(old dream from 3/2003) i was an investigative reporter for a newsapaper or cable news channel or something, and I was questioning a 'dirty' police sgt. (kevin spacey). apparently i was asking too many questions. because he accused me on the spot of being involved in a drug ring and i was arrested. later, i was in an interigation room and drugged. rookie-cop-looking types who had been handling me left the room and in came kevin spacey. he proceeded to ask me questions, demanding that i divulge my sources, and how i was on to him. the drugs i was on rendered me numb all over. kevin began pulling out my teeth in order to get me to 'talk'. he wasn't pullign so much as he was grabbing them with pliers and twisting. i could feel a dull sensation of the twisting and the roots of my teeth were pulling things along with it as they rotated, pulling and ripping other things along with it. kevin seemed suprised that he was causing this much damage, but remarked that it wasn't his problem because he would have me fixed up and duped somewhere and i wouldn't remeber a thing. as he was doing this, i was thinking to myself- 'i don't know why o'm onto him... i just know that i've seen this movie before. if i explain to him that this is just a movie and i'm not really a reporter, he'll think i'm really crazy.'
...that's all. i know i saw a sceene like this in a movie, but int he movie the evil dentist/interigator was a former nazi/SS guy with white hair called 'the angel of death'. and he did not use novicane!

(old dream) 02.14.03: i was in a hotel with my friend ron who is a globe-trotting backpacker who is on a 1 1/2 year world tour while on leave form his job as a mergers & aquisitions consultant with a big-deal NYC firm. we were in some south american or african 3rd world country in a dirty, sprawling city. we were up in a high-rise apartment building, watching the sun set through the smog. it was a humid, hot evening. i met ron's travel companions, including a guy named christian. i realize i have dreadlocks, or at least what feels like dreadlocks. my hair was long, and woven into braids with thin strips of dark leather, so they felt heavy and thick. one strand starting from the back, left side of my head was woven differently than all the rest and with a lighter shade of brown leather. that's all i remeber.

last night I had a dream that I was in a church. up past the altar was a moving display, with life-size depictions of jesus and god the father. they were like robotic mannequins with rubber skin. they moved and spoke in an impressive, realistic way; yet, they were obviously fake. jesus looked like he was half-caucasian/half-asian. they were dressed in contemporary clothes, apparently meant to help us identify with them. the two of them talked and even argues a little. jesus was taking care of a baby at one point, which was presumably his son. ... this was part of a larger, weird dream; but it is the only portion i can recall

I was driving to work this morning and listening to my car stereo. The song playing was "it was just a dream" by minor drawf souce, from their album "the war concept". I often sing this song to my son, who is now 7 months old. Usually, I do so when I am holding him and trying to calm him down or get him to go to sleep. I know he recognizes it when I sing, because he usually stops fussing or crying, and he calms down and listens. I looked out of the window as I saw drivign and listening and I saw a wild turkey in the grass off of route 80. That's all for now.

so long as i am not tied up at work, i look forward to spending quality time with my son (when he is a little older) doing fun stuff like: making art; building things; creating, in general. but i doubt very much it will rise to the level of building our own battle bot. we will probably stick with things like arts-and-crafts, snow men, or model airplanes or something. still, it should be fun. ...other games we will play: hide and go seek; building sandcastles; hopscotch, maybe?

so i am in my new office now. it's OK. it is an office with a door rather than a cube; however, there are no windows. i hear that before they put an addition on this building this office used to have a window; but now it is just a wall behind me. oh well. there's a picture there now. its a print of the avenue by 17th century dutch painter Meindert Hobbema. it shows the village and church of Middelharnis in the province of South Holland. it figures that it's dutch because this company is based holland. that and i recognize it anyway; i knew my college art history would come in handy sometime. so...

when i went back to the post office this week i picked up one of those damn rubber bands. there was a mail man standing on the loading dock lighting up a cigarette but he did not see me. there was a weird onld man lurking around the parking lot when i came out; i don't know if he saw me either. i don't know what I am going to do with it. it's sort of dirty; so i don't really want to touch it. It's just sitting in my car console. if you think i'm dwelling on this rubber band a little to much, you should understand there are other people out there who put me to shame.

i got out of my car this morning and there were several pairs of geese waddling around the parking lot of my building. likewise, there was goose crap everywhere. so yes, spring is here, despite the fact that it briefly snowed yesterday and it's cold out. last year there were a couple of geese who made a nest right in the middle of our parking lot. i guess they thought it was a good spot at the time because the lot was mostly empty and the building was under construction. it all worked out because there weren't many cars at the time. so they had some little goslings and they left the parking lot and headed for the nearby pond. ...but i wonder if the same pair will come back to try to nest there again this year. that would be dangerous, there are cars zipping around like crazy these days. i'm lucky if i make it from my car to the door without getting run over. today i move to a new building, so i guess i'll have to wait and see, once i'm coming back here for meetings or something.

so i went to the post office after lunch. i parked next door at the bank, and i cut through over an old toppled-over wood fence around the back of the post office. as i walked along the paking lot and i noticed many rubber bands on the ground. they were most concentrated by a run-down-looking loading dock on the back corner of the building. i had a passing thought about stopping to bend down and pick up some rubber bands, but i just kept walking. once inside, while placing my letters in the 'out of town' slot, i though to myself: i need rubber bands, i don't have any at my desk, and i need some at home too. i should pick some up. on my way out i noticed that the handicapped/wheelchair lift next to the stairs was surrounded by, and also filled, with many empty boxes and other random things like a crumpled up blue shirt. i thought that was odd. i came outside and back around the building, and as i walked i looked down again at the many rubber bands. i decided not to pick up any rubber bands. it just felt like weird thing to do, picking up rubber bands off the ground behind the post office. so i continued on and stepped over the toppled fence and on into my car, and drove back to the office.

