with a low toner cartridge, but they were rock solid in terms of stability. I had to look very carefully, and my task here was to write them out, a clean sheet that could be more easily read. there is a long paragraph about the movements, and revisions lines crossed out and hand written parts. It is about tengresity! Its Carlos casteneda developing the idea, his personal notes...the parts that were crossed out and re written were about how to explain it! He quickly rejected the angle that they were an eastern equivallent to nagualisim...i read how he went back and forth saying there were a device left by the first of the new seers, or that they were a secret passe don for don juan. I didnt read enough to see how he explained it. I was only given one sheet. Im not sure how that was explained in reality. But it...they...they were going over the notes, the director and this lady, as if...they were potentially revising the script somehow, but they did not tell me how or why. when i was done i handed my work back to the lady. She positively beamed after reading my sheets. She out of no where, told me that i am a very nice person. I got back to my early musings. I confided, that i am not smart, or rich, all i have is personality. this was deeper then it sounds, as personality...if i were a angry man, or proud, or paranoid, my path forward would be limited. To fighting, or what openings in my maze of perceptions and walls i could find...if there is any way out "to the sea" at all. A maze, shadows on the wall. So personality, in context, means being open, and seeing fewer obsticales, confining and defining. It doesnt mean personality, like how we feel about others. Its something more. She laughs and says i can play Troy Akin. Im not sure who that is, but i see what she means, so i simply reply "I can see it". When i woke i looked that up, maybe she meant that country singer with a similar name, but it was very specific as i wrote it.
Over and over
I tried to prove my love to you
Over and over
What more can I do
Over and over
My friends say I'm a fool
But over and over
I'll be a fool for you
`cause you got personality
Walk, personality
Talk, Personality
Smile, Personality
Charm, personality
Love, personality
And of Cause you've got
A great big heart
So over and over
Oh, I'll be a fool to you
Now over and over
What more can I do
Over and over
I said that I loved you
Over and over, honey
Now it's the truth
Over and over
They still say I'm a fool
But Over and over
I'll be a fool for you
5. I am in a large house near christmas, christmas decorations. I am cleaning and getting ready, it feels like there is a week to go. There are many people milling on the street. I am listening to my father, doing as he instructs me to help him and the family. I notice...he doesn't think things through completely. He thinks something will work so it has to work or he will fall apart and its all ruined. Back to the meaning of personality again. At night, during my visit...i see the shuffers on the window began to bend like somebody pushing on them. He freezes in fear. There is a large wooden door, like to a carriage house, in this wing of the house. A man pushes his way in. A horrible, waxy looking...dead man. One of his arms is a chainsaw. We stand still...he looks around, and ignores us, and scoops up the christmas tree, decorations and all. He brandishes his chainsaw hand but never turns it on. When i leave, i ask my father, does he ever lock the door...no, he never thought of a lock, he believed he would not be robbed, so it was not necessary. My fathers skin, it had a purple tinge now...he seemed unwell. He looked...he looked as his body did, in the hospital, when i went to say goodbye, waxy, bruised from them trying to revive him. He went to lay down. So i stood thinking. this is not good enough. I...what can i do? something. I call an expert...well, a security gaurd. A very large, tall, and fat man in a security uniform. I briefly explain the situation and he says he can keep watch...but this seems a strange solution. He needs locks on the door. this being somehow inspires me to act... I find metal...and screws. I can place an iron bar that swings up, and a bracket on each door. That way weak thieves wont be able to just push the windows doors open. I work all night. In the morning my dad returns, but he has almost forgotten he had a tree, or christmas. He is insistant that he never will be robbed. It takes gentle prodding to get him to sorta remember what had happened. I have to show him the fallen needles to convince him he once had a christmas tree. I tell him to listen to the security man, he is there to help. He is not happy about that, but he listens, and agrees to his presence.
