fall dreams (wave ride/night running/catching train/border tunnel)

((wave ride)) he floated out with the surf, the waves swirling and picking up, lifting him around some rocks and out into the deep, surging water. out further, bobbing and weaving past five or six celebrities, their tanned skin and sunglasses glinting.

suddenly a wave caught him and with a swoosh carried him in, the surf piping into a channel, a fast-running amusement park water ride. gliding in with the others, he rode the waves, the water cold and clean, in under a building now the surf broke on a transitional beach.

he came up out of the water, stepping onto the sand and walked to the side, where he stepped onto an escalator to ride up and back out to the water. two girls, one in front and one behind shadowed him. as they went up the escalator, the one behind pushed her finger through his swimsuit and stuck it into his ass.

he turned to look at her and...

-------------------------------

((night running)) it was night and he was running, running to get away from the authorities. out across a field, a baseball field, breathing heavily he crossed. neon blue laser light beams criss-crossed the field from every direction, moving at random and chaotic intervals. ducking and twisting now as he ran, trying to keep from being cut to pieces by the lasers.

as he moved beyond their range, now into the darkened outfield, the ground became rough and uneven as he ran. each footstep now gave way to a sickening crunch. he looked down and saw the skulls of dogs crackling under each footfall. revolted, he turned his gaze out across the field, and saw an endless stretch of skulls, many thousands of them across the ground all the way to the outfield fence.

-------------------------------

((catching train)) he was on foot, walking through the old-west theme park, trying to find a way through. men in period costumes, round-glasses, and curly moustaches passed by arm in arm with saloon girls. wooden signs with directions painted on hands, extended fingers pointing in various ways only confused him.

he went down a dusty hall and found his way out through a side door. now he was in a large, empty parking lot, trying to get to the local mall across the way. a chain link fence encircled the lot, but he saw a truck going out through a steel gate. he ran and squeezed through just as it closed. down a drainage ravine and back up the other side he passed and was about to cross some railroad tracks to reach the road when a train approached.

as it passed, he saw men sitting on top and hanging from the sides of the dirty freight train. british soldiers and indian peasants in white fabrics, all of them covered in dust. he grabbed onto the handrail of a car and swung up on top of a coal car, and watched as they passed back from where he came, the mall receding into the distance.

-------------------------------

((border tunnel)) they were in a construction tunnel, the sides boarded with plywood. it constricted and funneled them to a makeshift entrance, where a guard stopped and questioned them.

passing through, he came out into bright sunlight and the fresh cold air of early spring. green fields stretched out to his right. he turned the other way and walked up a short gravelled hill, then onto a winding, hilly street with large two- and three-story boarding houses that had been mansions for the wealthy a century ago.

(only a month later, he passed on this street in old el paso, only a block from, and looking down on the u.s. mexico border fence and crossing)

\\ namo guan shi yin pu sa //

(intro: aggressive drum roll: 150+ bpm / 4 measures then bass and guitar add on)

namo guan shi yin pu sa,
namo guan shi yin pu sa,
namo guan shi yin pu sa,
mother of mercies, hear our cries.

he's a big baby, see him cry,
suck on her 'til the day he die.
he got wings, but cannot fly,
mother of mercies, hear his cries.

namo guan shi yin pu sa,
namo guan shi yin pu sa,
namo guan shi yin pu sa,
mother of mercies, hear our cries.

she got needs no man can see,
tired of being on her knees.
needs some refuge and some peace,
mother of mercies, please...

namo guan shi yin pu sa,
namo guan shi yin pu sa,
namo guan shi yin pu sa,
mother of mercies, hear our cries.

temple not made by hands

for days, for weeks on end, he was listless and numb to the turn of events which he had set into motion. again fear had compelled him as it had so many times before to tear down the temple they had built haltingly and with such trepidation, and yet still it glistened in the fading sun, stones toppled and shining like nuggets of gold scattered in the dust.

at night, camped out among the ruins, glancing through the torn pages of the holy books he searched in vain for some wisdom, something to explain the emptiness he felt inside. when the faltering light of the generator finally sputtered to silence, there in the dark he lay still, the sweat pooling on his skin.

the wind blew as he felt her slip by him in the dark. his breath grew shallow and he sank deep inside, feeling the ravaged heart beating. down he went, down the torrent rushing out and through the arteries and veins, spreading as a wave breaks on the surface of land and coursing through him in a pulsing flood.

