the fine art of slumber, part one

last night I had a nightmare that I drowned a friend. a nameless, faceless person yet somehow in that dreamstate knowledge far from a stranger. I was adrift in the middle of the sea in the black of night in a small dinghy, at the mercy of sickly churning raging storm-ravaged waves as they lifted me high above the starless night and crashing back down. everything was a deeply dark disturbing inky black surrounding me. the ocean and the night and the pounding rain blended together in the thickest nightmare black imaginable, no discerning the horizon or drowning clouds or stormdrop...each crashing sea peak just barely outlined by the white wash of the water as it tumbled in turmoil. I could see this person fighting the losing battle, soon only an outstretched hand remained grabbing at the unforgiving infinite black in the storm. even stranger yet throughout all this, my own voice calmly spoke in my head, narrating the scene in vivid drama. oddly I felt no regret or anguish over the fact I was responsible. The hand vanished into the depths, then the cauldron of tar water suddenly forcefully spit out their entire body launching it into the flooding air as it twisted in lifeless rag doll motion and plummeted back into the black, gone from sight and this mortal coil for good this time.

convoy breakfast and the bad academia

our lack of equipment forced roundtrip distance on us again. Doom didn't mind, he caught two whitefish during a quick stop and heartily gobbled them into oblivion. he would later forget them as midnight breakfast went down amidst forced Americana.

the destination was a welcoming place, as old Longbeard delivered choogly groove booms and thuds and crashes (and new sounds from antiquated technologies like a tubular wizard. a Queen looked on as two dogs hung on every moment). it was over too soon.

but we set out for back east just before dark, and it would be a long day's journey into night as craggly ol' Dylan schooled us once again during theme time - a pattern seems to be forming. one well-timed stop for a repast later (during which the aforementioned swimmers were stricken from memory) and it was back to the lines on the map.

however the usual route was barricaded, cautioned and closed. there were tense moments of anguish as we lamented at the time ticking by...each back road winding through God Knows Where's Country robbing us of precious moments in our comfortable slumbers as laborious endeavours loomed large and dark. there were massive ships on wheels trailblazing though and they guided safe passage through small streets, tributaries of the mammoth vein we circumvented.

historians would later marvel at the tale of what caused the delay. two massive cargo ships collided, one carrying one bazillion eggs, the other a payload of a bazillion jars of grape jelly. apparently such a disaster will stop the seas for nine hours, sealing its place as the bellwether of itself. every word of this is true. stranger than fiction, but even jesters can't make these things up. or make anyone believe them. Welcome home, Garret Silsby.

the following days ashore at home would also prove treacherously taxing on mind, body, and spirit. my brief foray into the atmosphere of academics has thusfar yielded being branded things ranging from "rookie" to "alpha dog." compass coat of arms in marble and granite and cathedral high lighting provide respite from the condescending sneers of Vice Presidents and Professors. such valuable lessons. I just stole knowledge from you, rather...you just gave it away without knowing it. so much for your books and tuition. pompous bastards.

and it's only wednesday. my lady downstairs frets I don't tell her enough. well my darling...set this to paper, not stone as of yet: from west to east and back again perhaps the ship of Longbeard and the Queen will pull into port at one of the three rivers. if we are lucky, mayhaps mirth and merriment will spill into the seas.

...

burning electrons are quite loud

260 miles round trip is the approximate distance at the speed of sound to hear inspiration and levity. when you walk down the steps you can smell vaccuum tubes and history. then on the trip home Bob Dylan is on the sound box explaining the medulla oblongata to us. briefly baffling, completely entertaining. beamed in from the clusterfuck of junk smothering the delicate haze surrounding this marble. "Lucky Harms - They're magically inappropriate."