They're Back

I am cursed or blessed, depending on which kind of dream I remember after waking up. Usually dreams run their course and any recall while awake is unavailable. On a semi-regular basis though, I often remember enough of a dream to wake laughing, sad, or pissed; especially pissed when it is one of my recurring dreams.

Many years ago when I was young and numb, I had a dream about a family; a very dysfunctional family. Run by a single mother, a deranged daughter and a wacky son created who spread havoc, outrageous chaos and destruction, anywhere they went, with anywthing they touched. They swept in, wreaked their stirred the pot and departed without so much as a, "Sorry for fucking up your sleep" apology.

The dreams were never quite nightmares, but they were seldom pleasant either. The crew always brought with them levels of chaos that overwhelmed my ability to fight the dream. I have learned to ride it out, hoping I will wake up sooner than later. 

Last night or rather at dark thirty in the morning, the crazy family decided to visit again. I was forced to pry my eyes open long before I wanted to, just to escape the relentless madness I was dealing with. Again, their visit was not nightmarish, just Crazy Shit Squared.

I woke up reaching for the small notebook I try to keep handy for moments like this. Before I had put my glasses on, I was writing in this notebook through the haze of just waking up, while at the same time, trying to focus nearsighted eyes. I tried to scrawl legibly in that notebook all that I could remember at that moment. I have learned that when I have a bizarre dream, if I want to remember it, writing it down as soon as I wake up is often key.

Opening Scene

I am in the bathroom having an embarrassing lower GI moment on the toilet. I hear the bathroom door open and Crazy Mom bursts in. She begins yelling at me that I had promised to help and her maniac kids find some pot to buy. She is so absorbed in busting my chops, it takes some time for her to notice the painful expression on my face and that I am doubled over sitting on the crapper. Through clenched teeth, I scream at her to get out.

Scene Change

I leave the bathroom to find Crazy Mom and her family have ransacked every room in my house/ apartment. (I am not sure what it was. It certainly was not my house here on Sam Page Road.) Her insane daughter grabs me by one hand, her wacked brother grabs my other hand. I am dragged to a car outside. It is an old yellow convertible with a bench front seat. It is adorned with big 1950s fins, but I cannot make out the model. Crazy Mom is waiting behind the wheel. Suddenly, a new character appears. It's Crazy Mom's new boy friend who pushes her over. He slides in and takes the wheel.

He says something like, "We'll find the pot faster if I drive."

Meanwhile the wacked brother is yammering and bending my ear about something I cannot remember now. We drive and drive........ and drive some more. Odd moments of passing scenery fly by. Snippets and flashes of critters that are flying, but are not normally known for that ability. Buildings fly by, misshapen and moving like some early 1950s cartoon in time to a tune I don't recognize.

Finally, the car stops and the boyfriend gets out. He tips the front seat forward to let me out.

"You know, we really know what's good for you?"

"You do?"

"Yeah, we do.......... We're gonna leave you here so you can figure it out."

The last thing in my dream is me watching them drive away in what I suspect now, was my car.

< ~ >

Maybe a dream like that wouldn't bother most folks. It irritated the shit out of me. Every second the dream lasted I was in full irritation mode and knowing it was a dream, yet unable to overcome it and wake up. The upside is I did remember enough to write the high points down.

Not sure if this post is of any worth to even me. At least I had a plan before I began to write.

Have a great Sunday ..................................

__________________________

I considered only one song for this post. This syrupy, lost in love ballad has had a lasting impact; much bigger impact than I would have thought. It was one of those songs that could burrow itself into your brain, creating a forever memory whenever you even caught a few bars on the radio. Right now, as I type this, I am hearing it with the sound turned off. Maybe it was not such a good idea to pick, "All I Have to do is Dream", by The Everly Brothers. I did find a couple of cool nuggets when I searched for the release date. The 1958 song was recorded in two takes. Chet Atkins, maybe the best guitarist of the1950s, played on the song.

Repeat after me:

Dreamm, Dream, Dream... Dream Dream Dream, Dreammmm.

Artificial Intelligence, Day ll

Apparently my brain was not happy with yesterday's post. I asked why. My brain stayed silent on the topic, yet here I am again wanting to write about A.I., dreams, and other things that help make up the nonsense I sometimes obsess over.

I make no apologies about my intermittent preoccupation with nonsense. As a matter of fact, trying to break the nonsense in my brain down into sensible word bites like complete sentences with appropriate grammar tossed in here and there, has always been my first goal when writing.  The real bonus now; fictional nonsense keeps me from my current preoccupation with the evil nonsense passing as Reality right now. At the moment, Reality does indeed suck.

The good news is, since I have been actively trying to make sense of the nonsense in my mind, the nonsense is still there, but at least now, it's almost , on the cusp, close to and nearby word groupings that make a point occasionally.

Hmm ........................

There I go again. I sat down to write an expansion of yesterday's thoughts and by the third paragraph I was off down a new rabbit hole. ........ No, not this morning. This distraction thing of mine is a big reason I don't post. It tends to piss me off unless I am really baked. And lately, I have been less baked and more straight than usual.  ......... Back on Track.

Yesterday, a confluence of minor incidents and accidents were most likely responsible for my brief fascination with A.I. The image up top was the jig-saw puzzle of the day. A Facebook meme regarding A.I. passed through my feed. and then an A.I. video caught me and I posted it for a minute as real. I wrote about it, posted it, and moved on with my day.

Lately, I have the habit of picking a movie or TV show episode to fall asleep to. Every time I tell myself I will stay awake. Every time I don't. It used to bother me as I had been a life long night person. Now, 7 or 8 years into retirement, I have decided it doesn't matter.

So I pick a new movie arrival on Netflix. "Havoc", starring Tom Hardy as a hard boiled police detective who's moral compass is off, but not far from the good guy who used to be........ Not sure when the curtain came down ....... must have been  pretty close to when I started the movie ....... Damn, I hate not knowing when sleep is here and when it isn't. ......

