Scripts

Most of my carefully chosen words ..and well-intended speeches ..generally fall apart as soon as the first line is uttered. I figure it’s because other people are not reading from the same script as me ..they have their own. My neighbor, Richelle, is a single mother going through hell right now trying to raise her sixteen year old daughter, Aria. Simple exchanges like, “How’d it go today?” ..can turn into shouting matches that end up with mom fleeing from the house and sitting across my patio table from me ..badly shaken. This time, I thought I’d be prepared. I remember Richelle once telling me that there’s a car in the garage waiting for Aria ..however, she’s having trouble getting her driver’s license. So, I ask : “What’s the biggest issue facing Aria right now ..I mean, is there any one thing that you can think of that usually starts these fights ?” Now, I fully expect to hear something about the car and driver’s license ..pretty hot topics for a growing teen I figure ..and I’m prepared to speak to these issues. Instead, Richelle starts reciting lines that sound like they’re ripped right out of the pages of a psychotherapy session. She says Aria is dealing with issues of self-worth and approval ..things she’s not getting from her father right now ..because he’s never there. She goes on to tell me about how girls her age look up to their father as a role model for dealing with authority figures and interpersonal relationships ..the biggest issue she’s dealing with right now is abandonment ! And I’m like .. OK, I guess I can throw out my script about cars.

Go ask Alice

It seems like someone pushed me through the looking glass ..my waking hours begin sometime around midnight ..and late night talk shows have become daytime TV ..which I watch over toast and coffee. Swimming trunks and tevas are casual attire for me now ..and there’s always salt water in my hair and sand on my feet when I walk down the street. My favorite drink is lunch. The marijuana co-op has replaced Costco as my primary shopping destination. Familiar streets don’t go the same way that they used to ..and I often have trouble finding my way home. I don’t recognize anybody at the Zen center ..and now I can’t find it anymore either. Sunrise occurs at sunset ..and white powder covers the lawn every morning. My mind is constantly playing tricks on me ..thoughts come and go like rabbits jumping out of a hat and scurrying down a hole. Cosmic rays are getting mixed up with my brain waves and producing crazy images that I often mistake for everyday occurances. I swear I can hear what other people are thinking about me. Normal conversation slips by me so fast that I don’t catch relative clauses ..and confuse words beginning with the letters ‘wh’ ..which greatly reduces my chances for meaningful communication ..and increases the frequency at which my dates and relationships lead nowhere. I’m so busy thinking of something to say that I don’t often hear what other people are talking about. I’m working on that though. Now I’m so busy telling myself to listen when someone else is talking that I can’t hear what they’re saying.

Mr. Infinity

I’m driving 90 mph north on Hwy 101 ..not another car in sight until a red Infinity whizzes by me from out of nowhere. Makes me feel like I’m hardly moving at all. I think infinity ~~> eternity ..there’s a message there somewhere ..what, I don't know. Maybe it's a message from eternity ..telling me that my progress is too slow ..I accelerate to 100 mph. The air is suddenly filled with the scent of manure coming from a nearby farm ..smells like, ummm ..shit, I don't know. Could be a message from the goddess of fertility ..that’s it ..Aphrodite is telling me to get busy .. images of Alicia fill my head ..I tell myself to keep my eyes on the road .. the sky ahead turns blood orange ..sunset mixing with smoke from a forest fire east of here ..110 mph ..Evanescence launches into a hair raising hymn ..120 mph ..tears streak across my face and vaporize. A cosmic panorama opens up in front of me ..there’s nobody here except me and Mr. Infinity.

Angel of Avalon

Dance in the dark of night ..sing to the morning light ..I hear the horse’s thunder ..down in the valley below ..I’m waiting for the angels of Avalon ..waiting for the eastern glow .. the night is long ..the beads of time pass slow .. tired eyes look for sunrise .. waiting for the eastern glow ..at last the sun is shining ..the clouds of blue roll by .. I hear the angels of Avalon ..singing in the valley below.

Photo of ~> Lynn

Chapter three

          R e t u r n  of  the  P r i n c e s s

The fairy princess walks through the disenchanted forest on her way back to a home that she has not seen in over ten years ..not since the tender age of six ..when she was thrown into the abyss. She passes by the sulfur ponds where the goth fairies fish ..and around the slough, where they grow toadstools for their brew. A talking mynah byrd sees her coming and flies ahead to alert her parents ..the new village leaders. A buzz spreads quickly through the community. Everyone dresses up in their best leather ..with emerald green and blood red crucifixes ..looking like stained glass you would see in a church. The petite princess suddenly sees this enormous procession coming over the hill ..chanting a song called ‘my immortal’ in multi-part harmony. It sounds ethereal. As they swarm around her, she feels terrified ..not knowing what to do or say .. she just lets her body sway to the sound of the singing. This gesture sends the fairies into a frenzy ..cheering and laughing wildly. They envelope her fighting for hugs and kisses and lead her down the hill to a waiting reception. She takes a seat at the head of a banquet table lit by torches and decorated with black roses, poppies and amyl nitrates. To celebrate ..they pit-roast giant boar ..drink elderberry wine and hold a rave in her honor. Everyone gathers around to hear her story. The wicked stepsisters disappear and are never seen nor heard in the disenchanted forest again.    Continue here ~~> Chapter four

