He Turned Into a Lady

I dreamed I was at Bob Dylan's house in Malibu, where I occupied a large recliner chair in the living room. I'd been there all day and, although I was with him and a number of other people, listening to music, drinking wine and talking, he didn't acknowledge me. He didn't ignore me, I was just one of the guests, no one important.

He put different albums on the stereo—all vinyl discs—but none of the music really registered on me. It was good background music, the kind that people talk over in small gatherings like this one. It was Dylan's music, of course, and, although I liked most of it, none of it stood out to me as being anything new or any different from anything he'd released over the years. Mostly, I just enjoyed being there, looking out at the Pacific Ocean while listening to Dylan and his friends talking, laughing, and feeling relaxed and mellow.

This went on for what felt like all night. Finally, this morning, right before I woke up, he put on a copy of an album he was about to release, what we used to call an acetate. It was zydeco inspired, unique, all Dylan, and it was amazing. One song in particular possessed my attention, one in a minor key. I told everyone to be quiet and listen, that this was something special, and we listened.

Toward the end of the recording Dylan stood up to leave the room and he came over to where I sat, took my hand in his, and walked behind me around the chair. When I looked up at him again, he'd turned into a Lady, refined, elegant, generous. I kissed his (her) hand in gratitude and the exchange of feelings between us was so tender, I was deeply moved. I felt as if he/she had bestowed on a me a pure and significant blessing.

The music is still in my head, and that's blessing enough.

All I See is Black

Every now and then I have a dream in which everything conforms to one idea. Back in the 1970s, for instance, I had a dream in which everything in it started with the letter C. Carrots, caps, China, etc. Last night I dreamed of black...

Play It Again

During the time that I've been writing my trilogy, I've gotten into the practice of going to Gordon via meditation when I need inspiration, ambition, or to be unblocked. Believing that our characters are often no more than undeveloped facets of our own personalities, I feel that we writers have access to these when we need them...

Two More of My Weird-Assed Dreams

Dream #1-Friday: I was in New York City, dressed in black velvet and a big, droopy hat. I was sitting in a little cafe in the Village, listening to some cat at my table going on about how he touches fire. He was Jack Kerouac...

My Amazing, Death-Defying, Brave Face Trick

I've had enough of this crap. I'm sick of it, and I'm bored. I'm bored with myself for being so damned boring. In fact, I'm so sick and bored with it all, I don't want to talk about it, don't want to blog about it, don't want to think about it...

Weekend Be Good

As one of my characters, Noel, would say, "Bollocks, it's been a fookin' week!" And no, that's not me in the picture. I considered taking one of myself in the same pose, but it's just too much work. I did take two Excedrin along with my usual Thyroidzilla repellent this morning. Hey, two of those caffeine-laden puppies and a cup of coffee get me feeling half-human...

Leaks, Dreams, Cats

For the past couple of nights I've dreamed of leaky roofs. When I looked up what this meant, I read, "The roof leaking... shows that higher thoughts assembled by the subconscious mind are coming down to you, or they will be coming to you."

This makes perfect sense to me because I'm currently writing this book and since both of the dreams took place in Gordon's house, I take the dreams to mean that I'm gaining more insight into his life (a house represents a person's life). I think this is pretty damned cool...

Coffee, Tea, or Blah

For some reason I've woken up every morning this past week in a funk. Nothing serious, just a mild, temporary depression. There's no reason for it; life is better than it has been in years, the kitchen's stocked, and I'm creative again. As soon as I have my first coffee it goes away, but that initial 20 minutes is hell. Come to think of it, it happens when I wake up from a nap, too, and only a good cup of tea can chase it away. Is this something that has to do with age? God, I hope not. Being an optimistic sort, I'm going to say that it's this winter weather...

In Reality, What is Reality?

What if the Matrix were real? And, really, how can we know that it isn't? Hell, how can we know anything with any kind of certainty anyway? There are those who say that to live in an imposed dream state is impossible both mathematically and scientifically, but what if that thinking is in itself part of the illusion created to keep us from finding out the true nature of our reality?...

The Intergalactic World Wide Web Somethingorother

Well, now I know without a doubt that I'm experiencing blogger guilt for not posting as much as I'd like to. Last night, or this morning, I should say, I dreamed that Blogger sent out a message that if we didn't respond to a certain confirmation email within the hour, our blogs would get deleted. They were trying to get rid of all the dead blogs and marketing schlogs...

