Closing the Gap

6 days until the the frog comes again. Perhaps I should’ve scheduled it on the New Moon, but moons, crystals, magic, all that stuff is just superstitious gibberish. At least, it seems to be anyway. Nonetheless, the frog is most definitely a savior on a cross, so to speak. The frog is very real, & the frog abides. The sweet sleep has to end, as yours truly must navigate this 3d prison planet with clear mind & strong body. Things are on the precipice, & each day that goes by, we get closer, & closer, & closer…to what though? What are we getting closer to? Death, that’s one thing, but that’s not what I’m referring to. I’m thinking maybe there was some kind of event we all incarnated to bear witness to. Maybe not. Maybe it is all for not. Just like the rotting swamp gas stench, it’s all just decay, death beginning immediately upon birth, like a once-flooded coastal wasteland, but what happens the other way? So many questions, & the worst part is that we all have the answers, only we’ve lost our memories, we’ve lost our “higher” abilities, & we’ve lost our minds, in many cases. Some don’t seem to have a mind, like real-life, real-time NPCs, so I guess they have nothing to lose, but I digress. Just like shutting off a vacuum cleaner. Nonetheless, the 3-year stint of of the silent assassin ends Monday. No more auto-pilot, no more days in laze, the purgatorial penance dawns on 6 days from now. The end? Or…the end?

The salad days are long dead & gone, & one comes to a time in their respective lives where they realize the party is over, the Great Party of being young is done. There’s nothing but moldy crushed bits of plastic red cups on the floor, something smoldering in the kitchen, & everyone else is gone, been gone, long gone, so what will you do? You weren’t supposed to get this far, but you have, so now what? Live in the party house forever, sleeping on couch cushions on a floor, until the roof caves in? Can’t just wait for the societal collapse now can we? How does one prepare for a “future” in this wicked world of debt slavery? So many questions, so many questions. Until next time dear readers, when the party ends, it’s over, & it’s time to move on. So sayeth FisH™…🎏

Carousel Mall

Another bizarre dream, & I woke up throbbing wet. Old acquaintances were there, but only a few, & everyone else I did not know, yet is was SO FUCKING REAL. What can these dreams mean? How can I even describe this one? Hmmm…I’m going to have smoke & a pancake, let it replay a bit in my heady head, the head with a bottomless throat I’ll be right back. Hang tight, dear readers, for this is for all of you, & for none of you at all.

Oh man, how am I going to illustrate this? These dreams, these dreams I am having, what can they mean? I was in a mall of sorts, a mall of liminal space, filled with walking avatars, animated, for now anyway, until nary a soul, strolls no more, lost in a langoleirian time loop. They come, they stroll, they go, & nothing remains. There were no stores, like regular mall stores, it was all vendors, but what were they selling? Gah, it’s fading, dissolving away, like salt on a liquified spoon. I remember something, some girl was “selling” something, but there was no money, what did she have, what was she selling? Did I run into another girl, that girl? There’s a girl, you see, she comes into my dreams sometimes, only sometimes, & I wake up, heart on the floor, as she’s gone, disappeared once again. In this one, she asked me for heroin…YIKES…say what? “No, you silly girl,” but that’s not what I actually said, of course. Such an odd request, especially from her, yet when she asked, I replied without hesitation, “Yeah, actually I do have some, all we need are bangers,” & then POOF, she was gone, because we all kept walking along the moving floors, strolling through this mall, this downtown carousel mall. I tried hard to find her again, only to find my hardened life-pumper, beating in bits, scattered in the ceiling lights. We kept walking; I saw old comrades, albeit, just comrades, but not those friends, these were just mad lads that were never in the circle, outside the stone-hengian circle.