6. I was only at that large home for a few days, at the end, and with things more stable, it was time for me to return to the university type setting. But return is the wrong word, for i am a transfer student it seems...even though its the same place i went over the notes/pages. there are two groups at this school...the expressive actors, and the more conventional studiers. People identify and dress accordingly. My first day, i make a friend, a "gothy" artistic girl who writes somewhat bad poetry and likes to hang out smoking in the hallways. As the weeks go on, she becomes my friend, and we start practicing for the big annual play. Singing, acting, working on poetry, etc. For some reason, and it is strange to me, i got placed/cast with the more conventional studying people. But i really liked to sing and act and write. I didn't see many others placed in my roll by the teachers doing that. Wed practice our singing together, and other things, lot sof time ons tage getting ready for tryouts. We are both starting to excell, and im told im the best singer/actor. But i was being told this by the more conventional teachers. The more artsy ones are also marking me high, but theres something grudging in how they do it. I'm bringing an aspect of monty python, of self aware humor to what i do, and they seem to be going for the steriotypical melodramatic...like dark and deep. Nonetheless, in a fair system, its awareded by ability and talent. So i am assured by the trusting teachers anyway. And then, they announce the final rolls for the play. I get a note, to report to a room. And i go...and wait, and wait. No one is there. I dont understand what has happened. the way the play works, is the final script and rolls were decided the afternoon of the performance...everyone had to be ready for the big day...it was the tradition how it was done. Im sitting, trusting, but getting worried. I hear noise, and poke my head out the door...ive been waiting for about seven hours, singing to myself. Its the students, some i know see me and say its time for the big play, come on! and grab my arm. Im still somehow thinking i have a roll since i had the marks to have one. I get to the auditorium, and...the actors are on the stage. My friend is on the stage exited...i am looking at her thinking its a mistake she will call me up...but when she makes eye contact she looks away and starts talking to the director of the play on stage. I sorta collapse in my chair striken, and quiet. And then...it starts, singing, dancing, exposition, a very free form musical. But its...ehh. It tries so hard to be dark and mysteriouse. And deep. Like Twilight and war and peace. But...my friend. I think if...well, if the price that had to be payed for her moment to shine, was my...being left off the stage...that's ok...i mean it has to mean something to her, the work we did getting ready...i can give that gift, friendship i think, its ok. So I am at peace, and a smile, as im prone to do, and when she comes forwards, to give her speaking part, my awareness tugs, says here i am, and i am happy. She looks at me...and her eyes...nothing. No appreciation, only a walling off. Like one cant let the little people stand in the way of shining. Betrayal! Its not mean, but its...cold. I sit, for a moment more. And then i spring up acting. I start to boo and hiss...and this sounds a shock wave through the audience. I do my own play, critiquing the one on stage, heckling...none move to stop me, they don't know what to do. I answer the stage. I reply to a long speach with "and that is acting, dear audience...to exaggerate and self congratulate. Not to be self reflective...no, melodramatic drivel. There is one acting like "Kristen Stewart" and i see some "true blood". But where, pray tell, is the princess bride? Were is wesely saying "As you whish" to a self absorbed counterpoint. He stand here! I say, hopping on one leg, demanding to know, from the principal the speed of a "swallow". somebody from the quiet audience chimes in "african or European" and i laugh, and say "I dont know that" and launch in the air and do a backflip, land back on one leg, and bow, and start chanting running up and down. Sot he audience is looking at me, and the stage, and starting to also "act". The people on stage don't like it, but what of it. They "Self selected" for like traits, and left half the students out. they don't get to be like that. So then my nephew runs up and down screaming obsenities from an angelic face, and people laugh. And the stage actors end the play. And its very tense, and they are angry. I think it might get ugly...a split, between the two haves, like the knife that cut my body earlier in dreaming, before the self aware play i was basing this act on. And then, the disruption, summons the "principal of principals" He silences the room with one hand motion, and does not speak, sits silently. I start to speak, and he looks at me...i can see he barely tolerates me...but he is proper. After silent deliberation, he makes his judgement. He says, as a simple statement. "He was correct". Meaning me. And leaves. But as he turns and leaves, he turns and smiles, shows emotion, and points at nephew. He also says "he had a potty mouth laughing" And he does something with a finger. a lock of his hair flls over his eye, in a curl. He says hes cursed with a cute curl until he washes his potty mouth and laughs...and walks out of the room. and its done. I finish my school year there, only a few months left. I am elected class president, and we change things, in the way of the play, for the better, better in that all more have a say and a part. Not the tyrany of the self absorbed and gothy. My friend and i are even friends again. She...didn't question when the teachers said i wouldn't fit int he play, and tricked me "acidently" to the wrong room. She...like everyone else, didn't question. And it was wrong...and double wrong for choosing what authority says when it has no justice/fairness behind it. I cant help laughing...and yet you wear the non conformist cloth...sheesh. You people. And we laugh. I finish the yea, and i have many friends from all over, more, and good memories when i leave. And the plays...they included more "non dramatic" people for stability, and they got nicer, everyone both hemispheres/sides agreed.
7. Last dreams of night, so rich i thought for sure i didn't have to shorthand them. Well, i was partly correct...i remembered the power item/moment clearly. The related things...not as well. I took a meal, in a cafe. I ordered steak and eggs on one level, on another country fried steak, and on the third sheet of the page/version of myself...it was sushi. And they all tasted great, and even better, when i tasted them all at once...like how i sometimes listen to three videos at once...can see thing sin the taste, like can in relation of sounds and my silent reactions. Yum yum gimmie some. Three meals, and then three walks down a street, at the same time, different mes in different dreams...but all tied together...they all merge on the level of dream narrator/recorder...the awareness closest to the tonal me. All three of me (was more even, but i couldn't hold that many at once for long periods of time) find a stick. A thick branch, laying in each version of the street. Its..carved, roughly, like painting done with a trowel, or beaten copper, or....in one version...chainsaw art. On one level, it was as if the guy who stole the tree carved it. On another, a painter like van gogh, and on a third, a blacksmith beat it with a hammer. What it WAS....it was an animal. Like a wolf, but if i turned, it was...could be a jaguar. I did not look at it alone. I was with...a poster, that lives in my area. I wanted to ask somebody local about something i wasnt sure what, so this person was here. The head of the thing...the art/totem creature. Was a animal skull...carved, painted, beaten...with no flesh. From the skull, which seemed odd on the body, were two tapered branches. One sticking almost straight up and one from th side of the face curving to the left. It was left for me to find, and it was full of power/energy. And i did touch it. But i consulted with the local lady, and we did not pick it up yet...was no need. For you see, after we looked at it, when we were done...it got up, and walked to the left, following the curving branch. And dissapeared into a wall/forest/void. (was a bit different on each level). And then, i woke for the day.