finally, when the generator ran out of fuel, he began to place candles among the fallen stones. on his knees he leaned into a heavy rock, and began to push it back into place, then another, and another. in the flickering light her shadow seemed to jump out at him, and then fade like an illusion.

late in the night, it began to rain, a cold relentless downpour, extinguishing what was left of the candle light. his tears mixed with the wetness, as he pushed through the mud, adding stone upon stone.

it was there the realization came over him, empty and alone sinking into the sorrows of new and uncharted depths. he was powerless to halt the worship that had opened in his heart now one year hence. he could tear down the temple once, twice, a hundred times, and scatter the stones to the farthest ends of the earth, yet she would never depart from that place inside him.

that moment he bowed down into the mud, and with great care lifted the next gleaming stone up out of the mire, setting it into place there upon the rock. briefly he paused, and then down again, he disappeared into the void.

* strays *

MORNING

"goddam that motherfuck'n' motherfuck'r, i'm gonna kill him!!!" hyatt was raging through the gallery space, and stopped right in front of his newly sold artwork. "he took my fuck'n' keys and has my truck and won't answer the phone, and i'm gonna fuck'n' kill him..."

eyeing the fragile floor piece, he circled around it, sizing it up, as though looking for a weakness, some place to land his foot in one tour de force death blow. suddenly he came to a standstill, force gathering momentum, about to reach critical mass.

it was then, jamie bolted in: "where's my fuck'n' shit, hyatt thrush?"

"it's in the motherfuck'n' truck, and chase won't answer his phone!!!"

"that sonofabitch, if i get my hands on him..." she reached out and gave hyatt a hard push.

the artwork, a louis xiv replica chair made of styrofoam sat there, oblivious to the ensuing chaos.

------------------------------

AFTERNOON

chase walked in, paint besmirched tattered hoodie zipped and stretching over his belly, black frame glasses taped together, studious and chill all at the same time.

he looked down at hyatt's piece, now boxed up in cardboard. "hey guys, how's it goin'...sell anything?"

"actually, yes. say, hyatt's been tryin' to get ahold of you."

"yeah, i lost my phone. i've been hangin' out with my friend matt. he drives a forklift, we met at the bar last night."

"the exhibition organizers are throwing a party right down the street, you wanna go with me and m.f.?

we closed shop and walked outside the large exhibition hall, heading with the other hipsters toward the searchlights waving randomly down the street. queing up, we moved steadily toward the door. now at the entrance, security pulled out a flashlight.

"let's see some i.d." we flashed him our drivers licenses as chase fumbled through his pants and hoodie pockets.

"i can't find mine. will you take a school i.d.?"

"hell no."

"let's just go eat guys," m.f. chimed in. we left the line and headed to the pizza pie house.

------------------------------

EVENING

"i'm just existing...existentializing my existence in this space and time, drifting...peace, not looking for trouble. an animated protoplasm of energy and matter, looking for something..."

chase, wasted and high, rambled on in the back seat of the cab as we looked for his hotel. "it's right over there, oh yeah that's the one."

m.f. threw the driver a twenty and we piled out into the cold stiff wind coming in off the lake. scrambling through the entrance, the night manager gave us the eye as we looked for an elevator.

"you gotta use your keycard to work the elevator," m.f. observed. chase fumbled the card out of his pants pocket and held it wavering in his hand.

"lemme help," i grabbed the card and slid it into place...nothing happened. then the night manager appeared, looking over our shoulders. "can i help you?"

"we're tryin' to get our friend to his room," m.f. said as the man eyed us suspiciously.

"i wanna take a look at that card," he grabbed it from my hand. "that's not our hotel, you need to go a half-mile up michigan avenue," and gave us an extra stern look as he handed back the card.

"alright, thanks." we high-tailed it out of the hotel lobby back into the night, looking to see if security was onto us. m.f. hailed another cab, and five minutes later we were in front of the right hotel.

------------------------------

LATE NITE / EARLY MORNING

up in their room on the seventeenth floor, i flopped down on the carpet and started flipping through channels, looking at nothing in particular. chase sat next to m.f. on the bed and started fumbling with his shirt. "you gotta label on there somewhere?"

jamie and hyatt tumbled through the door in from the hallway. "chase, where the fuck'r my keys?" eyes half-closed, chase reached into his hoodie and tossed the keys over the bed. "my clitoris gave birth to your mother," he trailed off into nonsense.

hyatt dove behind the bed, grabbing the keys, and went into a frenzy, pulling open drawers, then leaning into his suitcase and throwing clothes into the air. "where the hell's my glass pipe?!"

