Endless Road

I am with two friends on a desolate road in Idaho or Ohio, some place where the roads stretch on for eternity and humans seem small; their roads, lives, everything is small compared to the infinite space around.

We are on this isolated road to photograph the cover for an album. We stand in the center of the road, knowing no one is around for many miles.

My friend is in front of me and I can see through his eyes into the road beyond...it keeps going straight ahead, gently moving up and down over hillsides, but straight ahead nonetheless. His eyes are like warm stained glass...fragmented yellow, green, and bright brown, they are clear and beautiful and I feel safe.

Without Help

It doesn't hurt exactly, but I can feel it, and it feels very wrong.

Once hidden tissues are pressing out of the gaping wound at my throat. It seems as if my head is hanging on by a thread.
I stand on the street. It bears an air of abandonment, this road that leads off the beaten path. It appears as if I am in a gray and weary industrial park. There is however, a scant trickle of pedestrians, and I am eager for them to notice and help me. I see a black woman and her little girl. They have learned to mind their own business under all conditions. All the same I hope
they will veer of course and help me.

I want to ask for help, call out to someone, but it is impossible to speak with a slit throat. No one notices me. No one who notices cares.

I watch an elderly Mexican gentleman peddle something to passers by. I can’t tell what he is selling but I watch on urgently. I listen intently to his chit chat with the occasional customer hoping that someone will eventually see that I need medical attention.
They are very wrapped in their business, their gossip. They tend to it eagerly. I am loosing a great deal of blood. I’m a horrid mess, but they only glance at my face while relating some
trivial bit of data about weather or politics or what they do for a living.

Dark Blue Water

I was treading water in dark blue ocean waters, my body was bobbing up and down with the currents.

There were sandy dirt cliffs directly in front of me, blocking access to the shore. I tried to climb over the cliff, but pieces of earth kept breaking off in my hands.

I settled back into the water, there was algae bobbing along beside me, swaying with me. My mood was calm, it seemed to be an obstacle that needed another solution, it was a rational thought as opposed to a feeling.

I wanted to get to land...then the cliffs were gone, I tried to swim directly to the shore, but the waves and currents kept pushing me out, further into the sea.

I attempted to start swimming to my right, then I remembered the theory that one is supposed to swim diagonally to shore when the current is strong.

I started swimming again, to my left this time. The water was dark, blue...almost black. I swam confidently and calmly.

Soon, before I realized it, I had reached the shore.

War of Divas

The colors are wild.

Electric yellow bouncy curls, hot pink sunglasses, black and white striped stockings on legs that are long beyond credibility. The costuming seems to stretch beyond the performers and melt into the scenery, a stage that stretches into the most hidden regions of mind.

Whatever is desired can be conjured into existence upon this stage, the shape of the stage itself is subject entirely to whim.

Whose whim?

It seems that there are only two here of any consequence, only two conjurers, other characters are merely the accessories of this pair of Divas.

The duo are engaged in fierce competition.

Each one wants to be the only one, the center of a Universe she creates to adore only her.

It is a gay battle of titans. Everything is called into being with song.

Sound, color, form, constantly shift as the two attempt to trap and out maneuver the other, create scenarios in which the other might be eliminated.

There is no way to win in a game without rules, a game in which the players are unbound and infinitely creative.

Faeries

My friend and I are small, the size of faeries, maybe smaller…
We have the ability to expand as well.
We are in a house which changes into a red tent. This structure expands and contracts
with our movements. We are floating in space, it is black and stars are visible outside the windows; but I also feel we are in a deep ocean that throbs and bobs, swaying us gently in dark
waters.
Looking out the one window, I see there is a wooden ship outside which is looking for us. When it comes near, we hide mischievously, making ourselves small, at one point the structure around us is almost like shrink wrap (the size of a pea, although it feels large) and I have to poke a small hole in the fabric so that air can come through.

Explosion

Everything in the room is beginning to darken and glow around the edges.
The edges jiggle jump and ooze. My heart is racing.
Everything inside seems to slow down and my flesh ripples and crawls so quickly that it must be undetectable by the human eye.
I am sinking fast. The darkness deepens, penetrates everything.
My companion holds me so that our faces are close. I kiss him and my cracked heart explodes, everything hot and black spills out of me.
First from my open mouth and melting tongue, then from every pore.
As I slip into oblivion I know I have been exposed. Everyone can see the contents of my heart in this shattered condition.
The secrets it held bleed into the view of the cruel masses.
Just before my mind and being fold into a tiny pin point and dissolve I am vaguely aware of a girl, sobbing like an animal in the distance.

Dividing Door

I am in front of a door...

more precisely, there is a doorway separating me from a friend; sometimes a door appears, sometimes it is invisible although the feeling of a boundary remains.

My friend is testing the lighting situation, looking at me through the peephole in the door...the sometimes invisible door.

She says she can see my dark shape, she knows I am there...although my details are completely obscured.

Screams in the Temple

A large temple, filled with the flickering of candlelight. Great windows of stained glass surround the place in barely visible colors. Any tiny sound becomes a huge echo in the vast open hall. Two stairways lead up and behind the main altar, which is surrounded by tall, burning cups of fire.