The next thing I know, I am in full dream mode with Tom Hardy. He is not a hard boiled police detective. He is just a working stiff and the two of us are busy parking cars in a huge, to the horizon field of tall grasses with waves of tulips here and there swaying to and fro. The cars we are parking are junkers, high end beauties, and for some reason multiples of the red Volkswagen I learned to drive in so many years ago. Figures, Tom gets to park the high end rides while I am stuck with the junkers and the many Volkswagens. Tom laughs at me as he jumps out of one beautiful car and into another. I am the sad sack watching him enjoy his job while I am seriously hating mine................

I look up the rough dirt road we use to access the field. I see the dust trail of another car being delivered by Tom. When he is maybe 75 yards away, he loses control. The damn fool always drove too fast. .... He loses control and rolls it many times. 

Because Tom is so cool and nothing ever goes wrong for him, when the Porsche stops rolling, it is back on 4 wheels and without a scratch. The car is perfect and so is Tom as he climbs out. He stands with legs spread, his hands on his hips and once again he laughs at me. He turns and begins to walk back up the road for another car. ........... As Tom disappears over the crest of the low hill, all I can come up with is, "You Fuckin Asshole".

My bladder then woke me up and now, here I am trying to write down as much as I can remember of the dream. There was more, but it hangs at the periphery refusing to take part in the tale. I can almost remember, ..... No......... Fuck it.

So there it is, an example of the "New Consciousness" I read about yesterday. Or, as I am beginning to believe, my own personal version of "Artificial Intelligence". Or is there really a world apart from our own that exists just for the dreams we come up with. Maybe Alice in Wonderland is a true story.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ................................

__________________________________

I didn't fuck around this morning finding a song. Almost immediately I thought of "Dreams", by the Cranberries". They are definitely one of my favorite bands. Dolores O'Riordan, their lead singer, was taken from us too soon. I love her voice.

Hope you enjoy the tune.

Artificial Intelligence

I shared one of those short videos that float endlessly around the Facebook pages, It showed a special rig on a boat that was used to clean barnacles off the hides of whales. I share a lot of videos and I assume many are fictional creations for consumption and not random moments of Reality caught by a smartphone. An Internet friend commented on it. He very rarely comments. He leaves likes, dislikes, laughs, surprises, or care emojis almost all the time.

When I checked the notification queue on the right, I was surprised to see he had left a comment. Usually I check the notifications starting with the oldest first and then move up the queue. This morning I opened his comment first.

No matter how careful I am , I still get sucked in by fakery, pranks, and general overall mischief at my expense on an irregular basis. I don't care about the inconsequential fun fakes. I have pulled a few legs in my time myself. But the use of trickery when it matters does bother me. I began some years ago to try to make sure what I shared regarding the serious issues of our lives, politics, religion, social justice, environmental were as above board and honest as I could. I still got burned, but not nearly as much as I used to.

And now we have to deal with A I ( Artificial Intelligence ). It's been around awhile, but recently it has infiltrated everything, Images were first. Now A I is writing stories, homework papers, creating fake news and generally creating a shitstorm out there in the information maze.

How does one trust anything they have not seen with their own eyes, felt with their own hands, or heard with their own ears as it left the lips of the person they were listening to? It's as if anything outside my mind is suspect now.

Believing my eyes and ears is on the chopping block now. Soon, I won't be able to trust even what is going on in my own brain. Of course, given my foolishness as a younger man, I learned then not to place too much trust in what was spinning around inside my cranium; especially when in the grip of one kind of substance or another.

It may just be a coincidence, but just this morning I read a brief story about dreams and how the full on dreams where we participate are more than just dreams. They are a different type of consciousness. Combine the advances in A I coming at us, it looks like we are hard into either finding alternate Realities or inventing them for ourselves. I am not so sure this is a good thing. It appears we headed for some interesting times as we deal with the Real and the Unreal. We are having a tough time dealing with the Reality we are trapped in now. What is going to happen when we have more than one to choose from?

Anyway, just some half baked thoughts I have yet to completely sort out. All I know is if I had some hallucinogens' again, I could compare Reality with the fun One I created years ago when I was young and numb.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ............................... 

_____________________________

Maybe I don't need to re-acquaint myself with psychedelics again. I just googled "Music about Artificial Intelligence". What I found was mind blowing. There were songs written by A I; also songs previously released with new A I video, and at least one group, who had A I write the song and create the video, then put their name on it. Depeche Mode at least, was up front about it. 

I spotted a great Pink Floyd tune, "Comfortably Numb". It's the original song , but with an A I generated video. Not sure how to describe the visuals other than they definitely reminded me of LSD trips form long ago.

Again, I have included both.

Bad Dream

It was bound to happen. But I never thought it would be because of a conversation Bike Shop Jim and I had the other day. He sent me a text concerning a wheel build issue he was having. It felt good to be consulted; even better that my suggestion may have helped.

It should have ended there. And it did end here in the waking Reality I functioned in day to day. It was in the murky fog enshrouded alternate universe I spent sleeping in that allowed the demons loose to have their way with me. 

Most of the time I sleep unscathed and oblivious to the misadventures my brain conjures up. Not this afternoon however. This afternoon, my afternoon nap lost control. ..........

I came in on the dream after the initial fuzzy moments had already moved on. I had just finished re-spoking a wheelset. The customer came to pick up the wheelset. A heated conversation ensued over what price I promised in the initial estimate and what I was charging now. He called me a crook and said he wasn't paying. He followed up by insisting he was still entitled to the wheelset, new spokes and all.

This clown was a get over guy, a con man. I just knew it; I could tell every word that passed his lips was slippery, butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, sleazy rhetoric and most likely was a lie. I found the estimate, shook it in his face, balled it up and threw it at him. Not happy to stop there, I took the brand new re-spoked wheelset out of his hands, tossed the wheels on the floor and stomped the brand new spokes right out of the them.

In the meantime, the customer and a sidekick grabbed a thrashed Barco-lounger I had in the back corner of the bike shop and ran out the back door with it. I chased, flinging harsh and threatening words about what I was going to do should I catch you, you sleazy fucks.