"shut the fuck up you lost it, you sonofabitch," jamie yelled back.

"give me my fuck'n' glass pipe," hyatt yelled in reply.

i leaned over and whispered to chase, "say, we'll catch you tomorrow." m.f. and i waded through the pile of empty bottles, dirty clothes and tools on the floor, and pulled the door shut behind. as we moved down the hallway, jamie's voice cut through the early morning haze: "hyatt, you fuck'n' idiot, i got your glass pipe right here..."

johnny rude (indian summer dream)

it began on the side of a dirt road, late afternoon, leading down into the valley. he was a young girl hanging out with three others, all of them around eighteen. the thin brunette, andrea, peeled off a wad of bills and threw some to each of them. "there's your cut...four-hundred fifty each, y'all have fun."

he pocketed the cash and headed down the road to the little tavern at the foot of the valley. walking inside, the warm, familiar glow of wood paneling and blood orange shag carpet welcomed him.

now a guy, he sauntered over to the side bar and leaned over the cute girl in front of the mini-jukebox. "lemme have a play at that," he whispered as he pushed into her, sliding a quarter into the machine and pressing his selection.

saxophone music rattled out of the blown speakers and followed him across the tiny room to the gambling machine. he pulled a crisp twenty out of the wad, fed it in and the game came to life.

"say, this is kinda like that space shoot 'em up that i used to play," he thought, except the reaction time was really slow. he would press two, three, or four times before a shot would squeeze out at the descending alien ships.

suddenly the lights flickered and someone yelled "closing time!" the game started to shut down and he turned to the door. just then his friend nicki threw a bill at the juke box and yelled to the attendant, "play me that song!", and pushed open the wooden revolving door, stepping to the street outside.

he followed after his friend, walking out into the young night air, neon flickering around him, and started down the street, walking with a fancy cane now. suddenly from behind, the tavern keeper, a middle-aged loser with slicked down hair, ran up and said, "hey you lost your money in the machine!"

"yeah, i left eighteen dollars in there when it shut down."

"well here's your money, johnny rude," said the man throwing a twenty his way. he screwed open the top of his cane, and pulled out a gold ingot from a hidden slot, handing it to the man in a move that surprised himself.

then, reaching down to the ground he picked up the bill, along with the rest of his cash, which had fallen there. shoving the wad into a recognizable stack, he stuffed it back into his pocket. "i'm gonna let my friends play their hands, me i'm buryin' my talents," he thought and commenced to walk away.

spring break

i looked out the window of the greyhound bus and wished it all away. that whole first year of junior high, the crappiest year yet, but now i had a week to forget about it all, this first spring break ever, starting with the overnight bus ride to see my grandparents in amarillo.

earlier that day i'd worked up the courage to go into the school library and check out a book. i'd been wanting to all year, standing in the hallway, peering through the glassed in front wall at the books. today, heart beating in my chest i went in and found it, the hardback, tom sawyer by mark twain.

finally, on the bus: some good reading in a lounge seat, the overhead light casting a glow all around. nine year old bubba was right next to me, holding the box of donuts mom and dad had left with us as we pulled out from the bus station that evening.

now here we were, halfway through oklahoma,the full moon skimming low over the horizon. bubba yanked on my arm, "i really need ta go to the bathroom."

"it's back there."

"but i'm scared..."

"what are you talkin' about?"

bubba tried to look back down the dark aisle but couldn't. "there ain't nothin' to be afraid of," i glanced back, catching the silhouette of a huge indian in jeans and a ripped-up t-shirt coming down the aisle, long hair flowing, dark eyes burning a hole right through me.

turning back quickly i said, "maybe you can wait 'til we stop."

just then someone leaned out from the row behind us, into the light. "say, my name's johnny and this here's my little sister. she's real cute, you like her?" the boy looked kinda like the ninth graders i tried to stay away from at school.

the bus pulled into a parking lot next to this filling station, to drop off some passengers. johnny glanced over at the pumps and then back towards me and bubba. "hey, you know what my favorite hobby is?" he paused... "pumping gas," he said and nodded knowingly towards us. i took in the cigarette over his ear, as bubba leaned in a little closer to me.

"come on, let's check out what's inside." he led us off the bus and into the little station. bugs flickered around the florescent lights as we sauntered over to the pinball machine tucked in the corner.

