the craziness of it all

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Last night I didn't take a chill pill. Billy'd started hammering me with forwards from his inbox and Adler sent me snippets of new fillers for his documentary and I was trying to relax into some old Johnny Carson and Dean Martin roasts. Everything all piled in at once, and it was pretty late.

Suddenly, I started really feeling like bed, and was trying to mop up on my computer for today, but I started feeling kind of queasy and sickish and leaden just in a snap from ordinary to OMG. I turned on the SOGCast and got flat.

I was in Russia and deciding to get to a sort of cross between a conference center and a public house, thinking the coast would be clear and maybe I could just chill with people, talk about whatever. It was iffy. They couldn't really pick between being open to the public or closed for the evening and I was waiting for their determination.

People were milling around. It was getting dark. They decided to be open another hour and I went in. I was glad Tilt was there to talk about how things were done by Special Forces back in the day because young people would be needing to hear that stuff. I just roamed around in the building and listened. I'd stop and linger over here or back there. During one such stop a man came up from behind to embrace me.

I knew it was Eighty-Six before he could even turn me to face him. We just dropped right into a very long and so familiar kiss. It was not exciting. It was not even sexual anymore. It was just us kissing how we kiss and have kissed for our whole lives, for all those millennia.

I wasn't happy or sorry to see him. Just all of a sudden back in our millennia.

Then he wasn't with me, but the place was closing and I wondered if I'd see him outside. He hurried from nowhere to catch me and leave with me, and we walked together down the long covered blocks to... wherever... and then he was not there anymore, but Jim, my fairly long dead oldest school days friend was.

Jim was a very, very bad alcoholic. He'd do okay if he just had a beer or two, but the very first sip of hard booze and he turned into Mr. Hyde SO fast it astonished anyone who witnessed it. By the time he died, I had already not spoken to him or seen him in many years, but here he was... a shade corporealizing into his teenaged form, only this time not just fucked up and funny and loving, no, an incarnation of homicidal hatred.

The more I tried to engage with him, the hotter the psychosis waffling through my dreamscape from my old buddy became. I told him to go away, and the dread of him didn't really ebb right away when he obeyed.

But soon enough I was noticing this beautiful young lady who kept popping in here and there to remonstrate with me about my every move was keeping it up. I mean, you don't bother interacting with a young stranger and her stupid opinions until it's the fourth or fifth time she's passed through with her "sage" advice about nothing at all.

Finally, I stopped her. Grabbed her sleeve as she was making one of her passes on her way to serve at a soup kitchen or whatever bodhisattva busybody endeavor she was about. Asked her how old she was. Twenty.

Do you not think that correcting someone with fifty years of life experience on you is not only rude, impertinent, but stupid? Maybe you ought to go off and give that a think instead of pestering me with your twaddle.

Then, another young lady had come to tell me that something was going wrong at Trish and Scott's house. Everybody comes with me to live wherever I am, you know. Well, okay, I'll go over there and see what I can do. I have their key.

Trish has gone off into full CNNazism and Scott's not into straightening it out, so we don't talk much anymore, but we're still friends of a million years and I have their key, so I figure they're not home and I should go tend to whatever is causing alarm.

Well, I thought the place had been vandalized. A couple of their gorgeous wood tables had either been whittled down to mere shades of their former selves or been replaced by seriously crappy excuses for tables. I was greatly alarmed and running for the phone to call the police, when I realized they were home and fully aware of this calamity. Only they didn't think it calamitous. They had thought it improved the decor.

It was at this point in my state of vexation when the need to pee forced me awake.

The sleep circus has all three rings and countless and shifting side shows going on at all times. This particular gift of a nice long dreaming is due to many days of sleep deprivation followed by two nights of chill pills to keep me from losing it from no sleep. That is when all the missed deep sleeping and dreaming cycles pile onto each other and play out on my bed.

This is the first time it started to make me sick before I could get flat for it.

Now I need some peace to assess the Zen messages I was sending myself.

pipe up any time....