Out at their vehicle, the customer comes into better focus. It is Donald Fucking Trump. His sidekick I still don't identify. I am in a rage now and ................ police are called, I end up in handcuffs for why I am not sure. As the cops drive me away, my last glimpse of Trump is him sporting that shit eating smirk on his face he so likes to use.

__________________

This is the first dream I have had with the Orange Shit Gibbon as the main character. In the last decade of him polluting the political conversations,  I have no memory of him haunting me in my sleep. It had to happen I guess.

I admitted long ago that Trump owned part of my brain. I couldn't quite get him out of it, so I owned it, went with it, always hoping for relief. Ten years of allowing him rent free space in my mind is long enough; too long actually. I never should have let him in. 

I'll figure this out. I always have. Fuck Trump. I bet a shrink would have a field day with this dream.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ....................................................

_____________________________ 

Google "Songs about Dreams" and what pops up are entirely too many songs to pick from. My first choice was the Everly Brothers, then Roy Orbison and then  ........ I tasted 20 tunes at least. It finally came down to choosing between "Sweet Dreams are made of this", by the Eurhythmics or "Enter Sandman". by Metallica. "Sandman" is about fear and nightmares." Sweet Dreams are made..." is about, well, I am not quite sure. Couldn't make up my mind, so I picked "Dreams", by the Cranberries" just so I could end the debate going on in my head. 

Enjoy ...................

The Bottom Bracket

I had a dream last night regarding a bottom bracket and how it spoiled a friendship with a long time bike shop customer who now lives in Virginia. Definitely a silly dream as most dreams seem to be, but I still woke up pissed off. It also followed the tendency my dreams have of coming out of nowhere in the middle of another dream.

I was in a quandary. My garage needed a new roof. As I stood looking up at it and deciding what action I should take, Dave S walked up to me. He had with him, his recent custom build bike I sold him not two weeks previous.

"Wazup", I said, "How you liking that new ride I built up for you?"

"Love it dude. It's a beauty alright."

The way Dave said it though, I knew there was something wrong. I had owned a bike shop a long time and I could tell without hearing the customer whine, something was wrong. 

"What's wrong Dave, something not right?"

"Well, now that you...."

Dave looked at the ground and mumbled. I could not hear him.

"Jeezum Dave spit it the fuck out...... What the fuck is wrong?"

Dave looks up. His face was not a happy face. I couldn't tell if he was mad or just sad. I reached for the bike.

"Let's throw it on the stand while you decide whether to tell me what's wrong or not."

"Okay"

Dave released the bike to me and we both went in the shop. I threw the bike up on the stand and gave it my standard repair triage to find out what was wrong. I noticed the bottom bracket was loose; not just loose but sloppy loose. Whoever installed it must have been an idiot. Since I was not an idiot, I knew immediately someone else had put a wrench to my "build".

I turned to Dave. He was still looking at the floor. His demeanor told me there was more to the story. I grabbed my crank extractor and had the crank arm off and on the bench in no time. That high end White Industries titanium endlessly adjustable bottom bracket with the stupid light alloy cups was loosy goosy.  I bent down to get a better look and noticed the soft alloy tool flats were dinged, dented and mangled so bad, I knew I was right. Someone else had been fuckin with my "build".

"Whoever messed with this Dave is a moron........ If you had a problem, why didn't you bring it to me?"

Dave was still looking at the floor.

"Speak up goddammit. We're friends ferchrisakes. What happened?"

"Uh well,.... I .... you didn't answer your phone so I uh,....... took it to that new shop in south Sanford, "Ball Cycles ......... The owner, Jeff, said he could fix me right up."

I felt this huge wave of betrayal waft over me; leaving me speechless for a minute. Before I spoke, I gathered what wits I could find and in a calm voice, almost a whisper really:

"Did he fix it, ... you know, did he make it better?'

"No. He made it worse...."

Before Dave could finish his thought, I interrupted him:

"And now you will have to pay me to replace whatever parts he ruined with his ham fisted mechanics. I can tell you right now you will need new cups and bearings, but I think the Ti axle will be fine. They are more than tough, almost indestructible actually. .......Hopefully, I have some new cups in stock. White Industry parts aren't run of the mill."

I looked at Dave. He was miserable standing there with his hang dog look.

"Well, if you had answered.........."

"Don't even start. You knew I was up country for a visit with an old college buddy....... Just leave it and I will take care of it. I'll give you a call."

______________________

It has been more than a few years since my bike shop days popped up in one of my dreams. This one was about as close to a nightmare as I have ever had. Of course, this dream was just that. Dave S never brought me a bike like that. Actually, he may have been my favorite customer. He was and still is one of my great friends.

Remain calm. Dreams may come true but so what? 

_____________________

Only one tune will fit the bill for this post. Here is "Bicycle Race", by Queen.

Dreams of Tractors and Scythes

So I had a dream the other night; uh, no, make that a series of three dreams, two of which were connected. 

The first one has me and my 30 year John Deere lawn tractor with snow blower attached attending an antique Tractor show down to Iron Tails Saloon across Route 109 from the Acton Fairgrounds. 

In the Real World I exist in when not asleep, Iron Tails will have at least two antique car and motorcycle show off parties a summer. So, in my dreams, it made perfect sense that they would host an antique lawn care show. That's what dreams are for after all.

I took a stroll around the many examples of antique lawn care equipment. There were several old Yard Man riding mowers, some old Craftsman units, some old Snapper riding mowers, and a variety of push mowers with engines and without. There was even one guy with a reconditioned Scythe. The thing was beautiful.

I finished my circuit and went back to proudly stand next to my own entry. It took me a minute to notice my pride and joy was missing something. In the short 10 minutes I spent circulating around the displayed antique lawn mowers, someone had stolen my just recently renovated snow blower attachment. I was astounded and immediately pissed.

Then I woke up. The anger combined with my need to pee caused me to seek out the bathroom ASAP. During the late night pee run, my anger at being ripped off quickly turned into considerations of what I was going to do to the assholes who stole from me as long as I  was able to pick up the dream where I left off. 

I am not often able to re-enter a dream if I have awakened for any reason. This time after some fitful moments trying to fall asleep again, I was able to not only fall asleep, but I managed to pick up the dream like I never left.