A tall man in a dark robe stands at the head of the altar, looking over all that is happening. His face is hidden by the robe he wears, his hands are crossed and also hidden by the wide sleeves. He evokes a mood of harshness and deep judgement.

I see him from the center of the hall. I know I am safe. But I can hear the screams of others who aren't. The screams come from somewhere behind the altar. I feel the impulse to go and help. At the same I know that this place is Eternal and nobody can truly help the ones who are screaming.

Not unless they know how to ask.

Evolution

The water is fairly shallow, it laps around my calves.
Before me is a cliff wall that curves out into a narrow peninsula. Both the cliff wall and the peninsula are composed of grayish rock.
There is no easy way out of the water which is calm and opens into the wide sea. The salty smell and feel of it is soothing. I look down into the greenish sparkle. To my relief it is clear enough to see my feet and the sandy bottom.
A strange sea creature swims in with the gentle current. It is an amazing Precambrian creature. Squid like tentacles extend out of its spiraling shell. They have a raw look, tender and coral red.
I watch in awe as its upper half begins to separate from the tentacles.
I am witnessing some eerie evolution, the birth of one creature from another.
My heart is deeply affected.
I feel tentative joy and the sorrow of sacrifice.

Couple Watching

There is a dusty road next to a desolate field.

In the middle of the field, a middle aged couple sits on a large sofa and watches TV.

They are very happy. They wave at passersby. They wave at me
and ask me to come over. I look at them from the distance.

They have created a gentle, simple world around themselves, around
the sofa, around the TV. From their post, higher than anything
else around them, they can see everything.

But mostly, they watch the TV.

Mirror

I am in an old shop, filled with old carpets from the Middle East and antique treasures.
There is a mirror I have been coveting.
I have dreamt about this mirror before or have some strange feeling of recognition that I cannot place. It is a large oval mirror, the size of an adult and it's attached to a solid base, so it can stand alone anywhere in a room.
I run my fingers over the carved, cherry wood....the woodworker has decided to make the edges into waves, resembling mermaid's hair. As I admire it, I discover a hidden mirror on the top- it can be pulled out or pushed back. When I pull it out, the bottom mirror is useless- it has stopped capturing my reflection and only in the square mirror on top can I see myself.

Meeting at the Old House

The carpet is the tan carpet of the custom built homes of my childhood. The whole house has that feel. It is a dark earth toned den from a bygone era of architectural history.
Houses like this one are always a little creepy to me… almost haunted with dirty hues of brown. At the same time they make me feel at home.
There are people everywhere. They remind me of over zealous Amway representatives. The leader is blonde, a white trash self improvement high priest. The lights are dim. We are all sweaty and moving through the room.
My solar plexus is weirdly warm.
Women and men wear sparkly lengths of fabric draped and pined in a fashion reminiscent of costuming for a fourth grader’s school play. Their street clothes are still evident beneath the sequins and glitter, New Years Eve party masks, and feathers.
Bodies weave through the space passing closely to each other without ever colliding or pausing, moving as a whole like a school of brightly mismatched fish.

Poisoned Tea

A group of mostly latin women are preparing for battle with their men, the father of their children.
They have known, for some time now- that the men are cold and ruthless and brutal.
And although everything appears normal and cordial on the surface between the two groups, the tension has been building and the women have secretely been meeting...learning how to use clubs and other instruments.
Both men and women are in a room with a long bar...they are all about to go somewhere in a van big enough for the 35 of them and the 12 children, all who are under five.
Before they leave, the men have prepared tea, which they serve in small cups to the women, and it seems obligatory to drink. There is a signal from the head female organizer.
With her eyes, she tells the women that the tea is poisoned and to pretend to drink.
The woman walks out of the room, into the daylight- and becomes a silouette surrounded by blinding white light, spitting the tea out on the grass to her right.

Ride

I can’t believe my eyes.
The road ahead slopes steeply downward. Clearly gravity will pull us off of this outrageous road. I feel frightened but have no hope of avoiding the cataclysm.
I am in the backseat with my hazy sibling and other peers who may or may not really fit into this cab. They seem to fade out into nothing in order to defy spatial restrictions.
This is my father’s pick up truck. The detail to this aspect is very real.
I can feel the coarse tan upholstery under hand as I grip the seats in front of me to brace myself. My father is the driver.
He is in a good mood recognizable from my childhood; full of himself, opportunities knocking and everything is possible.
His passengers are scared shitless by his recklessness and he’s enjoying it.
My mother is riding shot gun, and between my parents a family friend, Maureen.
She crawls down to the floor and lays there.
We’re on our way . Amazingly we remain on the road.

