ultranow

when a jewish android dreams of charles nelson reilly

ever since charles nelson reilly died, the world is not enough.  so i had this dream see.  i'm in a college classroom and charles, i mean mr. nelson reilly, is a special guest because it's a theater related class and he is (was in real life but is in the dream) a theater g-ddess.  after his presentation, he and i are milling around this table full of crappy snacks and he's talking to me like he's met me before which i just go with even though i don't remember it and he says there's a guy i know in london who would be perfect for you and i'm going to set you up with him in a month.  i'll fly you out and everything.

i knew mr. nelson reilly wouldn't live that long and i was torn between telling him he should set me up sooner because i selfishly wanted to meet that guy because madonna once asked me do you believe in love and i said yes really quick before she could say well i've got something to say about it and it goes something like this.  torn between telling him because knowing he was going to die in short order might ruin his remaining time.  torn between that and not telling him, which would mean i'd never get set up with the guy in london.

it's only after the fact of this dream that i realized what i should have said to mr. nelson reilly is that he specify in his will that i am to be set up with mr. so and so smart, funny, sensitive hunk on such and such a day in london.  so that didn't work out.

hey did you know that people say confidence and power are sexy?  i'm so screwed.

mystery kiss

i dreamt i was face to face with a blogger and he said "i've fallen for you...hard" and then he kissed me close up and i kissed back and it felt good and it lasted.  it's a real blogger here on the wild internet and it's a guy and he has his face pic on his blog.  is it you?  maybe it is.  because i know you read my blog.  beyond the implication that i spend too much time online, i have no idea what this means.  except that i want to kiss a guy who can write and has a brain and opinions and is handsome.  i have no idea what this means beyond that i deeply understand as of this week in the world that the only sex i want is boyfriend sex which isn't a stretch to conclude because it's not like i've been having non-boyfriend sex, it's just i haven't been having boyfriend sex.  and i don't want sex right away at all, not until i really know someone and have been myself with them so they know who i am and how to be with me that way and why to connect with me that way and what is possible that way and when is when we're ready and there would be a we that would be ready.  i've given up on so much already.  i take it all back.  i take all my give ups back.  i want it all.  give and get and share and be and love and know.  i'm going to try. again.

things that hurt

• dreaming that you're working in some big company that's in a tall building made of snow at the las vegas airport and you go on vacation for two years and when you come back they've given , kkk-er, holocaust revisionist, ex-presidential candidate, former member of louisiana state representative david duke the corner office and have a drug plan where they fill prescriptions but with bad information on the pill bottles because they're goal is to just make not keep people well so you're in the lunchroom and anderson cooper asks a pointed question about the drug plan and people are so upset he gets "disappeared" and then someone pulls a gun and everyone thinks it's fake but you know better so you run out of the lunchroom along with the only other person who takes the gun seriously who is this women with black naturally curly hair and she goes to the side office and says you can join her in hiding but you say that's a bad place to hide because it has no back way out and she agrees so we go running up the stairs and find a room with a chess set and haylie duff and the woman with the perm says if people come after us we should go up these shingles that are part of a side staircase and then up into an attic room because there's a back way out from there and just as she says that haylie screams "the press!" so we all run as planned except you don't bother climbing up the shingles you just jump across a pool of water to get to where the stairs continue so you're a few steps ahead of haylie and perm woman but we all get behind a curtain that goes into the attic and it's dark and we don't know where to go when suddenly a guy the perm woman calls professor is there and he is wearing a bright green sweater and baggy black sleep pants and we tell him that people are after us and he picks up a dozen glass bottles on a glass bottle holder and drops them out the window to the pavement below and they explode with noise and those after us are no longer after us because they heard the noise and went to investigate thinking we fell out the window and exploded like glass or whatever they thought but we still don't know how to get out and the professor says we don't have to right away and you think he likes haylie and perm woman more than you even though you're cuter because you've been working out lately and had that long vacation to rest up so you shuffle around in the dim room which came into view better after time and had black floors and walls and metal scrollwork and a red velvet movie theater behind a curtain and you wondered what was playing and what professor did for a living and if haylie duff would have beaten you at chess and whatever happened to anderson cooper but then you woke up.

