{THE LONG DRIVE HOME: Part I}

If this were a movie, like a real live movie I would position the camera somewhere in the sky for the first shot. There would be lots of light and colors. Psychedelic styled colors. The kind you see when you are on mushrooms or other such hallucinogens. You would see very small specks of things happening like the way you do when you fly across the united stated or anywhere else for that matter except you would slowly fall from the sky and go right towards whatever it is you wanted to focus on. In this case it would be a car traveling roughly 65-70 mph down the New Jersey Turnpike. The car would be the color of gold. There would also be other cars driving around it too but those cars wouldn't matter as much. There would be two guys in the car and they would be having a conversation about whatever is on the radio. Maybe they would be talking about politics or the economy. Something rightfully boring as hell. There would be a message in all of this conversation. If you wanted to hear it. There is a message in all forms of conversation. The first guy would ask the second guy about political division and how it affects the individual but the other guy would say that it doesn't have as much to do with the individual as it does with the whole collective. The other guy would say that if there is no individual then there can be no collective because each individual makes up the collective. He would slowly convince the other to see his point of view. He would also talk about how the media uses illustrative stories, metaphors, symbolism, emotion and thought control to get people to believe in a life that is actually not really their life to believe in. It is a made up life that has no point and purpose for any of the people choosing to believe it. He would also say that people do not even realize they are choosing to live in this way because they have been convinced that it was their idea in the first place. The other man would hear him about but here would be many questions that would need answering but even if he answered those questions it would not bring them any closer to understanding what it is they are talking about. Then a man on the radio would say that one million trillion billion gazillion dollars have been spoon fed to a black hole and no one knows where it disappeared to. The other man would ask how the hell could that much money simply disappear without a trace. The other man would say that it is very easy to lose a very large sum of money if you have connection and control to the printing presses and if you lose all documentation/contracts to the printing of the money. Just like the way you can print any document into the world from your own printer at home. The other man would wonder then if money is real. If it really has any affect on anyone's life or if it is just some agreement that our forefather's and their forefather's and their forefather's agreed to. The other man would ask if maybe it is time to stop following our forefather's because this country was founded on freedom. The other man would ask what is freedom. The man would say that freedom is the ability to live free to one's choices in their life at all costs. The other man would concur but he would also ask how many choices do we really have. The other man would say how many thoughts can you think? This would baffle the man for a moment because he then realizes at that moment that he has only been thinking very selective thoughts and has not even realized that there were other thoughts to think about other than the other sayings/ramblings/slogans of corporations. This would make a small tear fall from the man's eye. This would also help the man to realize that he has never cried a day in his life since he was a little kid. So he would have to pull over to the side of the road and let it all out for a moment. The other man would not know what to say or do so he would let the man let it all out. He would say something like, I'm sorry to overwhelm you with my thinking but these are just some of the thoughts I have been having lately. Then the man's cellular phone would ring. It would be both of the men's boss asking where the hell are they because they have a meeting in the next half an hour. Then man would say they are on the side of the New Jersey Turnpike with a flat tired and that he is really sorry but they will be late ad that this is what happens when you drive in back of a construction truck. The boss on the phone would say please get here as fast as you can and would hang up without saying good bye or see you soon. The two men would look at each other ironically as if there is some irony to this situation but both would realize it's nothing but an odd thought for the moment. There would be a bunch of housing developments next to them on the side of the road. A sign would read "If you lived here, You would be home by now." This would actually be the title for the movie. A commercial on the radio would start talking about these developments and how they will be available in the coming month. This would really cause some irony at the moment because here is both of these men. Late to a financial meeting for the debt collection company they work for. Conversations about financial ideas. Both of them barely making it by with enough money to just scrape by the skin of their teeth which is actually slowly wearing off. They would consider this to be a sign that maybe it is time for a change in both of their lives. They would get into the car and continue driving to work. This would all happen early in the morning. Right as the sun is coming up. The first light of the day. There would be steam rising off the ponds and rivers that they drove by. They would turn the radio off and ride in silence the rest of the way into the city. They would go through the Holland Tunnel and end up on Canal Street. There would be a policeman directing traffic. A vendor selling hot coffee and doughnuts. A long line of fat people would be impatiently waiting for their turn. They would all look at their watches very obsessively. Chinese people would be almost knocking each other over with buckets of plants, vegetables, handbags and other such items that we will never know about. Other chinese people would be saying DVD, DVD for sale. African American men would be carrying around very large trash bags full of hand bags and would be quickly opening and closing them before the police show up. Crack heads would be screaming about mother fucking pidgeon toes took my doppleganger to outerspace as diamond mines, shut up, fuck, fuck, go fuck yourself, you self, you don't know what you are talking about, I told you that's not what I was here for to me. You would not know what the point of what they are saying is and if it actually makes sense to them. Maybe it is the most simplified language they understand. Less is more right. The street would rumble from the R train below. It would smell like a dirty river just like the way it used to be a very long time ago before there was a street here. Everyone would be in a rush in their own way. Some people would be running scared, others would be nervously looking left and right and up and down, looking for someone, anyone who might be looking for them. Others would be walking very slowly but still in a rush with their canes scratching across the sidewalk. The two men would continue driving. They would start asking each other what are they going to do when they get there. What are they going to say? What are they going to do? One of the men says why don't we let it happen. The other man will say because I want to have the same story as you so we can make sure everything is in it's place. The other man would say that they should not plan it out too much because that is how mistakes happen when there is too much planning and ideas put into it. Naturally let it happen he would say. They would both disagree with how things should be accomplished. One would want to know every single last little detail. The other would just want to keep it all open just in case anything changes when they get there. The other man says fine. No story. We will just walk in as if nothing has happened. Like we aren't late. The other man would say ok, perfect. We aren't late. We are right on time. The man would not believe him because he well knows what time it is now and what time they were supposed to be there. They would get up to the parking garage. Push the button for the ticket and the ticket would not come out. The man would push the button again and nothing. Again and nothing. Finally the man would get very pissed off at the machine that it would pop out a ticket at the last minute. They would finally find a parking space. They would walk into the building. They would be greeted by two cups of coffee and a smile from the secretary.

