I don’t want to dream anymore. My psyche only allows for nightmares & my consciousness is clouded by visions. I am blind, trying to see everything clearly; I am a seasoned fool that dreamers become with age. Striving for success that only fools still believe in. I keep making list. List that keep piling up like walls of cement & mortar. List that document just how far behind I am; isn't that a nightmare? List that measure my work. They are like scrolls, written on papyrus in blood. Ancient is my soul, isn't that a vision? What would you know of me? I have vainly revealed, in writing cryptic lines, inept words, that keep spilling over from my brain spewing onto page. Nothing is as pitiful as the woman or man who knows not themselves but insist on talking about that stranger. The journey into the soul is steep & perilous. I keep singing songs. Songs that are really dirges jazzed up, and funk-ta-fied for amusement. No matter the tempo, the nightmare comes. I sing original tunes, relentlessly to stifle the voices that prophesize prosperity, that is nested in visions. Each day I pray for rest & wisdom that is never easy to come by. Experience is a bitch of a band leader. I am an astronaut. Voyaging into the space & never leaving this temple, this earth, this home decorated in honey/red/brown/supple skin. I imagine that I will return to like matter somewhere between Chicago shoulders and Heavens womb, safely resting. Until then, I will not dream anymore. www.inthenoteofc.com 2/4/02
Reason for writing:
life
Birth sign: Aries
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