show off turn on

you ever have insomnia because you're out of the good prescription painkillers the dentist let you have after your bum wisdom tooth was extracted and it still hurts several days later and it's so so hot and you can't sleep which is what insomnia is called so you stare out your window in the middle of the pre-dawn night early morning wee hours and you stare and you stare and nothing is happening but you know if you can't sleep you're supposed to get out of bed for a few minutes and then try again so you do get out of bed and you stare and stare out of the window and scan the windows of the across the street apartment building for any activity for anyone sharing the same non-somnia and you see a light flip on and you see a man masturbating in full view of potentially one other person only which is to say me and he's masturbating and on a higher floor than me but still just across the street and you wonder what his buzzer number is on the intercom and maybe you could invite yourself up to witness the boldness and you watch and you watch and he masturbates and masturbates and the light goes off and you go to sleep and wake up too early way too early and have no idea if what you witnessed actually happened or was strictly a dream and if it was a dream if it was your dream or the dream of the man who dreamed of masturbating in his open window for all to see and didn't really do it but dreamt of it only but it was still witnessed.  his light was on.  he has a penis.  he touched it.  he moved it.  i saw more detail than was probable unless i have binocular eyes but pain does strange things and the supernatural does strange things.  it happened and it didn't happen.  so has that ever happened and not happened to you in the middle of the early morning night pre-dawn nothingness existence?  yeah, me neither.

sheets of death

despite the calms forté (homeopathic sleep helper) and herbal tea (herbal tea) and cosby rerun (vanessa loses a history paper and it turns up in the freezer), i could barely get to sleep last night.  and when i did i experienced one of those waking nightmares that goes on and on until i was finally able to fully get up and put a mental stop to it.  i was trapped in bed with an evil person from my past.  not evil just in this dream.  evil in real life and with a starring role in my dream.  it was morning.  the sheets were white and i was bunched up in them, struggling to get them below my chin so i could breath.  the evil person kept pushing the sheets over my head and pinning my arms.  there were layers and layers of sheets.  it was so hot i knew i would pass out any second.

this person should have helped me survive but instead kept trying to smother me with gentle movements bunching the sheets around my head.  i could see the sunlight through the white sheets.  i was so sleepy but had to fight to stay awake so i wouldn't die.  i was struggling to stay conscious.  which probably explains why it was difficult to fully fall asleep.  i bet if i had let myself get smothered in the dream i would have slept soundly.  but then there's the whole die in your dream die in real life thing and i didn't want to risk it.  i'm not ready to die.  at least not until season 2 of fame comes out on dvd.  and even after that, i've got things to do.

oprah is somewhere in this post because oprah is everywhere

it feels good to give up on my dreams.  and by dreams i mean those that i've had for myself that aren't what i really want but are instead what i think i should want.  for example, writing a one act play to try to get into a festival.  i've written a couple of one acts before which i knew in advance would be produced because it was for a community group i was a part of.  they were decent and packed the house every night and everything but really i'm not a playwright and i don't want to be a playwright but i thought i should try to be a playwright because i deep down am one and have just simply not been trying but really it's not my dream.  it's a pretend dream.  and that's exactly why it feels good to give up on it.

fashion oprah

as oprah's best friend i was helping her with a show.  i was the male gayle king, and just as lesbian.  this one took place in cubbyholes under a bridge above a stream.  there were shoes and shoe models stuffed into these cubbyholes and it was my job to pull them out so oprah could interview them.  so i would say things like "oh, there's another one jammed in there" and then oprah would ask her "who are you wearing?"  after the model finished describing her shoes and the unseen studio audience would oooh and aaah, the couture would drop with a plunk into the stream.  each had only one shoe, so it wasn't a fashion show, unless fashion shows consist of carrying one shoe down the runway.

one of the models, a woman in silver body paint and silver cape, asks me if there was a runway show and i said probably not but if there were it would be 15 minutes long at most.  after the models were all tugged from the cubbyholes, we all sat at the stream bank on an elevated concrete slab.  the silver cape woman jumped in the drink and oprah warned her to be careful not to mess up her makeup.  then during commercial break oprah put out there that maybe we should have a full fashion show.  i immediately received an e-mail from the silver model angry that i put the 15 minute time constraint on the fashion show.  i e-mailed her back that this was a standard length of couture shows.  this e-mail exchange occured without the use of computers.