Very angry now and mumbling under my breath, I began another circuit around the various displayed lawn equipment. The last John Deere 445 Tractor I came upon looked different than when I had first seen it. I bent over and looked at the impeller axle. Instead of the nice clean solid factory attachment, it looked just like my jury rigged poorly welded set up that was a signature of my snow blower.

"Damn! How the Hell did they manage this", I thought.

I looked at the kid holding down the display. He wouldn't look me in the eye. I asked him if he had stolen my snow blower attachment. No response. Just then a grown man approached and asked me if I had a problem and why was I bothering his kid.

I repeated my question, "Did you steal my Snow Blower attachment?"

The guy wouldn't look me in the eye. But he nodded in the affirmative.

I didn't ask him why, I just asked if he would return it and he said he would. That is when I woke up again. Still pissed, I headed to the kitchen for some water. Went back to bed and slept just fine until 4:00 AM or so when again a dream woke me up. This one was about GW Bush and myself sharing coffee at the kitchen table. I asked him if he wanted any sugar for his coffee. He shook his head and said, "Just pass the cream."

I passed him the cream and then again I woke up. Tired of dreaming, I decided to stay awake and get on with my day.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ...........................................

<><><><><><><><><><><>

What tune could I possibly come up with that would dove tail nicely with a post about a tractor dream? 

Apparently other than the infinite number of songs about all the aspects, god and bad, about True Love, the next over filled category of songs would be songs about dreams, dreaming and how they are often broken.

I tasted too many before I finally picked two. First up is Tom Petty's, "Runnin Down a Dream".

And for a finishing tune is one of my favorite Cranberries tune, "Dreams".

Another Dreamscape

So another dream remembered that I can now share. 

I never know if my dream posts will pan out. Oftentimes, as I begin to put words to the visual cues found in my sleep dimension ..... well, as soon as I begin to write, my mind goes blank. Or, I will only remember the reminder moment that has stuck with me until after morning rituals are satisfied.

Today, my reminder moment had me on my knees pulling some kind of fir or pine seedlings out of a specially designed back pack and shoving them into the ground. Nearby, across a barren acreage of cutover land, a full scale logging operation is in play. The latest in Forest Harvesters are tearing what's left of this stand of trees a new asshole. I assumed I was part of the state mandated reclamation part of the operation.

My cell phone rings. Its my boss. She asks if I am alright. I reply that I am.

"Then why the Hell aren't you hauling pulp logs to the paper mill in Rumford?"

The scene shifts, or I miss the transition, and now I'm back behind the wheel of an ancient Mack pulpwood truck carrying a 15 foot tall load of pulp  wood. 

I was also back to hating my life and all that was in it. I'm bouncing down a tote road, the truck is rocking side to side hard and I'm wondering if I am about to have another tip over. The last thing I remember is hoping this time I tip on the right side. It's easier to crawl out with the truck tipped over to the right.

Whatever else happened in the dream is lost now. I am happy though, because this dream I think I can explain.

A few months ago I watched a video on Facebook that highlighted the new gadgets the forestry industry was using. The machines in my dream were close facsimiles of what I saw in the video. 

And while I never drove a pulp wood truck, I did pick up scrapped rolls of paper at several Maine paper mills in a beat Mack straight truck with a picking arm that leaked a gallon of hydraulic fluid every week. Hated that truck.

The planting trees thing is also based on a story I read about planting trees in the forests of North America. I read it many years ago. And whenever I was feeling down, I often thought of that job as the perfect get away from Reality job. Planting trees, smoking dope and living in a tent. I was sure nothing better on this planet existed.

In retrospect, I was probably right.

Keep those Titzup Buckaroos .............. See Ya

________________________________

Once again, my musical google prompt turned up too many choices in too few seconds. I decided I would not dawdle. I picked an old tune by the Byrds. "Drug Store, Truck Driving Man" is a song only connected to the post by the word "truck" in the title.

When I heard it after so many years I remembered that this tune is best listened to and even better, listened to being sung by four drunk and disorderly college football players like I first heard it back in my college years.

The Hornet - Another Dream Sequence

I opened the door to the half bathroom in the front hallway. Stuffed into a bucket and wrapped in some kind of mesh was a branch with a hornet's nest attached. ..... A big hornet's nest. Not a realistically sized hornet's nest, but an over sized nest that one could understand finding only in a dream.

Upon opening the door, huge hornets began to rush out of the hive and collect in defense postures on its surface. Their wings fluttered and twisted. One of them found a hole in the mesh that surrounded them. Another hornet followed by another and another until all of them escaped into the bathroom and the rest of the house. A hornet landed on my hand and stung me. 

Oddly, I was not afraid. But I knew I had to warn my house full of guests they would have to evacuate until I took care of these party pooping pests. 

As people flooded out of my house, I began to check for hornets. On their way out, one of my guests said:

" Will we still get to meet your dad?"

"Of course, he's just running late."

I continued my search of the house. 

Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned around. It was my father. He wanted to help me deal with the hornets. We scoured the house until I looked under the hand carved table crafted by my ship's carver great grandfather in the late 19th century. Hanging upside down to the underside of the table was a hornet the size of a small turkey. Again, I was not scared.

My father said, "It's the Queen." 

He pushed me out of the way and with two hands grabbed the queen hornet and presented it to me:

The queen began to squirm and fight to escape.

"Quick, do you have a knife?"

I pulled out my green "Old Timer" knife with it's 3" blade and tried to hand it to him.

"No, You do it......... I have my pants full holding it."

"But dad, how .......?"

"Cut its head off."

I used the knife to decapitate the hornet. Looking inside the decapitated head, I saw nothing. The head was empty.

That is when I woke up.

<>

I wanted to share this dream as it is not often I am able to remember dreams anymore, especially with this kind of detail. Not sure what it means. Don't care what it means. I just thought it was a great dream.

I am guessing that some people might consider this a nightmare or maybe a bad dream. I don't. I cannot remember having a nightmare since the night when I was eight and I went to sleep after having seen the original "King Kong" on "The Late Show". 