Thank You

I love waking up on mornings like this one. It's crisp and clear as a bell outside and the cat was curled around my feet. Sleeping was nice. All night long I dreamt that I was singing Don McLean's And I Love You So, playing my guitar as accompaniment. That song used to be in my repertoire, back in the days when I did club gigs. Guess I need to do it again...

Nightmares and Dreams

I didn't have a lot of nightmares as a kid, which is strange due to the kind of childhood I had. In fact, I never really had nightmares until about 20 years ago. I sometimes have an old familiar nightmare about being hunted, usually by WWII enemy forces, but beyond that, nothing recurring. My nightmares are never ghoulish or creepy, they're usually rooted in everyday things. When I was a full-time, professional performer I dreamt about being on stage and forgetting my lyrics, or opening my mouth to sing and nothing coming out. Pure anxiety, nothing predictive or esoteric about it...

To Live the Life Authentic

"I will live authentically, accepting blame for my mistakes as well as praise for my triumphs. Judge me if you will, but judge me for my dedication to living my own truth." - SK Waller

What a Night!

Last Night I dreamed that I was on stage with Art Garfunkel. We started our concert with "April, Come She Will" and it was incredible listening to our two voices harmonize with each other. I'll never forget it.

I must remember to eat BBQ potato chips before going to bed more often...

P.S. Has anyone seen John Denver? I'd like to sing with him next.

A Night in Dad's Heaven

This entry won't be very interesting to those who don't believe in an afterlife, but I have to write about it. I spent most of last night with my dad in his "heaven". Or maybe it's just one of his places, I don't know...

Serusly...

Outside of about 12 hours dedicated (in increments) to a client's site, all I did was laugh this weekend. After almost 10 years together, Nettl and I still bust each other up over stupid things. This weekend was a laughing one; we even woke up in the middle of the night and laughed. We never get Trick-or-Treaters, so it was a quiet night, apart from the laughing.

On Friday night, we watched The Shining. Funny, it was so scary when it came out in 1980. Now, all I noticed was the bad acting, Shelly Duvall's incongruous Texas accent (she's supposed to be from Vermont), and the terrible dialogue...

Let Me Talk to You

Please note that I'm not writing this entry as I write, but as I speak. You're going to have to deal.

Although I tell you guys everything here on my blog, or pretty nearly everything, I've never shared with you what I'm about to. Blame it on the merlot, or the optimism I feel, or that I've finally passed through the end of a personal year and I've now begun my own New Year. (I was born under the sign of Libra and we've recently passed into Scorpio.)...

What a Cool Dream!

I dreamed that my friend Deni was married to Kris Kristofferson and I was at their house. I asked if I could use their phone book and Kris asked why. I told them that I wanted to find a liquor store that sold absinthe and he said, "Why do you wanna go an' mess with that shit for? That shit messes with yer head."

He even sounded like him—that raspy voice of his. I replied that all three of us had done worse things to our heads in the 1960s and 70s and that I just wanted to try it for a writing session. He told me to wait a bit and he'd go find me a phone book. So Deni and I sat and talked and 20 minutes or so passed. Just as I was standing up to leave, Kris came in through the door carrying a bottle of absinthe, which he handed to me.

"I had a feeling you were out getting some," I said, laughing.
"I wanna to read what you write," he teased. "And it better be good."

We all hugged goodbye and I left.

I took a sleeping pill last night and slept 10 hours without interruption, which was great, but when I woke up I realized I didn't have the absinthe after all. Or that Deni wasn't married to Kris Kristofferson.

Damn.

Insight

I dreamed last night that there was a hit man after me. I knew that he was going to get me, it was just a matter time and there was no escape. Of course, I spent most of the dream devising ways to give him the slip, but at last I realized that I was cornered. I found myself in inside a cottage-style house and I realized that there were all kinds of people involved in the plot to take my life, people I didn't suspect and people I didn't even know...

Cats and Ladders

The weekend was all about gardening, decorating the patio, watching the two little swallows that have built their nest in a corner of it, and laughing at the cat who knows she can't get to them. Mostly, for me, it was about trying to get my lazy butt out of the hammock.

Yesterday I was up and down the ladder putting up a new strand of lights. There are things to do before Heather's graduation party this coming Friday night.

Last night I dreamed of cats and ladders, so I was really happy when I found this painting by Brazilian artist Marcio Melo called, appropriately enough, "Cats and Ladders".