The Two Birds

I rested my head on the shoulder of a chubby crone.
She was in yellow and orange hues, short blond hair.
My head slipped slowly down to her chest, i rested like a child.
She cautioned me to keep communication open, that hard tasks and challenges have only begun.
As she talked, we watched two birds a couple feet in front of us on the ground, next to a bunkbed.
The size of pigeons, but yellow, orange, and green, they walked around or over each other, trying to grab pieces of marigold and chrysanthemum flowers. One bird would take a bite, then fold in on itself, the inside becoming the out.
Like a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes, with each bird movement, the scene changed/became distorted.
A graceful flow of geometric shapes...the unfolding of yellow and orange petals.

No Will Of Her Own

It is Easter.
I feel the arousing of life all around and within
me. I cross the sparkling green lawn to reach the mailbox. I
find that it is overflowing with packages wrapped in yellow
paper.
I feel a wave of anxiety. I know who they are from. I
know that they were selected and wrapped with an open heart. I
also know that trouble won’t be far behind.
The gifter is like a Trojan horse; she is sweet and sincere but has no will of her own… the demon inside has brought her back to us.
I am torn. I want to leave them where they are. I don’t want to accept them.
But my partner has decided to welcome her back. I have no say in
the matter. I begin to pull the packages out and read the gift
tags.
There is one for each of my daughters. There is one for my old roommate. Within the depths of the mailbox I can see my partner’s name on yet another. I don’t want to find the one for
me.
Then I wonder: perhaps she wont be coming after all? She
left the packages after a mercifully timed change of heart?
I feel that it has been worth while to control myself. It seems
that perhaps the danger has passed.
Our Easter will be preserved.

The Real Monster

I am an observer to this scene, standing only feet away from the others.
There is a couple, a man and woman, dressed as sexy cops, something out of a cheap Halloween costume.
The man is in a tight satin blue shirt, the woman in a mini skirt and police uniform. They are dressed for a costume party.
The friend they have come with, a nerdish-type with glasses and quite shy, usually is dressed in a monster outfit.
He has a mask made out of plastic covered in dark hair.
Steps from the doorway, the entrance to the party, the couple back out...decide not to go in.
By the look of disappointment in the guy's eyes, they have been doing this to him a lot, but he goes inside anyhow.
All the people inside are dressed as monsters and they all begin to start howling and whopping and beating their chests.
The nerdish guy is unmasked for a moment, either by his own hand or perhaps it is only me that can see the flash of horror; evident not only in his eyes, but throughout his whole face, the way his mouth opens, the color draining from his pink face...
when he realizes that at least one of the monsters (the biggest and most brutal) is not wearing a mask, he is not dressed up or pretending...
he truly is a monster.

The Great Game

The countryside is charming, seemingly touched but undisturbed.
I am very happy walking down this dirt road.
Someone in my entourage shades me from the merrily glowing sun with a parasol.
I am confused by the scene I have stumbled into. It takes me a few moments to realize I have interrupted some organized sport.
On the left side of the road are gathered an assortment of young men and boys, healthy and good natured youths, many of whom have impishly discarded their shirts. On the right side a smaller gathering of somberly and properly clad little old women have converged.
Both sides are eagerly throwing summer ripened strawberries at the opposing camp. The boys are shouting and laughing, their trouser legs are rolled up. Their zeal for the battle is equally matched to that of the old women.
This band of gray ladies is mirthful as well, although they have a more subdued way of expressing it. I am caught in the crossfire. Big juicy strawberries so ripe they explode at impact hail down on me.
There is a cease fire and the young men come into the street to check on me. They offer apologies mingled with laughter.
The delight and good will emanating from both sides is contagious. I feel very pleased by the whole affair.

Spanish Hills

There was the aura of war, the feeling of escape and preparation for another battle.
A group of people that are a hazy blur and myself have retreated into the Spanish hills, its light is yellow and the hills are covered in dead yellow grass and low-growing green shrubs.
We are camping inside and next to old ruins...Old bricks of buildings that were once glorious.
I am standing inside an old ruin we have turned into a house, I go to open the door, there are three people I recognize from our group.
Two men and a woman, a wordly young woman with long dark brown dreadlocks streaked with maroon highlights. Multiple places in her body are pierced. Her clothes are artistically tattered. She is decorated and tattooed.
I notice that she is pregnant, she only wears a bra-like shirt and her belly is exposed.
I look at her belly and see a joker's face and smile looking at me, it is the unborn baby. It is coolly detached and smiling with huge red lips.

The Evil Breed

He is a famous (or perhaps infamous) man known for his good looks, a troubled relationship and involvement in a questionable esoteric society.
He is in pain and very ill.
Outside of social conventions I touch him, help him.
He surrenders himself into my hands, completely in my care. The space is bathed in pale light. There are linens strewn everywhere.
It is unclear whether we are indoors or outdoors, perhaps something in between. Towels on a clothing line flap in a breeze like Tibetan prayer flags.
I lay my hands on his crooked back, feel him burning with fever. His eyes are strange, his face wan and clammy.
I can see how others would be frightened or disgusted by what emanates from his eyes, a peculiar breed of evil.
It only endears him to me, seals a silent understanding.
I am strong enough to lift him onto a bed of sloppily strewn multicolored blankets. My heart is brimming over with pure love as I apply myself fully to tending the fever, a strange combination of detachment and sincere caring.