That was the last time I asked to sleep in my parents bed as far as I can remember. Ever since, I have categorized dreams as Great, Good, or Not so Good. But never have I ever been scared of a dream like I was that night after watching King Kong run amok in New York City. 

As always, please keep it 'tween the ditches ........................

________________

First I googled "Songs about King Kong". There were quite a few. But I was not impressed with my first searches. So I googled "Songs about dreams". ..... Jack Pot!

Metallica's 1991 tune, "Enter Sandman'' was staring me in the face. It was Black Sabbath who tickled my interest in Metal music and it was Metallica twenty years later, who made me admit to myself, I was part head banger after all.

There's an unwritten rule about Metal music. Listen to it with the volume turned below WOW and it means you're a pussy. Metal music is meant to be felt, not just heard.

Mercedes Benz - Another Dream

I had another dream last night. I wanted to remember it, so I wrote down everything I could remember. I had to do it soon after waking because as I transition between that fuzzy period of just waking and the moments when full awareness set in, well, as each minute passes, I remember less and less.

Okay. .......... so I am at my sister in-law's home at a location that is flat as far as the eye can see. Off in the distance barely discernible, are a couple of big trees and a silo cozied up next to a barn. All I can make out are their silhouettes against a blackening sky in turmoil.

Still watching the scene unfolding in the distance, I try to think of a reason why I am at Nancy and Bunk's house and why their house is now located on what looks like the plains of Kansas or eastern Colorado and not in northeast Maryland near the Susquehanna River. 

I can feel I am close to understanding when flashes of lightening refocus my concentration. Where the trees, silo and barn had been was now occupied by a huge tornado reaching from ground to sky. It was moving in my direction. 

Scene Jump

I am seated in a luxury car. Might be a Mercedes, but I am not sure. Leather seats and a polished wood dash may be why I think that. In the rear view mirror, the tornado is fading into the horizon. I once again relax and try to understand what the Hell is going on. I look around the car. On the passenger seat is a "Baltimore Gas & Electric" power bill addressed to my sister in law. 

Okay, I figure I have probably stolen their car. But where are they? Try as I might, I can't figure it out or I chose not to.

Scene Jump, again 

I get out of the stolen car and walk across a huge parking lot and enter a large box store of some kind. I must work there, as I immediately begin unboxing and assembling some sale items to be part of a huge display at the front of the store. All the while I am doing this I am still trying to understand the what's and the why's of what I have been doing.

I pause a moment to ponder the items I have just assembled. They look like 3 wheeled golf bag carts without the golf bags. That each one is noticeably different from the others imply specific duties for each one. They look really odd. Orange plastic wheels and body supported by tubular aluminum rails and handles. I have no clue what their purpose is, but I know they are not golf bag carts. 

At this point, police enter the store. They begin walking toward me. I turn and flee to the back of the store, exiting out to a loading dock area .................... That's all I can recollect now. 

I am not sure why people chasing me are a consistent part of my dreams.  The chasers are sometimes cops, but most of the time, just thugs chasing me because that is the part they play. I very rarely if ever have remembered the reasons of anything that plays out in my slumbering moments.

I long ago decided that knowing the why of a dream was not so important as enjoying the dream moment as it was happening. Remembering even a smidgen of the dream is then icing on the cake.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ....................................

______________________________ 

What bothered me the most about that dream was the presence of a Mercedes Benz. This is the second dream I have written about in the last couple of years that has included a Mercedes. ...... Hmm.

So here is Janis Joplin and her classic, "Mercedes Benz". She was a force cut down long before her time. 

RIP girl, RIP.

Fungus Among Us

I don't often understand where I find the dreams that entertain my sleep. Last night would be the exception. The other exception is it is a rare night I am able to return to sleep and pick up the same dream almost where I left off.

I had stopped watching the HBO Max series, "The Last of Us", a few weeks ago. I decided I was now used to binge watching a series and did not want to suffer the "wait a week" madness for the next episode. I stopped watching and was happy to wait for this first season to end and then go on a video bender.

Based on a video game,"The Last of Us" is a classic apocalyptic, cannibal zombie tale that is very well produced and acted. The one twist I had not seen or read in any other doomsday "Life on Earth is Over " story was the cause of said disaster. In this tale, it is a fungal pandemic that turns almost everyone into a Zombie or food for the Zombies. It doesn't look good for the Human Race.

Of course my dreams never put me in exactly the same situation I may have read about, seen on the big screen or small. No, my dreams are always different. I certainly draw from the recent series, but also I think from a book I read many years ago; "The Andromeda Strain", by Michael Crichton.

My dream plays out in a comfortable and familiar scenario I seem to like to fit my night visions into. There's me with a group. We are neither good nor bad. Another group, neither good nor bad, is chasing us. It takes place in woods with twisting roads and awesome overlooks that provide one of my favorite all time go to escapes, jumping off a cliff to avoid capture.

The fungal twist comes from "Andromeda Strain" I think. The fungus attacks only inorganic substances, in other words , most man made anything. Steel, anything made from oil, etc. Any metallic substance that is in its natural state is safe; copper tubing is big in this dream for some reason. Now I am not an expert on inorganic or organic anything when it comes to chemistry. It's a dream that I made up. Any reliance on actual science is accidental.

The first thing I can remember is the planet has fallen upon hard times. Me and my droogs are ripping out copper pipe and wire from the decomposing hulk of a McMansion in suburbia, USA. Another group shows up and as it is our group's policy to run first and fight last, we boot. 

We realize after many twisting corners, hiding in crevices and behind trees, these guys are not after our copper. They have a different agenda. We don't know what that agenda is, but while we take a moment to catch our breath, we discuss the possibilities. Being a dream, we settle on the craziest solution we can. We decide the other group is hungry and wants us for dinner. ........ I actually woke up at this point laughing. Went to the bathroom, came back, fell asleep and picked up the dream like I had never left.