There were performers, doing some kind of happy hands show, & we kept walking. Again, I knew some, but didn’t know most.”Every moment I’m awake, the further I’m away.”(Heart) GET OUT OF MY HEAD…ARGGGGH!!! Why is this song stuck in the computer atop my neck? “Words that have no form, falling from these lips.”(Heart). Sheesh, go away heartworm, I’m trying to write for fuck’s sake. Now where was I? Oh yes, the girl, that girl. She was all I was looking for, I think, maybe I was looking for something/someone else. Forgot about the request for heroin, but where did she go? We walked, & walked, I tried to talk, so I talked, but I cannot recall the conversations, there was too much static in the attic, & the convos seemed to make no sense, to anyone. Whoops, a girl falls, but it’s someone else, some other girl, a wook chick, just a drunkard hippie. I fell too, right behind her, & I don’t know why, maybe the floor was wet, who knows? No “wet floor” signs, & can I even see my feet? When I got up, the wookette shippie was gone. Disorientation. Why did I fall? I took off my jacket; I threw my jacket, & something else, but I don’t know what, behind a random vendor’s shop, & I had to come back for these things later. I walked outside via an exit door, & saw a scene, a path, moistened with mud & mud-puddles, curving to the right before slightly curving left, leading to what appeared to be a neighborhood, two of the pseudo-friends began to run towards it, I had an inkling to follow, to check out the burbish neighborhood, but I did not run away with them, so I turned, & walked back through the exit door, which was now an entrance, & when I did, the doors changed, so to speak, & what was there when I walked out the door, wasn’t there anymore when I walked back in. I was back in the mall, surely the carousel mall, which is where I wanted to be, to look for something, but what was I looking for? Regardless of the search query, I was back, but “backstage,” you might say, behind the firewall, behind the scenes of the mall, inward looking outward now. There was something making smoke, like a hidden fog machine, but I could not see where the purple clouds came from. I could see the vendors, but now from the other side, the backroom world behind the stores, yet I couldn’t see what they were doing, or what they were selling. Yes, as I said, I forgot about the heroin, but I still remembered her, I always do, ya know?…& so, I walked to try to find my way back into the mall of vendors, & walkers, back to the outside looking inside. It was 4:13 in the morning, but how did I know that?

There was a guy selling food, like the guys on the street shilling for peep show profits, but I can’t see what the food is. The food is being served from a circular bar, with no way in or out, & he was the hawker, yet also giving out plastic red wax-papered plates of the food, but damnit, what was it? Was that a free sample? I didn’t take any. It was some kind of broken taco thing, with lines of aioli over the top of the Mexican medley. What else, what else? Why do these dreams fade so fast, especially when they seem so real? Frustrations, & I close my eyes, I try to remember, but the dream has been shattered, like a smashed mirror, & I am picking up pieces of the shards, looking into them, piece by piece, staring at the moving pictures in the shard’s reflections, then attempting to illustrate them here. My face wasn’t reflecting back, yet I still looked, piece by piece, maybe to find her, I don’t know, I can’t say either way. I hate when I lose this one; I always lose her. It’s soul-crushed sadness when I awake, & she’s gone, yet again, & I’m back here in 3d, yet again. I thought the carousel went round & round. Hmmm…

Fuck, it’s all just flashes of distorted recollections now, the shards have broken themselves into glassy dust, & I can no longer fish-eye the details, the details of this dream, yet another ultra-lucid dream, with no cell phones, no internet, no money, none of the artificiality of 3d Clownworld, as it is here, here where I’m still stuck. It’s outer-dimensional, per se, but from what dimension? What can it mean?

We were all just walking aimlessly, & I never made it to the second floor. I wanted to find the under-level, or the over-level perhaps; the stairs to go down, or up, or maybe there’s an elevator, or an escalator, but nope, all in vain, to no avail. These dreams, these overcasting skies, with no Sun to see, to light them back up. That feeling was there though, that novel sensation, if you will, along with the feeling of taking LSD. How could I have known that LSD was involved? Strange, but yet, the feeling was there, atop the Kundalini serpent in my spine, with eyes dilated wide, so wide, my jaw, dropped in awe, in wonder, stuck in the novelty, I suppose. That’s it, that’s the feeling, the feeling of novelty, I was drenched in it, like a sweaty wakeup call, & I can still feel it, it’s perfect, Divine perfection incarnate. I wish I could swim in said novelty, this heated pool of novelty, of novel times, forever & ever. Is that the meaning, the real meaning of life, if you take away everything else, is the meaning to discover novelty, to find it, & embrace it, like finding buried treasure, is that it, finding novelty? The Great Novelty Hunt, one could say, as I just said, so I’m the one, the one, the one saying it. Damnit, it’s all just fading away now, as I am awake, awakened back here. My chest tightens, the eyes spy salty drops dripping down, & I accept my fate, like a man condemned to death by a firing squad, once again. How will I ever find her, & even more-so, how will I find the way back? I sink into sadness, into madness, as once again, I’ve lost her, lost her inside the carousel mall, which now, is also lost, lost in the linearity of the 4d time-wheel.

