Sharon and I talk gay hats at the punk show, and I lose her...and my car

I dreamed I went to a punk concert and saw Sharon there. We talked for a little bit, and she pointed out that she was aware of some hats that I had recently purchased on Amazon. Blushing, I said, "I guess I do have a bit of a strange taste in hats." The hats in question were ladies hats, and I suspected that she thought that this choice of headgear belied a deeper issue regarding my sexuality, as she gave a knowing smile at my fumbling response.

Meanwhile, the crowd pressed us, and I lost sight of her. The dancing grew intense, and after one song, the whole concert was canceled for fear of violence. Realizing that Sharon had driven herself there and had probably gone home already, I wandered around, trying to find my car. I never could locate it, although I did see several cars that looked like mine parked in precarious places or on the back of tow trucks. I finally woke up with the unfulfilled, uncertain feeling of a dream that lacks resolution.

Comment of the day

I remember in 2016, in the leadup to the election, I just wanted to shut out all references to politics from my life. The energy and emotion being expended was so extreme, and I was feeling like these were "just ideologies" that people were arguing about, things that wouldn't affect the realities of my day to day existence. I couldn't have been more wrong. Ideologies are seeds containing the blueprints of the shape into which our societal structure will grow.

I was also a bit of a nihilist back then, and since, with regard to my mental health, my own situation was rapidly becoming insufferable, I rooted for our collective doom to come in the form of an asteroid or some other planet killing event. My own problems, and the problems of the world, seemed so large that I felt it would be better to just scrap it all -- blow it up, let it burn, let humanity be erased by a plague or flood or nuclear holocaust. Maybe in a few thousand years a new species of sentient life would come along and make a better go of it. This doom-indulgent thinking was selfish and a cop-out.

My current dilemma is that, having finally developed late stage empathy at the ripe old age of 59-3/4, I now finally give a shit about the world and my fellow humans that live in it. I can't pretend to bury my head in the sleepy sand of ignorance or distract myself with mindless entertainment. I am agitated looking out of my internet window onto the world that my generation's apathy has allowed to be created. Like a sluggard's garden, weeds and all manner of invasive, malignant growth have taken root while I was busy doing--what, exactly? Being disengaged? Self-absorbed? Unconcerned?

I don't know if I could have made a difference back in 2016. My influence circle is small. But like those seeds of malignancy, our thoughts, our voices and actions have a ripple effect. If you don't think that's true, ask yourself, "How the hell did we get to where we are now?" The answer: Opinions and ideologies, like infectious diseases, are spread from person to person, and if they go unchallenged or unchecked, they will find a place to take root and dig deep down into the collective consciousness.  So what we say or don't say, what we allow others to say in our presence without objection, creates an environment in which an idea (good or bad) can flourish.

Long way around of saying, "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing" and "Be the change you want to see in the world." Etc, etc, blah, blah, blah. I know. Aphorisms can be so tiring. But a truism does owe its name to the fact that it is, by nature, true. We can't wait around for someone smarter, someone more able, someone with more influence, etc. to begin to fix things. We all have a part to play, however small. I encourage you to remain engaged. One brick doesn't seem like much of a defense, but cemented in with other bricks, it can be a bulwark. Keep being a good brick, Diane! 

----

Perhaps it will get darker before the dawn. It takes a lot for the masses to wake up, but it has happened in the past. Everything has a breaking point, and there always seems to be some type of event that serves as a catalyst to precipitate rapid change. Given the current administration's tendency to overstep, it is just a matter of time. I only fear that we're now so acclimated to this type of behavior that it it has become normalized, and many previously un-crossable lines in the sand will be breezed past with impunity. 

 

We've been taught to accept our lot, work harder for less, and don't question anything. Or question everything, so there is no longer a fixed reality. 

 

"Here, have the new shiny device. Watch mindless content while we make real information unobtainable because it is now indistinguishable from our fictional narrative." 

 

We're being fed too much, too fast, and even if we could sort it all out, the task seems too overwhelming, so we give up or feel despondent due to exhaustion.