Some more chasing and then I was alone. Not sure why I was, but I was now a solo act with the other group hot on my ass. I was able to keep my lead. Every so often I would turn and laugh at them, flip them off and actually wait for them to almost catch up. The last thing I can clearly remember was my escape over a wall and there was no ground to land on. The wall had been at the edge of a cliff face. I fell for a distance, hit the ground, rolled and stood up. Looking up to the wall a hundred feet or so above me, the crew who were chasing me were looking down at me with ugly faces. 

I smiled and went on my way, but I had lost the copper somewhere along the way.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ....................................

_____________________

Who knew there is quite a variety of songs about fungus. Most created by well meaning, but marginally talented teachers or nerds who I gather they hope the fascination they have for all things fungal can be conveyed in song and dance. I might have paid more attention in school if I had fools dressed as mushrooms dancing up in the front of class.

Here is what I consider the best of the bunch I checked out. It is creatively named, "Rap Song About Fungus", by an outfit known only as Science Songs.

The video actually worked for me. I learned the largest organism found to date on our planet is a fungus growing underground in Oregon. It is 2,200 acres big. Another factoid was Fungus combined with certain bacterias can create spontaneous combustion. I wonder if this is part of the cause of siloes in Indiana blowing up.

Regardless every day is a learning day if I know where to look.

FOE

I am not even sure what the dream's initial intent was. It had been in play for awhile. The few moments of the scene I remembered overwhelmed the rest of the story. And it is odd, but once again, it was the final words spoken to me that ended it and caused my eyes to open.

I stepped out of a townhouse that had a front yard made up of fresh asphalt instead of the classic small city patch of green set next to a crumbling concrete strip driveway. My boss; that is I assume he was my boss, was bent down next to the driver's side of a big black four door sedan parked behind our company van. He stood up and signaled me to come over. As I passed the sedan, I could not really see what was inside because of the tinted windows. I could tell however, the car was full of people.

Before I could pass the car, the passenger door opened and a tall black guy stepped out. He was wearing a long black robe , a beard, and a black Fez with no tassel. He turned on me as if surprised. Emblazoned on his Fez in gold were the letters FOE. A horizontal line cut through the O. He glared at me, turned back and walked to our company van. The sliding door opened and he got in. 

The brief moment the car door was open gave me a good look inside the car. In the back seat four more huge people in black robes sat crammed in shoulder to shoulder. All of them were staring straight ahead in silence. All four wore black Fez hats, only two had veils draped over their face. I immediately assumed these were the ladies of their group. The driver wore an all white robe but had on the same FOE Fez as the others.

I rounded the front of the car and stopped. Facing this huge automobile, I noted the resemblance to the Mercedes Benz's of my youth, only instead of the classic Mercedes Benz symbol sticking out of the hood, the hood now sported the same gold letters inside a circle of black found on the Fez's everyone was wearing.

My boss finished his conversation with the driver and turned to me. "Stay here and keep these folks amused. I will be right back." 

Without another word he walked to our company van, got in and drove off. Always eager to please, I approached the still open driver's window with a broad smile and some serious small talk to share.

"So, how do you like this car?"

No response. I followed up with, "It is a beauty."

The driver turned to me wearing a very unfriendly face under that black Fez with the letters FOE pasted on the front. His dark eyes cut right through me.

"I like this car much more than I like you."

................... That is when I woke up. 

BTW, I only share this dream because I remembered it in such detail. I figure that writing it down might add some understanding to the dream. Most times, like now, it did not help to write it down.

Oh Well ........ Keep it 'tween the ditches .....................................

___________________________

This song planted hard before I even finished the post. A long ago tune from my past. Here is "All I have to do is dream", by The Everly Brothers - from 1958. I was six years old.

Waking Up Laughing

I have been living with an accountant for many years now. I won't pretend to know much about accounting, but after all those years together with my wife, who is the accountant, I probably know more than the average slob about accounting; enough to get into trouble faster than the average slob anyway.

Now that I have established my bona-fidees, apparently there is at least one passed soul who hangs some weight on my ability to answer a tax question for them.

I was in the midst of a dream that would be forgotten as soon as my eyes opened this morning. Yeah, the dream was concluding nicely when out of nowhere Slim Pickens asked me if a bicycle could be used as a tax write off. 

As is the case in most of my dreams I took his question in stride and answered as best I could with what little knowledge I had to apply to my answer.

I told him as far as tax deductions go, writing off a bicycle had at least two problems attached. 

First of all, the IRS does not usually consider recreational equipment as a business expense. Should Slim be audited, they would insist on documentation that supported the use of the bike was a legitimate business expense.

Second of all, I know bikes can be expensive, but using one as a deduction might not be worth the trouble of itemizing versus taking the standard deduction, unless he had other other deductions that would pass the limit set by the Standard Deduction rule. And besides, since he was dead anyway, how much money did he need to hide in the first place?

I looked at Slim. The look on his face was blank. I said, " So Slim, does this help you?" 

Slim cocked his head in that Slim Pickens way only he knew how to do, yanked the straw from his mouth and answered, "Shoot, I was sure I was gonna need some tax help this year and then you go and remind me I'm dead."

I started laughing and that is when I woke up. No better way to greet a new day than with a smile on my face.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ....................................

____________________________

The only tune that would be right for this post has to be "We'll Meet Again", sung by Vera Lynn. It is the theme from the film  "Dr. Strangelove: or how I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb". The image of Slim is from that movie. It is also I think, Slim's best role ever.

Skate Park Punks

 I woke up this morning hard. No gentle transition, but a rude awakening as if I was finally giving up a fight and would rather face the day than try to recapture the night. It had been a fitful sleep. But then fitful sleep has become more the rule than the exception in recent years.

I don't often remember dreams after a night of tossing, turning, getting up, laying down, repeat. Last night was an exception.

I was some kind of BMX coach of a group of punks in their mid teens. Not sure why BMX, but it was cycling related and at least that made some sense. 

When I found them at the skate park in Somewhere, USA, they were all hanging out behind the big ramp passing a joint and smoking cigarettes. I recognized one from my bike shop. I had caught him stealing awhile back and kicked his sorry ass out of my store.

When these teen age losers saw me they did not even blink. They kept sucking on the joint and smoking their cigarettes and as if on cue, they all grinned at me. I grinned back. They flipped me off. I flipped back.

