I never have nice dreams anymore.
Instead, I have the absolute worst nightmares.
I’ve stopped with the waking up screaming. Part because I’m too exhausted to scream.
I used to be inspired by my nightmares. I could use bits and pieces of them to create my stories.
But I don’t have any of those kinds of nightmares anymore.
It’s not what I eat or drink that’s causing it.
It’s just getting worse and worse on its own.
My doctor wants me to start taking pills. What if they make things even worse?
At least it inspired me to write, yes?
Category: My stories
Gysin
Brion Gysin told everyone at the Beat Hotel that he could make William Burroughs vanish.
He rigged up a frame with cords, and he placed Burroughs behind it. Then he projected a photo of Burroughs on to Burroughs. The cords blocked some of the projection.
Gysin rolled the focus on the projection for a few minutes, which was hypnotic to the hotel residents.
Burroughs slipped away from his seat and left the room. It looks like he had disappeared.
The audience was stunned. Gysin smiled.
But Burroughs was annoyed. Applauding his disappearance?
He packed his things and left the hotel.
Singularity
Ray Kurzweil says that the singularity is near.
“So, Ray, where is it?” I asked him.
He stuck his hand in his pocket. “I swear, I just had it.”
He then searched his other pockets, the sofa, the refrigerator and the kitchen drawer. Twice.
“Shit,” he growled. “Help me look?”
We turned the place upside-down, but all we found was a handful of pocket change and a stray ketchup packet.
“Oh well,” he said. “Maybe I left it back home.”
We shook hands, and Ray began to fade from view.
BACKUP COMPLETE, said a robotic voice, and everything else vanished.
Seventh Day
On the seventh day, God rested.
And God’s idea of rest is Texas Hold’em. (God created Texas and Texas Hold’em long before the first day.)
He brought the cards. Gabriel brought the snacks.
Since nobody had any money to bet with, Michael gathered up some animals to bet with.
Things got out of hand after a while. Gorillas lost their tails, dinosaurs were all killed off with the unicorns, snakes lost all their legs, and all kinds of other messes got made.
God swept the wriggling, writhing leftovers under the rug.
A platypus crawled out and slipped into a stream.
Super Bowl Party
I bought beer, sodas, chips, dips, and wings.
Cleaned the place up. Hired a maid service to do it right.
Even bought the biggest TV in the store. Wiring up the surround system took two engineering grad students.
Went so far as to rent some portapotties. Because three bathrooms might not be enough.
And nobody came. Not a single person.
I watched the game alone.
That’s okay. The Super Bowl was a blowout. And boring.
I took all the food to a local homeless shelter. Played some cards with those folks, too.
Next year, I’ll just go to the shelter.
Car alarm
I didn’t get much sleep.
A car alarm was going off in the parking garage.
I hate it when people let their alarms go.
Maybe someone’s out messing with people’s wheels again?
The alarm didn’t stop for ten minutes.
I’d better go see. Someone might be messing with my truck.
So, I put on some shorts and a shirt, and I picked up my shotgun.
Out in the parking garage,I looked for the source of the noise.
Yep. That truck over there. Blinking tail lights, too.
Wait. It’s my truck.
I clicked the remote and the alarm shut off.
Cook the books
We had a good deal going between me, Bill, Steve, and Ted.
Bill runs the front company.
Steve runs the back end.
Ted’s the numbers guy.
He cooks the books. The books.
Sometimes, he cooks them in a wok.
Other times, he cooks them in a crockpot.
Once, he cooked them in a pressure cooker.
Man, those books cooked up good.
What’s the front company?
A restaurant. A great restaurant.
Yep. The special is book.
(We tell them it’s veal.)
People eat the evidence. The fucking evidence. And they love it.
Two thumbs up, and Michelin stars on the way.
Toilet Rings
The doorbell never rings.
I tore out the wire years ago.
Got sick of people ringing it.
The phone never rings.
I pulled the wire out of the wall years ago.
Got sick of people calling.
The toilet never rings.
Because toilets don’t ring.
Well, most toilets.
But after reading about some toilets that the Japanese make, with their fancy perfume sprays and seat warmers, I bet there’s a toilet out there that rings.
Why does it ring?
I don’t know.
But it does. And it’s probably horribly expensive.
No, my toilet doesn’t ring.
(I have it set to vibrate.)
Digger
Ever go to the cemetery?
I go there a lot.
People talk to the headstones.
I like to switch the headstones around.
People lay flowers on the wrong graves. Or they pour out beer or wine into the wrong grave.
It’s not about the dead for them. It’s about the living.
The living mow the grass. The living blow the leaves off of the sidewalks.
I’m not here for the living. I’m here for the dead.
I’ve got a shovel, a burlap sack, and a dark witch down the street who buys finger bones.
Need anything while I’m down there?
Cat in pants
My cat likes to sleep in my pants.
I try to be mindful, so when I take off my pants, I put then on the floor with the waist open and up, like a bowl or nest.
She never climbs into my pants while I watch. Only when I leave the room to make tea. Or go to the bathroom. Or fetch the mail.
When I return, she is curled up, nose in tail, asleep.
Such a cute little critter she is.
As opposed to the vicious, angry beast she becomes when I need to put my pants on again.