 

I guess we'll just have to take things one small bite at a time. One excruciatingly slow step in the right direction is better than sitting in the middle of the road waiting to get run over. Anyway, like you, I'm certain to be on a list somewhere, and no, I will not go quietly

Apocalypse at a Funeral

It was the early morning, and I had just awakened. I looked outside and was alarmed to see a black and white sheriff's SUV driving around the back of my property. Figuring they would be headed towards the front, I went to open my front door and find out what this was about. 

On my way there, I looked out another window and saw a dingy white Ford Escort station wagon coming through the gate which adjoins my next door neighbor's property. They went bombing down a horse trail to the driveway, finally exiting out my front gate, with the sheriff in pursuit. Good for them, I thought. Just what I needed. Tweakers using my property for God knows what.

It didn’t take long for that notion to be dispelled, however. As I went around to the front door, I noticed a steady stream of vehicles coming through the gate. My whole front yard was a parking lot. People were getting out of their cars and heading over to my neighbor’s place. I heard someone mention the words "grandma" and "funeral," and I began to put two and two together. 

My neighbor, Jeff Jackson (not my current neighbor, but the one previous) was holding a memorial service for his beloved grandmama. I guessed I was going to have to put up with some parking issues, but it seemed unavoidable, so I turned to go back in the house. 

That’s when I noticed that my entire house was full of people. Some of them I knew from work, like Mike “Carnitas,” AKA the Little Chocolate Bunny Rabbit. I tugged on his ponytail, and he looked up at me. 

"Hey, Spark. Sad deal about grandma," he said, looking down at his feet with the expected expression of survivorship contrition upon his face. The usual funeral stuff. 

My cousin Tim was also around somewhere, presumably looking for Wheat Thins and cheese. I began talking to an Asian lady, not sure of our relation, but possibly an aunt to my coworker, Houa Vang. We were having a nice conversation about the poignancy of life when an insect landed in a spiderweb.

"Oh, how sad!" The Asian lady said. 

"Why?" I asked, noting that the insect had only landed there briefly and then flown free.

It occurred to me at this point that this event in my house had not been authorized by me, and I began going from room to room trying to determine who was responsible for letting everyone in.

“This ain’t no party--” I began, quoting the line from Life During Wartime by the Talking Heads. (Even in my dream, I realized that the date was January 20 and that soon we would be having another four years under dictator Donald Trump, so the irony of those lyrics coming out of my mouth was not lost.)

"Who the fuck--the actual fuck--is the fuck responsible for letting all these people in here?" I said, startling myself with my own ungraciousness. "I mean, really, who is the person who let the rest of these people in?"

I was not really mad at this point, so much as just curious, since the party was actually quite a success. There were plenty of people just milling around having conversations, and they didn’t seem to be breaking the place up. I was actually quite pleased with the turnout, in spite of myself. I had always wanted to have a party here, but I never seemed find the right occasion. 

Some people took the hint, however, and began filing out the front door, to my disappointment. Nonetheless, I was glad to get some of this traffic out of my living room. Things were bound to get messy. That’s just the nature of parties.

I went around to the side of the house and sat down on a bench. The Asian lady and I were still having a conversation, and Mike "Carnitas" came and sat on the bench next to us. I looked up in the sky and saw a wobbly vapor trail that looked suspicious. 

"That looks like a rocket!" I exclaimed. The others looked up and saw it too. 

It was indeed a rocket, a missile to be precise, and it was headed on a very low trajectory towards some farmland to the north. It was my estimation that we were geographically situated somewhere near Bakersfield, possibly Lake Isabella, and the rocket was severely off course. It was going make impact in a populated area near a school. I could read the big black letters on the side of the missile as it slowly descended. It read CCCP.

"It’s a nuke!" I said, suddenly feeling the heaviness of the moment. "Great. We’re being nuked."

I saw the beginnings of a dust cloud, then some orange flames, and for a moment, I thought it possibly had been a dud. Then the familiar shape of a mushroom cloud began to form.

"Close your eyes, and duck!" I admonished those on the bench with me. "Get ready for the blast!"

We’re dead. 

I don’t know if I thought the words or spoke them aloud, but that was the sense of it. We were all going to die when that blast wave came through and incinerated us. 

The blast wave never got there, however, because I woke up first. Out of the dream and into the nightmare, as it were, as it is fast approaching January 20, and no amount of closing our eyes and ducking is going to shield us from The Big Orange Blast.