Scene shifted to this group of losers and myself at a BMX race. There was also a Freestyle competition going on inside the BMX track. My boys were kicking serious ass in both competitions. A coach or authority figure appeared and accused us of cheating. I flipped him off.

When the events were over and my team and I were tail gating at the van, another authority figure shows up and tells us we are all banned from that event in the foreseeable future. All of us flipped him off.

Somewhere the dream shifted gears and I was attempting to talk one of my punks out of quitting the team. He was the fastest of anyone he had faced in every race he had been in. Trouble at home he said. I replied that all of you losers have troubles at home. Quitting the team won't fix that. I went on to try to convince him to stay, but at some point I was looking at his back as he walked away with one hand flipping me and the team off.

Another scene shift and I notice a blackhead pimple on my shoulder. On automatic like I was thirteen again, I squeezed that sucker to clean out the pore. Instead of the predicted blackhead popping up, a small worm oozed out of the now much larger hole. I didn't hesitate. I grabbed it and yanked with steady pressure like I had been here before and done that before. Slowly I was able to get that worm out in one piece. It looked to be six inches long or so.

That was the end of my fitful sleep of last night. Suddenly I was awake wondering just what the Hell was that?

Keep it tween the ditches ..................................

_________________________

When I saw Roy Orbison's song, " In Dreams" on the list Google came up with, I remembered David Lynch's movie, "Blue Velvet" and punched it up. The song was highlighted in the movie as it was lip synced by one of the main lunatics righteously played by Dean Stockwell; making it one of the creepiest scenes in cinema. Lynch did have a way of creating creepy.

Another Disturbing Dream

 

A decent night's sleep has become somewhat of a rarity for me now that I hail from the older than dirt community. My normal sleep patterns recently are short fitful slumbering moments interrupted by glazed eye, foggy brained semi awake moments while I sit in the kitchen sipping water or head to the bathroom to drain that water I sipped earlier. And always in those foggy moments, I am wondering if this is going to be another night of shitty sleep.

Last night however, I struck preemptively. Somewhere between 10 and 11, I shut down the TV, took off my glasses and consciously made an effort to fall asleep. And fall asleep I did. Five hours later at four o'clock AM, my bladder woke me up. 

Excellent. Five plus hours of uninterrupted dreamless slumber. My eyes were wide open. My brain felt clear and ready to take on the day. .......... But why get on with the day when I seemed to be on a good sleeping roll? So I laid down and was asleep again in minutes.

So much for dreamless slumber. The extra hour of sleep I paid for with a dream that woke me up kind of gasping for breath. 

I won't call it a nightmare. It was only the last moments of the dream that bothered me. But it was that final climax that forced the memory of the rest of the dream out into the ether where dreams go to be forgotten. I sure would have liked the finale to be the part I forgot.

It seems in this dream it was not clear if I was an active participant , just a witness, or maybe a disembodied presence who happened to be in the area. Regardless, the scene, from what I can recollect took place in a school, community, group home where everyone, men mostly, were dressed in red. It was a community of workers creating food for others.

The last scene I remember ...... Oh, I just now remembered I was indeed an active participant. I drove the delivery truck that delivered the raw resources for the food the red people turned into prepared meals. ......... I backed into the loading dock. I lifted the roll up door. Red clothed workers hustled right in to unload. Their supervisor I assume, stood on the loading dock and said something to the effect, 

" Ahh, Looks good driver. Good job".

Since I had picked up this load blind by just hooking up the already loaded trailer, I had no clue what the load looked like. It had seals on the locked latch. I turned to look in the trailer, ........... Piles of rotten vegetables, what looked like buckets of puke, and almost next to me, dead human bodies piled five high on a rugged looking skid. The smell was overwhelming. My nausea was instantaneous.

That is when I woke up. 

With dreams like this, who needs nightmares?

Keep it 'tween the ditches ................................................

_____________________________

I came up with a tune duet for this post.  "Dream Weaver" , by Gary Wright. His song is certainly a happier tune than my dream.

And then I found a long lost Fleetwood Mac tune, "The Green Manalishi" . This song was recorded when Peter Green was the heart of the band and before they sold out to became just another Pop band.

___________________________

Dream On

About three weeks ago I picked up a cold; a nasty one as it turned out. I am still dealing with some residual effects. I figured at first it was the evil Covid. I self tested a couple of times and the test stick said, no, it was not Covid. As I had no experience with Covid, I didn't believe the sticks. But I still did not go to the doctor. I did the guy thing, the idiot thing, and put on my faux tough guy suit and waited it out.

After two weeks of misery, I slowly began to shed the worse symptoms and reassured myself that I was probably going to survive. I realized this was the first respiratory illness I have had since I quit smoking over four years ago. It was a much different experience than the colds I suffered through in my smoke em if you got em past. I felt healthier throughout the run of the cold. With the exception of that maddening period when my body wanted to cough the most when I was asleep, I came through just fine. I believe that being smoke free for four years may have prevented this cold from becoming a life threatening event, what with me now living life as an old fart.

It is my loss of sleep that segue's awkwardly into what I really want to write about.

Dreams.

While I was suffering the all night cough fests, the cycle of twenty minutes of semi comatose restlessness followed by five minutes of coughing stopped the dreaming. At least I stopped remembering any dream that might have visited while all my focus was on trying to not let the coughing send me screaming out into the dark of night.

Then last week, say Friday maybe, I finally had five hours of uninterrupted sleep. The dreams came back with a vengeance. I still did not remember them, but I knew I was dreaming. I would wake up trying my best to nail down the fantastic tale I had just spun for myself. The following nights when I was once again loving life with five hours of sleep per night, I began to remember bits and pieces of my dreams and they were disturbing.

Two mornings ago I awoke at my now usual 3:00 AM. I did not need to fish for a dream memory. The first thing I remember once I sat up was, I had just run over some guy while driving a huge SUV. I not only ran him over, but as I did it, I told myself  he deserved it. His face and why he deserved it was lost in the vague jibber jabber that is part of every dream I have. I was just sure he deserved it. And yes, I remember stepping out of the huge SUV, looking at his dead body and smiling with some satisfaction like a chapter had closed or a tale had run its course.

