The Dream (begun 9-24-08)

The Dream (begun 9-24-08)


How can I describe to you what death is like? It's the sweet light of looking into your beloved's eyes without fear, without pain, without hope; but with all the longing in the world that you are seeing him (or her) truly for the first and the last time. All the certainty that you will recognize each other in one brilliant flash of love and magic. You remember love? That feeling like in high school that you are terribly high when you're in the presence of your beloved? So nervous that when you're with them the rest of the world melts away...that feeling that your going to burst out in song; that your heart is going 10000 m.p.h.--as fast as the car you're driving down South Lake Drive following his tail lights because he is the only reason you are driving out tonight--yes he is the only reason you are alive tonight; blasting that song on the radio, the windows down, the breeze beating through the car, your hair blowing so completely and utterly free (remember when you had hair?) and then you see his car and you smile thinking "You're the one!" "You're the whole bloody reason I'm out tonight, driving around like a maniac with that single purpose of just to getting one glimpse of you and I’m hoping that you will hear my song for you--that you will see it in my eyes”...Then I press on the gas and pass you and do my movie star smile (that I've rehearsed so many times) and you're eyes' light sparkle back at me and I know I've won--just in that moment--I know I've won you and I can't fail because I'm going 1000 m.p.h. and I don't care if I crash--I've showed you I can break all the rules--I've showed you how brave being in love with you can make me feel. Totally shameless and totally superman---

And there it was--all the most beautiful moments of your life, strung together like perfect peals around the neck of the most beautiful whore you've ever been with. And he says "It's all about you--I'm here for you, You're perfect, you're enough..."

Dear Jamile:
So, how did the temp agency interview go? I was watching channel 13 last night in which several pundits of Wall Street were discussing how the new crash is going to effect the city. One woman forecasted that the disparity between the super rich and the poor is going to be less. A real estate person said that property values in the city will begin to approach what they are REALLY worth. I made some great music on my Project studio--part Progressive House and part Gospel. Before that I taught a class at CRUNCH--had a great work out and met a really hot guy named Juan Carlos in the sauna. I think he wanted to jerk off but there's no way I'm going to do that in a public place! How embarrassing it would be to be caught and fired from the work place--even though it's only CRUNCH and not Equinox!

Before that I went out to La Guardia Community college to see about teaching English as a Second Language --or rather volunteering my time to teach; I'm not sure if I will like this but as I'm getting old and my health insurance will soon end--I must find some other way to make money to supplement my massage work.

I know how nervous you get before interviews; did you have to take a typing test? I remember when we first met in college and you wanted to become a sports caster....how you loved baseball! Then you had that awful experience working at ESPN with that Gay stalker and the awful fat Latin woman who made up all that gossip about you. Boy--I'm not the suing type but I really would have sued their asses--not just signed a piece of paper and left peacefully with a measly "pay off" the way you did and then spending months recovering from the sheer viciousness of people. Yes, people in corporations can be vicious; yes people on the street can be vicious. Was there a time I can remember when I still thought people were kind? That life was pretty cool and fair? If I could only remember that! I know it's hard to when the final bomb falls and you really get a taste of “No Justice for all”. The fall from innocence is hard but picking yourself up is the only way not to be a victim.

I had this incredibly vivid dream about being dead. I dreamed that I could see people who had died fade away--and while they were fading away--they were dancing or running as they became invisible. And they were calling out "Goodbye" to the ones who were left, who weren't dead yet. "Goodbye, goodbye--so sorry I couldn't help you the way I wanted to...I REALLY DID mean to help you more--guide you, keep you, protect you like all the good angels but the script ended here and I guess you're on your own...No I don't really have any secrets to tell you other than find the beautiful moments and cling to them--no--don't cling--rather try to recreate them in photographs, in poetry and music because that's your escape. That's better than sex and heaven. That's what art is--it makes life bearable. It doesn't matter if you're famous or if millions of people know your name. What really matters is that you've made a beautiful death yourself--a lovely lost scene that you can play over again and again--and it's night and everyone's magical and lovely and fading and you can see the magic and the love in evey one's eyes and everyone is looking for that one special one and they are so self-assured that the other is there and will soon appear. It's kind of like seeing people as a beautiful sunrise over the cape. Kaleidoscopic colors like acid. Ships appearing to float in space, come together like lovers or strangers, then disappear.

What else do we have? I had a friend, I wrote music--it was all I needed to do to be happy--before the gravity got to me and gorgeous cape light turned into a grey shade of dish water...the body decays...never enough time, energy, retirement--what's that? I've played my life away--I'm a player. I should get a motorcycle and live on the open road. Perhaps traveling through every small town in America seeking out Lesbian families, Tranny prostitutes--anything underground, the hurt, the dreamers, the true outcasts that have the balls to stand up in the small towns and walk down the streets....with their head high--not the sell-out, the deal makers, the whoremongers with their techniques of using people and throwing them away; their techniques of developing real estate and killing the earth-- the number-crunchers---"GOD BLESS AMERICA---LAND THAT I LOVE---" I hate that song, now the one I wrote last night really rocked me!

It's time to leave and take the train up to the cancer hospital and be around the dying. My hands get so tired--it's never enough money...we are here and then we go--we make films of how we want life to be; we score the soundtrack. Then we dress and get on the train to reality which basically sucks...I had a dream that I died and there was magic in everyone; and I saw it--the magic and love in everyone fading away...