Here it goes again…gah, “Every second of the night, I live another life, & every moment I’m awake, the further I’m away”(Heart). Why? Where does it come from? I haven’t heard this song in a decade, what the hell? This jukebox mind of mine, it frustrates me. Why are these songs on endless Ouroborosian loops, always playing, never pausing, why? I can’t say I particularly like Heart; I don’t dislike them either. I’m Switzerlandish about that band, yet it’s odd, very synchronous, that this song, this particular song, is loop loop looping now, like an ear-ring worm, ring ring ringing. This Dune sandworm earbug has burrowed itself into my brain it seems, dropping its spice, which can be quite nice. It must be a big one; where did it come from? Crawling up my leg, wrapping around my thigh, then around my waist, tickling my swinging shwing-shwang. Now, up, up it goes, up up up encircling my spine, the neon electric spinal road, round & round, up it goes, to the bottom of my neck. The snake coils, noosing itself around my neck, tightening the hangman’s rope, tighter & tighter, choking me, choking me, suffocating me, until alas, it releases me, right before the black dot disappears, as the road ends at the top, the golden crown. The destination is my earhole, & it’s crawling into my ear, diving deep, submarining down into the grey matter, down to the Titanic, then back to the crown, the golden light crown, atop my meat suit, but still I wonder, I ponder, where did it come from? Very strange, very strange it tis, for tizzler.

NOTE: Everything in quotes is NOT mine. Credit to Ann & Nancy Wilson. As a writer, committing the atrocious crime of word-thievery is absolutely UNACCEPTABLE. I’m no word-thief, & I give all the credit to those 2 gems, who happen to be exceptionally amazing song-writers, & thus, I respect them with quotation marks, respectively. NEVER take anyone else’s words without accrediting the real writers…NEVER, don’t do it. “WE are the music makers, & WE are the dreamers of the dreams,” which is from a poem by Arthur O’Shaughnessy. I’ll post it below.

The pen powerful, smashing swords, nary a sword cannot mirror, despite swing-slashing metal, the letters shield, as the blood falls, & the noose breaks the neck, from a fallen warriors hell, memories asunder. Enjoy the poem below, yours truly first read it when I was a young lad, & it has stuck with me, for most of my Bukowskian life..& that is all. So sayeth FisH™

Ode

BY ARTHUR O’SHAUGHNESSY

“We are the music makers,

    And we are the dreamers of dreams,

Wandering by lone sea-breakers,

    And sitting by desolate streams; —

World-losers and world-forsakers,

    On whom the pale moon gleams:

Yet we are the movers and shakers

    Of the world for ever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties

We build up the world’s great cities,

    And out of a fabulous story

    We fashion an empire’s glory:

One man with a dream, at pleasure,

    Shall go forth and conquer a crown;

And three with a new song’s measure

    Can trample a kingdom down.

We, in the ages lying,

    In the buried past of the earth,

Built Nineveh with our sighing,

    And Babel itself in our mirth;

And o’erthrew them with prophesying

    To the old of the new world’s worth;

For each age is a dream that is dying,

    Or one that is coming to birth.

A breath of our inspiration

Is the life of each generation;

    A wondrous thing of our dreaming

    Unearthly, impossible seeming —

The soldier, the king, and the peasant

    Are working together in one,

Till our dream shall become their present,

    And their work in the world be done.

They had no vision amazing

Of the goodly house they are raising;

    They had no divine foreshowing

    Of the land to which they are going:

But on one man’s soul it hath broken,

    A light that doth not depart;

And his look, or a word he hath spoken,

    Wrought flame in another man’s heart.

And therefore to-day is thrilling

With a past day’s late fulfilling;

    And the multitudes are enlisted

    In the faith that their fathers resisted,

And, scorning the dream of to-morrow,

    Are bringing to pass, as they may,

In the world, for its joy or its sorrow,

    The dream that was scorned yesterday.

But we, with our dreaming and singing,

    Ceaseless and sorrowless we!

The glory about us clinging

    Of the glorious futures we see,

Our souls with high music ringing:

    O men! it must ever be

That we dwell, in our dreaming and singing,

    A little apart from ye.

For we are afar with the dawning

    And the suns that are not yet high,

And out of the infinite morning

    Intrepid you hear us cry —

How, spite of your human scorning,

    Once more God’s future draws nigh,

And already goes forth the warning

    That ye of the past must die.

Great hail! we cry to the comers

    From the dazzling unknown shore;

Bring us hither your sun and your summers;

    And renew our world as of yore;

You shall teach us your song’s new numbers,

    And things that we dreamed not before:

Yea, in spite of a dreamer who slumbers,

    And a singer who sings no more.”