I was disturbed by this dream fragment. I do not remember ever having a dream where I enjoyed hurting someone. Seriously, this dream stressed me out until at least the second cup of coffee that morning.

Then 45 minutes ago when I awoke at 3:30 AM, I was again having no trouble remembering a dream fragment. ........ a disturbing dream fragment.

The setting for this dream sequence was outside among grass covered hills. The wind cycled up and down moving the grass in gentle green waves as it often does out among the tall grasses. I was in a shack located in a large grass depression with  people lining its perimeter. I was handed a big ass sword like the Templar Knights swung back in the day. Then unceremoniously I was shoved out of the shack. I could barely pick the damn sword up, it was so heavy. I looked around the grass clad arena lined with screaming fans rooting for a hero who was not me. They were not calling my name. The name they hollered was unintelligible. It only took me a second to realize I was the asshole everyone wanted dead.

I felt totally lost. But I was here and obviously here to get into a sword fight. I looked out and around this basin lined with characters from a Mad Max movie. On the other side there was another shack similar to the one I had been so rudely ejected from. I did not need to be told, but this is where my opponent must be. 

I was not wrong. The door opened and out stepped a largish fellow, maybe ten feet tall and looking like an apocryphal badass. In his hands was not a sword. He was armed with an AR15 type weapon. It looked like a toy in his massive mitts. The last thing I remembered after he shot me in the chest from fifty feet away was how unfair this was. 

So I sit in front of the computer screen typing away less than an hour after being shot in my dream. I do not remember ever being seriously harmed in a dream. Every dream it seems, I come out of it with nary a scratch. I also do not remember ever purposefully hurting anyone in my dreams; Fighting sure, but never any real damage done to anyone. 

I wonder if my increased levels of anxiety is because of the last five years of world wide turmoil that has shaken the reality I thought I lived in. Did the last decade finally rattle my perception that I had control over my destiny. And now do my dreams reflect this dark foreboding that has crept into my soul?

So, I may be wrong with my half assed analysis here, but one thing I know. Life is not fair out here in Reality. And so it seems Life is not fair in my dreams either.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ..............................

__________________________

Could not decide on music so I picked three tunes for this post.

• "Mr Sandman" - The Chordettes. I loved this tune when I was eight. Still do.
• "Dreams" - Cranberries - I have always liked Dolores' voice.
• "Dream On" - Aerosmith - Never was a huge fan of these guys, but I do like this song.

The Tortoise - An Almost Completed Dream

I went through a phase some years ago when I was sure I had stopped dreaming.  I know of course this is not so because everything I read about dreaming is that we all do it, all the time.  We often just do not remember doing it.

Well, I missed dreaming.  Or rather, I missed my ability to recall a dream. I found myself waking up and immediately wondering if I dreamed this time.  Then about a decade ago, I began to remember pieces and parts of sleep time adventures again.

Okay. I had re-established the fact that I still dreamed and that the dreams were as odd as they ever were.  Now I wanted to remember them enough to write them down.  

So, this is my best recollection of what I dreamed last night between trips to the toilet to pee.

Suddenly I found myself in a van. Of course I was driving.  After all this was my dream. With me are several unrecognizable people. Their faces were vague and blurred, basically just three voices talking at the same time. I couldn't tell what they were talking about.  They seemed to be enjoying themselves, so I concentrated on the deteriorating rural dirt road we were traveling on. It quickly became a road set at a steep angle to the side.When I looked out the right window I looked directly into the ditch.

No one seemed concerned other than me.  The blurry faces were too busy talking and laughing.  I decelerated because of the embankment and we began to crawl along at a couple of miles per hour.  Up ahead I saw a tortoise in the ditch huffing it the same direction as we were going.  As we slowly passed him, I could not take my eyes off him. Only a last second yank on the steeering wheel kept the van from going into the ditch.

All the while I pointed to the tortoise and shouted multiple times, "Did you see that? Did you see that? " 

The Blurry faces in the car stopped talking.  As if on cue, eyes appeared on the blurry faces. They glared at me for a second and immediately turned back and fired up their conversation again. 

I said, "Hey, calm down assholes. You just missed something you won't see again any time soon."

I wanted to stop and check out the tortoise. But there was no safe place to do so.  The road had become a goat path, leaning this way and that. I was now faced with a real possibility of rolling the van.  Magically, or because I am such an awesome driver in my dreams, I lifted my legs and the van kind of jumped and landed tires first on a road of asphalt with proper ditches on both sides.

Before I could get back up to speed, a house appeared on the left that had not been part of the upcoming landscape before I saw it.  Suddenly it was there with a proper driveway, a huge two car garage and many gabled windows built into the roof of slate shingles.

I pulled up the driveway and right into the garage like I lived there. Leaving the chatting trio in the van  I got out and went into the house by the front door.

Entering a huge foyer, I stopped and considered where to go first.  I heard voices straight ahead.  Down a hall and into a den or family room filled with worn out furniture. An older couple was sitting on a couch watching TV.

Without any introduction, I started right in. "Do you know you have a tortoise walking this way.  It can't be more than 100 yards away.  It's huge.  Big as a spare tire.  Must be 100 years old I bet."

The old man turns in my direction and waves me off with an insolent and smug shake of his hand.  He points at the TV screen and turned back to watch it.  I stood mute for a few seconds considering how no one was interested in the huge tortoise outside.  It pissed me off.  I moved in front of the couple and blocked their view of the TV.  In unison, they looked up at me.  Again I stood mute.  

The old lady finally says, "Well, what is it?  You're blocking our TV."

I did not move.  Just as I am about to speak, something wet and cold hit my face..............

My eyes opened and Maggie's nose was about three inches from my face.

Damn!  But I smiled, scratched Maggie behind her ears and immediately set to remembering the dream.  And now here I am having successfully retold as complete of a dream as I ever have. Total accuracy is a bit sketchy, but its close.

Good morning everyone.  Getting off to a great start. 

Later ....................................