Mind waves

It is becoming more and more apparent that most of my everyday experiences are re-enactments of things from the past. Events that appear to be happening on the outside are actually coming from the inside. Voices on the street are echoes from high school, saying things like: what’s the matter with him ..his hair’s too long ..what a loser. When I’ve been out partying all night ..I still hear my mother’s voice, cold as ice, saying: have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately ..what will the neighbors think. Any kind of financial setback ..and I hear my father's voice telling me to act more responsibly ..making me feel like a child who hasn't quite caught on. When I get stuck in traffic ..I panic ..re-enacting feelings of childhood helplessness. When I approach an attractive woman, I hear the echoes of little Suzy from the third grade going: ‘euwww ..get away’. Just looking at a woman makes my ex-wife appear ..driving by the place we first met brings me to tears ..the place we were married ..more tears. A police siren ..and I hear my Miranda rights. A new movie .. and symptoms of my dysfunctional family appear (I recently saw ‘Little Miss Sunshine’). Science tells us that these everyday experiences are the product of ‘sensory events’ interacting with ‘episodes in memory’. They say that interpretation occurs awfully fast ..beginning somewhere around 250 milliseconds into the sensory event (that’s a quarter of a second). I don't stand a chance of seeing things the way they really are ..it's like I'm looking into mirrors all the time. No wonder I keep going around in circles.

Space cadet

Have you seen the stars tonight ..would you like to go out on the deck and look at them with me ..have you seen the stars tonight ..would you like to go out for a stroll and keep me company ..did you know ..we could go ..any place you can think of ..we can be ..have you seen the stars tonight ..would you like to lay under Andromeda and look at them with me ..did you know we could flow ..we are free to come and go ..like gypsies between starlight villages .. we are wanderers ..children destined to explore.

Creepy feelings

I’m sitting outside ..sipping tea ..watching the sun go down ..and feeling no sense of accomplishment at all. I can hear the sound of skate boards going clickity clack down the sidewalk ..feels comforting ..don’t know why. I think it’s because I grew up with that sound ..so it brings back childhood memories. A voice in the back of my head keeps telling me I should be doing more to prepare myself for something ..what, I don’t know ..it won’t be more specific ..but it interferes with my sense of wellbeing. It’s a vague sense of foreboding ..like there are a thousand and one things creeping around ..conspiring to get together one day and form a great big ball of karma that’ll come rolling down the hill toward me. It feels just dreadful. I put down my tea to take a closer look and see if there’s any merit to these creepy feelings. I know there’s a stack of professional correspondence I haven’t gotten around to ..not to mention personal correspondence ..there’s a trip to Northern California coming up ..a lawsuit ..deferred maintenance ..computer upgrades ..shakey finances ..erratic Zen practices ..and a bunch of laundry piling up. Not much, really ..unless I look at what’s behind door called ‘deferred maintenance’. Zen practice tells me to be mindful of what’s happening right here in front of me ..so, I’m watching the sunset ..enjoying my tea ..listening to new music (Michelle Shocked and Tori Amos) ..and ignoring what’s behind door called ‘deferred maintenance’. I'm practicing Zen. OK, and I’m also making a conscious attempt to expand the boundaries of my imagination ..like dithering in photoshop .. writing silly stories ..and reading gothic eighteenth century literature. Time consuming ..? Yes ..but hey, I’m not starving yet.

Driving home

We’re heading back from the Bay area ..driving at white-knuckle speed over Highway One through Big Sur ..at midnight. We’re exhausted ..but we missed holiday traffic ..so I guess it was worth it. Besides, the moon on the water looks phosphorescent ..helps me see good enough to drive dangerously. Brian looks over at me and goes: “What d'ya mean the Motor Inn is no longer in business ..it’s an historic landmark for Chris’ sake ..man, I could sure go for an overnight pit stop.” I’m like “What about the Apple Farm in SLO (San Luis Obispo) ..” He says “Nah, that’s touristy fluff ..rancho-relaxo, I suppose you’ll be wantin’ a room by the water wheel too.” I say “Hey, they serve local wines on the house.” ..and he goes: “You mean like Boones farm apple wine ..?” and I say “No ..you’re thinking of Booney Doon winery ..and besides, this is Pinot Noir country.” “What about burgundy ..?” “Well, they got merlot ..same thing ..isn’t it ?” “Hey Compadre ..let’s just skip this shit and go to Jalama beach.” I say: “Sure, it’s kind of a crapshoot though, hard to say whether they’ll have any sites available.” He goes “Can’t we just pull over somewhere and sleep on the beach ..?” and I go “Suppose we could do that ..but if you want some amenities ..like warmth, I think our best bet is a flea bag in Morro Bay ..listen, lets do that and I’ll buy us calamari for lunch today.” “Deal ..!”

Chapter two

        The road home

The fairy princess turns sixteen and goes: “This abyss sucks!” She decides it’s time to find a way out and rejoin the world. She goes to a place where she remembers seeing explorers rappel down a vertical shaft ..but it’s too steep. She goes to a place where an underground stream comes to the surface .. gathers speed ..then disappears. She remembers watching the explorers disappear there too. She decides to swim the underground river to daylight. She slides in and lets the current take her away ..shooting her through a tube worn smooth by the water ..then out an opening where she freefalls into a large pool of water. It’s still dark but she realizes she’s outside when she looks up and sees stars. She swims to the side and walks barefoot on the road into town. Figuring it’s time for a change ..she goes into a vintage clothing store and finds something more stylish. Out on the street she asks for directions to the disenchanted forest. One guy tells her she’s crazy ..another guy tells her to take bus number 47 ..the blue line. It lets her off at a gate in front of the forest ..where she enters ..walks down a thousand ancient steps ..and sits down by the side of a path waiting for someone to pass by and help her find her way home ..her skin still glowing like a neon light. Continue here ~~>  Chapter three