Solace

The club I owned was a clip joint. It was called the 9 o’clock Club. It was a corner store front with a second floor apartment.
Outside on the night wild streets older teens made a tower out of wood pallets. It was 20 feet tall. It was their lookout. They entered through an opening and climbed up the inside to post on its top and watch.
We existed nervously together.
They were a trap family, always strapped, and dangerous. But, from what I could overhear from their conversations from my second floor, funny as fuck.
They wanted inside the joint.
Management wasn’t happy and carded extensively.
Kids like them didn’t have ID.
I had a plan to friend them. We built a room for them on top of their tower while they were sleeping during the day. Like a forestry lookout tower room.
They loved it.
One of them was Solace, a boy I had met in the mid 90s when I was teaching with Bob. Solace was so quite. He always looked as if he would start crying. He was a sad boy. Maybe 11. One day I tied his shoe and when I lookd up at him his tear fell on my face.
A boy without consolation.

My dream last night. Solace exists outside of it.

Early

My sleep was loaded with you.
We were in a rotating landscape of houses, alleys, garages.
Significant that the alleys were concrete and not black asphalt for white settings dominate my perfect dreams.
The scenes kept shifting but we remained together. We were consistently and successfully dodging something intangible.
You were awkward which charmed me and oddly decisive.
I thought you were tolerating me when a hidden affection escaped through your hands. I caught some of it when an abbreviated smile landed in my hair.
I woke rubbing my head and listening to the cries from various crows as they passed over the house.
I woke smiling.

The End

The evening lurched against me, dropped, and pooled at my ankles.
This is inky business. Sometimes so crushed we don't know we are in pain.
Drenched with night as I listened to a woman pretend she will continue. Broken with terror. My teeth just gritty.
She extends her empty hands and I understand her. We were both drafts.
She was never meant to be. And now. Here.
She/Who loved me.
Said. You/Who are the original. (see/who, she/who was proud of She/Me.
Almost eved at multiples. It was She/Who. Gave heart, ate heart, shattered.
What's in my/me heart I/me didn't put there.
Who/She knows that my/mine sister knows. Ask. She/Who too broken with teeth,grit.

I was skating in a memory will listening to The End by the first Goth Band, The Doors.

One of my Dreams about Barack Obama. My Forever President. 2020

In my dream I was in a massive hotel looking over a swelling river with a lot of other official people. Some doomsday effect was going down. Perhaps the river had ruptured and exhausted lives. Maybe the sun was leaking and we were all quarantined. Something deadly.
I had a bossy management position where comprehensive and authoritative decisions were expected.
I was tired. My teeth hurt and were being crushed by other teeth.
The party was contrived and rife with men.
I gazed at the bulging river through distorted hotel glass.
I liked the music being played in the room, upbeat in contrast to the view.
Barack Obama walked into the room. I felt relief.
Instantly everything changed. Someone offered him a drink. He was relaxed, happy, and not self conscious.
People were taking photos of him with their phones.
I asked him to dance and he stared at me.
I usually say the wrong thing so I only mildly flinched at his non response.
You're so short, he said. It would be like dancing with a child.
He lifted me onto an ottoman with casters and this is how we danced. With my hand on his shoulder he slid me about the room.
You can fix everything, I told him.
No, he said, i just know how to dance.

Dream. 2013

The dawn light was a dazzling naplam bright on a planet armed to the peaks.
Pist toasted me with a glass of sparkling wine in the kitchen. Bombs away, baby, he said.
I woke, choking.

Wow, I thought when I saw this photo, Cheap Sleeps!

Shizuoka Press and Broadcasting. 1967. Kenzo Tange. Photo by Foto_momo.
A close variation on this building appeared in my dreams years ago. It was called 'hotel' Cheap Sleeps.
The structures on its sides were sleeping chambers in my post nuclear landscape dream.
It was a recurring nightmare.
I owned the business with Johnny Depp who I pretty much hated and thought of as a slacker because he only worked the office while I had to maintain the building.
In my dream it was a corten steel structure shaped like a cigar.
And sometimes a cigar is just a cigar!

Dream

What woke me: Dreaming of a male doctor straddling my body with a hot iron in his left hand about to descend and 'burn the cancer out of my chest'. I'm talking about an ironing board iron. I was screaming at him that we needed to discuss the treatment when I woke.
I much preferred the amusing hummingbird dream of yesternight.
The poor hummingbird circling my head thinking sweetness was in there. No, I don't have cancer but a friend is currently in treatment.

Cheap Sleeps

Wow!
A variation on this building appeared in my dreams years ago. It was called Cheap Sleeps and it was a business I operated with my business partner, J Depp. Yeah, that guy.
The structures on its sides were sleeping chambers in my post nuclear landscape dream.
It was a recurring dream.
I owned the business with Johnny who I hated and thought of as a slacker. I had to maintain the building.
In my dream it was a cor-ten steel structure shaped like a silo with cigar shaped sleeping chambers attached.
It had a lift inside and people could rent it for 9 hours.
It had a blue neon sign that proclaimed, Cheap Sleeps.
I love how my brain works when I'm not thinking!
And sometimes a cigar is just a cigar!
Not my photo of the Shizuoka Press and Broadcasting Center by architect Kenzo Tange was built in Tokyo, Japan in 1967.

Dreaming about My Forever President

In the dream I was in a massive hotel with a lot of official people looking over a dark and swelling river.
Some doomsday effect was going down. Perhaps the river had ruptured and exhausted lives.
Maybe the sun was leaking and we were quarantined.
Something inense.
I held a bossy management position. Comprehensive and authoritative decisions were expected of me.
Disaster management.
I was tired. My teeth hurt and were being crushed by other teeth. The party was contrived and rife with white men.
I gazed at the bulging river through distorted hotel glass.
I liked the music being played in the room, upbeat in contrast to the view.
Barak Obama walked into the room. I felt relief. I grinned at him.

The sun appeared all crisp and new.
The mood instantly changed. Someone offered him a drink.

He was relaxed and happy.
People were taking photos of him with their phones.
I asked him to dance and he stared at me.
You're so short, he said. It would be like dancing with a child.
He lifted me onto an ottoman with casters and this is how we danced. My hand on his shoulder as he slid me about the room. I was laughing with delight.
You can fix anything, I told him.
No, he said, I just know how to dance.