The mental harassment of telling someone your dreams

But I’m doing it anyway, briefly; I dreamt I was riding in the passenger seat of a limo driven by Chewbacca.  I don’t care what it really means, that I want to touch my mother’s allegorical penis or who cares really;  Chewbacca was as cool hand luke as you’d expect. That’s all.  Once years ago while consulting at Schwab in San Francisco I told him I dreamt that Goofy and Brooke Shields were turning with their hands that circular space station in 2001: A Space Odyssey while it was rotating in space and they were disproportionately large.  My friend told me I was full of shit and I said many times yes and aren’t most of us but this was true.  Of course, I didn’t believe half the things I was doing at that time. Once I showed up to work still high on LSD and the same friend just laughed his sober ass off while I kept rebirthing with this faint smell of piss and blood around me; that was the comedown all the way to work on the bus; this slight chirping sound in my head of piss and purple materials;  that he believes.  The night before my ex and I, both impatient, took too much after waiting a lofty twenty minutes or so for the first batch to kick in and then both sent us to what I called Vegas Buddhism; when I looked in the mirror it was like an early cut of Sgt. Pepper; I walked around my apartment blessing everything like the pope I never wanted to become; when I looked at my ex on the bed all I saw was the devil, curvy, red and full of trouble.  When we were on top of each other, I couldn’t speak English; instead, I kept saying maybe in a precursor to rebirthing “Spangle wambee jampers.” After all these years I still remember that phrase to the syllable better than my ex roommates name.  My ex was not pleased; at times I would pull out of it and speak solemnly in my solemn bank teller exchange voice “hey, I think I have this under control now” then start laughing and reverting back to my own special language that only myself and my suddenly free on parole inner infant could understand.  By dawn I realized this was still happening and being a Capricorn I had to go to work even if typhoid ants with mental problems were biting my on the legs; I went to work and after downing as much Vitamin C that my bowels doth not protest I somehow programmed my way through a comedown and made many special floating friends that day that did Riverdance around my head.  They were very supportive. It was the only and last time I did LSD; there simply too many other substances to fit on the schedule and squeeze in a full time job.  In a capitalist sin or ultimate act of wacky compassion a homeless man outside my apartment, as there were the finest and most well informed homeless in the country holding symposiums in my neighborhood across from Ocean Beach, a homeless man and I struck up a conversation about the necessities of war or the effect of metals on aerodynamics when he mentioned he wanted LSD.  I gave him the rest of it and before I could recommend a dosage he down the rest and I luckily it only caused him to sprawl;  for me that would have turned my limbs inside out with a load of lips that I always wanted to kiss but never did so now were going to eat me from the outside inward. One day I plan to write a musical based on my brief history of drugs.  Everything in my life at the time was changing like a diaper and so I had to sink and swim and fortunately as an  Capricorn which is symbolized by the amphibious sea-goat I could do both.

Maybe it all began when I was an Alpha Bits junkie when I was in elementary school. I used to deal Alpha Bits to other kids in the cafeteria. That’s what I used to do; I was a sugar dealer during lunch time, like a floor runner on the stock exchange; I would get maybe three white cakes for my braunschweiger sandwich, which my mother made me every day after I probably merely eyeballed the enlarged squashy yellow log when we were at the meat counter one day and that gave her the green light to order a lifetime supply. Extra logs hidden behind the toilet, etc. So trading it was a necessity. And if you’ve had braunschweiger, you understand what I’m talking about. If you haven’t, well, it’s like certain drugs. I always tell people don’t ever let me catch you doing it. Because I’ve done them and the big rule is you don’t introduce anyone else to them. And I feel that way about braunschweiger. Don’t ever do braunschweiger, though I just lost the possibility for an endorsement if it ever makes a comeback. I’ve lost my first commercial gig. Eh, well fuck you braunschweiger!

When I was ten, I worked my way up to getting hooked on Planters Cheeseballs: round, softer, versions of Cheetos, like Cheetos for women, to the point I demanded like a trailer park mama to my mama there be at least two or three extra large size cans in the pantry so when I watched Flash Gordon I could get high off the powder and live Flash Gordon. My version of Pink Floyd’s The Wall. I imagine myself like Andy Dufrane in Shawshank Redemption, when he’s dropping bits of wall dust surreptitiously from his pants while he walks around the prison yard. I did the same with cheeseball dust in my backyard, with Morgan Freeman narrative.  There’s a magnet I now have that says “Leap, and the net will appear.” So looking back, I realized I did the monastic Zen thing and leaped from cheeseballs to crack.

Maybe we’ll continue this discussion on stage.  My friend asked me if I would ever take drugs again and I say only peyote or shaman initiatory drugs so I can see the great Lizard Queen and give her a pedicure and she can let me drink of her toe nail clippings and I will reborn as someone who can heal old cars.  When I was high years ago, it would make my heart pound so fast it felt like it jumped out of my mouth like a freaked out Bugs Bunny cartoon character and on the way back in it would have another hit and I knew if my cartoon heart was taking drugs on top of me, it was trouble and one night, Elton John’s pacemaker appeared to me in a dream and said “Lee, I have a cousin sitting in a box in Albuquerque and your resume appeared.”  Since then, I think about my heart and the general shit generating machine my life became and I don’t even think about it.  Jedi training is not what they say in the movies.


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