i have to start packing up my office soon. i have to move out of this cubicle and into an office a few town's away. the good news is i will have an office with a door as opposed to an open-air cube. the bad news is i will have an old crappy desk and no windows. strangely enough, i will be moving back to this very same building again in a few months. that's the way things work around here.

a short play in one act

ACT 1.
the stage is empty, dimly lit.
enter c2677, dressed in all black,
wearing thin brass rimmed glasses.

c2677:"good evening ladies and gentleman,
this is the story of my life..."

enter dancing fools and clowns
one by one, two at first
then tree and more...
dancing around him.
dressed in tight body suits
their faces are painted but
the suits are bight solid colors
yellows, pinks and blues
also others in drab browns, grays
the dance and fight
and kick each other
they gesture, meaninglessly
all undulating and flowing
in a chaos that seems to have an order.
their form is perfect, the dancers move skillfully
and silently. eerie silence.
barely audible are the light scuffling of
feet and the heaving chests,
the breathing.
this continues for an hour,
until the dancers tire out
and collapse on top of one another
and are dragged off stage by
one by one
stage hands, dressed in black.

as the last exhausted dancer is dragged away,
revealed is the defeated, contorted, lifeless body
of c2677.

the cast of dancers return on stage,
lift him above their arms
and carry him to the front of the stage
and throw him into the orchestra pit
which if filled with a full cast of professional
musicians, fully prepared and rehearsed
to play beautiful music (the score, written,
rehearsed, but never played), but who are forced
to sit and sweat show after show, knowing
that their only purpose
is to have c2677 thrown upon them.
his body lands in between the percussion
instruments and the brass section
a horrible uproar of crashing, falling cymbals,
drums, triangles, and sticks. bending, cracking wood
and metal. the orchestra members scramble and abandon
their priceless instruments, as the cast of clown-like
dancers sacks the pit in a mad rush.
they disperse. lingering echoes of the
madness trail off, giving in once again
to the silence.

curtain closes, lights dim.

the audience roars.

FIN.

Chicopee Collection # 164

crying in your beer- think about the lockout
nowhere to bounce your ball or to talk
-explain to yourself that you are a good boy
-the nasty bottle made me do this
setting yourself up with an excuse-
you unfold its synthetic rainbow wings
and glide, glide away-

Chicopee Collection # 163

they joys of circular reasoning.
i dreamt about ted danson-
we met a blind street sculptor
whose chisel and fingernails would
rub across the faces of the men he carved-
clickity- clickity- click- click click
clickity click- click- click- click...

Chicopee Collection # 162

i do battle every day on the net, trying to convince people
that they're being stupid. and what for! they think
i'm stupid too. have we learned anything from each other?
i think we're just getting better at arguing.

Chicopee Collection # 160

smushed small stepped-on wrecked smothered
tattered discarded cast-aside forgotten rebuked
shunned shut-down insignificant unimportant
wrong mistake forbidden shut-out
there's a wall there
stopped smothered (again)
walk away in shame, walk away and think
shitty low unworthy useless
go home and lay down in bed, hug your pillow
and think about how you don't
know how to tell her how you feel

Chicopee Collection # 156

i memorized the cracks on the ceiling
started down the faces in the blinds
listened to the trees whisper
through the window
i've watched the clock
waited by the phone
listened for the door
i've driven around
following the dotted line
and i've sat in the diner and
started into a cup
"but no one i've found,
no one i've found"

Chicopee Collection # 153

I got in my car and unwrapped a new air freshener
and hung it around my rear view mirror (when
i reattached that mirror the glue ran down the wind shield
a little and it looks like shit) I hung the
new air freshener in its place and i put the old one
with the others around my gear shift- i looked
at the red one there and i tried to remember
when my car smelled like sherry smoke, but
the smell of vanilla flavored smoke was all
too strong in my mind. i thought about
putting my cigarette out on the new air freshener
but it was not done yet. i probably shouldn't
because it will make my car smell like burning
synthetic foam shit vanilla cigarette hell-
i started the car (and) watched the green console
lights go on. I had enough gas to get me to
nowhere, whenever i decide where nowhere is-
i pick a direction to turn in- and try to keep
my eyes on the road while driving with one knee
and counting how many cagarettes i have left.
in taking a final drag from my cigarette i
decide not to ash out the window becuase i'm
afraid the cherry will blow away, and i'm not in the
mood to negotiate with my car cigarette
lighter to spark up a new one- chain smoking
somehow seems justified- when your arteries
are hardening and your blood is thinning and you're
too tired to turn around and head home...

Chicopee Collection # 149

am i flesh or am i stone
am i rotting or eroding, quietly-
kiss the dust on my hands
i will not appear clever at all

Chicopee Collection # 148

Robot tops or upper half ends in chairs
their arms could drag them but
they'd rather not move
they've given up

Robot tops or upper half ends toppled
reach for each other, pushing to the door
the scrape on the not-so-soft floor
or not at all

Robot tops or halves
scratch the darkness with sparks
the lights are out but their eyes glow
so they see

Robot tops
run their fingers over greasy holes
where the cables began
once, when they were whole

Chicopee Collection # 147

I am looking for my keys- and i walk in and out
of the room seven or eight times trying to
figure out if i'm missing anything- trying to
find something to look for-
looking for something to look for
but i can't afford to be late-
i've got a one way tiket to you

Chicopee Collection # 146

poem # 1
i suspect that i am upsetting you my dear,
no worry, it will all be over soon -
the sun is setting in an orange explosion
on the horizon, and if you turn you can
see stars- the man with the telescope on
the corner finds us guilty of passing by
and shining lights on his face
- and then i remember looking for crescent moons
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^in the grass