the search for signs of signs

so i really wanted signs today.  visual auditory hyperbolic unsubtle extreme metaphors of the world telling me what to do.  all i got was:

lady says "hi" while her hand blocks her mouth and part of her chin.  we're at a street corner waiting for the walk sign.  since her face is part blocked i feel the need to say "i don't know who you are" in case i'm supposed to know.  she says "i just threw a tantrum in my lawyer's office".  i say "so you want to say hi to ground yourself?"  she says "yes, i just wanted to be nice again".  i say "okay, you're nice."  i don't say "okay, you're nice, now back the fuck up."

after fantasizing about being a nutritionist/personal trainer seeing tacky green and white apex supplement protein shake mixes (i.e. big tubs of workout goo) in the window of a gym.

someone who look exactly like i will two years from now carrying a sign that says exactly what he did with his life when he was where i'm at now, down to the minute detail, while skipping rope and drinking near beer, and the sign said "retro '90s is so '87.  be who you are when you will be who you are."

but no signs.

schizophrenic resolutions

i will work out and become rick dinihanian which would make me a 50+ top selling playgirl model with steel gray hair doing sensuous bedding print ads in my spare time.  this would age me two decades into refinement and wealth and a steve martinish face/fitness mannequin body.

i won't work out because if i did people would objectify me by saying such things as "you have a body i want to touch and look at it and touch again and look at while i touch and then make you soup not from scratch but from a can that has the word organic on it because you are organic".  this type of objectification would be sincerely devastating because i don't want someone to want me more than i want myself as in appreciate me more than i appreciate myself value me more than i value myself love me more than i love myself.  i know that when a man leaves someone seeing me as he sees me has left.  his eyes have left and that used to hurt because then nobody would be seeing me that way until the next man arrived and saw me that way which i can only imagine is good and lovely.  i would cry and understand that he was gone and so was happiness.  yet now i know that i need to value myself in all those ways and not look to a man to complete me to make me to see me so i haven't looked to a man for that.  i haven't looked to a man for anything in a long time.  so by comparison my not seeing myself in those valuable ways doesn't seem to be a problem.  i'm not looking for a man to complete me so it doesn't matter that i don't complete myself.

it does matter that i don't complete myself.  it matters that i would try to.  when i work out i breathe and am the jewish jock of all time.  mark spitz.  sandy koufax.  goldberg.  i ran an 8 minute mile in junior high.  i was last.  but first in the 50 yard dash.  first in the 100 yard dash.  by the time everything switched to meters i was still and silent and invisible.  i was first in the standing broad jump.  point a to point b when point b is entirely visible.  marked on a cracking yellow gym mat set outside on the grass during junior high olympics.  i got a ribbon.  red white or blue.  which was best i don't remember but i got the best color.  it was blue yes blue.  went in the file cabinet with my report cards and progress reports.  i always got excellents in everything.  but once i got needs improvement and i was devastated.  needing improvement is failure.

if there's nothing wrong with the universe there must be something wrong with me

which is the opposite of what beverly crusher said on star trek when unbeknownst to her she was caught in a static warp bubble and what she thought was the universe was collapsing around her and everyone was disappearing until she was all alone and the universe was smaller than the enterprise and shrinking to nothing and the hallways were turning to grayish pink mist so she had to jump into the disturbance of light and air she thought was what was making people disappear but it was really her son and the traveler alien trying to rescue her with a pathway to the correct universe she had come from. so she said to herself once the last other person was gone "if there's nothing wrong with me there must be something wrong with the universe" which enabled her to risk racing from the bridge to engineering and jumping into the vortex and end up being rescued. the rules of the incorrect universe had been determined by her thoughts at the exact moment she was trapped in the static warp bubble which was her reflecting on the statement an older scientist had made which is everyone leaves and disappears from your life eventually.

but in my case, there is actually something wrong with how i'm seeing the universe i'm in, which essentially makes it as if i'm in a static warp shell of my own negative mind/experiences/thoughts. and i can escape this flat empty universe by creating and leaping into the vortex. by making and going into the rabbit hole. by trusting. by wanting. by testing. by changing my perception. by seeing and naming realities. by seeing and naming unrealities. the ways i view and experience and participate in the world do not need to be static. life does not need to be how it's always been. it cannot be. it can be new. it can be confusing. it can be a grayish pink mess. it can be beautiful. it can be ugly. it can be ecstatic. it can be everything.