"hey, watch this," johnny said as he walked toward the man at the counter.

"say, i lost my money in the pinball machine," he said, gesturing toward the three of us leaning against the machine. the man in the blue uniform stared back at him for a few seconds and then slowly reached into the money drawer, pulling out a dime and flicking it toward him.

johnny held the coin up and snickered as he came toward us. "let me show you how it's done," he popped the money into the machine and it came to life. "ka-ching," the metal ball spun into the field of play.

"all aboard, we're headin' out," the bus driver yelled in through the door.

i grabbed my brother's hand and took off, leaving johnny and his sister there at the pinball machine. on the bus now, moving away, i caught one last glimpse of him there, working the flippers and pushing the machine up to the edge, just before "tilt". his sister caught my eye for a moment and then we were gone.

the bus lurched out onto the highway and i glanced back, into the sun rising up over the station, and then ahead toward the still dark west and the road ahead. grabbing the box of donuts from my brother i pulled it open. "say bubba, you want the cherry or the maple?"

east river

we'd been working for days, getting ready for the opening, when dan calls me up: "ran, you and your friend gotta come to this party tonite. it's over by the east river in long island city. it's crawling with writers and such." bobbie and i, inhaling the fumes of early august manhattan weren't in a hurry to go anywhere, except back to williamsburg and the (relatively) cool air of the second floor window box fan.

the jammed in press of days old funk mixed with fresh scrubbed and body washed skin as we hopped the "L" for the long ride under the river and out to bedford street. a screech of brakes and we were spat onto the platform, the mix giving way to straight up dank, late summer subway odor. out we came into the fresh air, and my phone beeped with new voice mail as the signal came back. dialing in, it was dan again: "hey ran, hire a car and get on over here, you don't wanna miss this party." i hang up by the time we begin the walk up the long flight of stairs to dan's raw warehouse.

a dark figure looms in front of the box fan, devon, forty-year old skater boy queen, broken down addicted to whatever, picking at something on his shirt. he was immersed in conversation with himself, a steady stream of unintelligible sound trailing our way. "what's happening tonite ?", i offer up. "sonic youth and yeah yeah yeahs playin' over at the pool, free barbeque at manhole tomorrow, house party in dumbo later on," trailing off into a free-form mumble.

bobbie chimed in, "hey, you know where i could score some weed?" devon, still fixated on his shirt, finally looked up, his fake shoe polish black eyes shiny and mismatched. he says, "lemme find my cell phone, i gotta contact in there." disappearing into his closet of a room, he emerges with this beat-to-hell phone with only three working keys. "there's a number for my weed man in there," he says, handing the phone over to bobbie. sensing the hopelessness of the proposition, bobbie just looks at the pile of electronic crap in his hand and shrugs.

just then, my phone rings again...it's dan: "hey ran, you GOTTA come to this party, they gotta boat and barbeque. it's at mark disuvero's studio." suddenly it hits me, this was a REAL party. "alright, we're there," click.

bobbie, stretched out and sweating on the futon. "dude get up, this is the big shit deal tonite, i'm callin' a car." minutes later, we're bailing out into the darkness of an expansive scrap-yard looking street. a corrugated steel gate slowly swung open, revealing two huge airplane hangar studios on a hundred yard long stretch of dock. "what took you so long?", dan quipped.

we did the walk through, checking out these immense god-like steel sculptures, finely balanced articulation sent rotating around the hangar with the flick of a wrist. out on the loading dock we stepped, hipster group hanging out at tables, drinking, talking, eating barbeque. i did the meet and greet, trying to hold a conversation, but the river called insistently, just off the concrete dock.

breaking away, i jumped down to a floating platform and began stripping off my clothes. city lights reflect across the blackness of the river as i dove into the cold darkness. invigorated, i opened my eyes and tasted the fresh salt-tinged liquid deep underwater. black depths glowing with a neon pulse as i propelled myself up and into the air. i took a deep breath, realizing i was twenty yards offshore.

the others looked small and insignificant, as a wave of fear and isolation ran over me. taking another breath, i dove back under, gliding through the peaceful chill and blind miasma. this time i came up near the platform and awkwardly clambered back onto dry land. shivering, i began to put my clothes back on.

"is he really naked?", a filipino girl asked bobbie, as though she had never seen a human body before. bobbie nodded and then dan called out into the night: "hey ran, that was real huck fin of you, there." pulling my shirt on, i smiled and glanced back into the night.