{CONSULTING MY DRIVER FOR DIRECTIONS ON DRIVING}

About a year ago I was looking for the keys to my 1956 Mercedes 300SL Gullwing but they were nowhere to be found. So I made a cup of tea. Took a shower. Read the last two pages of a book called: how to find your car keys in as little as ten steps for $24.99 plus shipping and handling. I couldn't believe I got suckered again into buying some book that at the end of it asked you for money if you ever wanted to find your keys again. Blasphemy I say. So I swept and mopped the floor. Walked in circles around my apartment. Cleaned the windows. Folded some blankets. Cooked some scrambled eggs. Made some coffee. Drank some water. Still I could not find my car keys. So then I went for a walk across Brooklyn. Bought an apple from a fruit vendor. Took a quick piss inside a pizza shop. Tied my shoe. Continued walking. I walked to Williamsburgh from Bushwick. The scenery changes immensely from these locations. You go from lots of trash blowing in the street to lot's of trash walking down it. The trash is more real in Bushwick though. It's a bit more authentic. Not to be judgemental or anything. I would never generalize a whole population of people; ever. Anyways, I still couldn't find my keys. It was really starting to get on my nerves. Where did I leave them. I walked into Beekmans Closet. Found a bitchin' pair of pants for under twenty bucks and a sweet lumberjack looking flannel shirt that makes me look like a cowboy. I walk down to McCarren Park and sit on a bench. I watch everyone walk by. A lady walks by with a pig. A couple walks by talking about how AC/DC and Kiss were the best thing ever to happen to rock and roll. A guy headbangs to Metallica Ride The Lightning on his walkman that is made for cassette tapes. People are drinking frozen margaritas. Other people are walking their dogs. Fixed gear bike gangs ride by. Skateboarders ride by doing various tricks that sound very loud. Kids run far away from their mothers and fathers as their mothers and fathers try and catch up to them. I walk to Manhattan Ave in Greenpoint and get a cup of coffee and go to an art gallery. I see beautiful paintings. Everyone is posh. They use big words to describe the paintings and they talk about modern art versus decorative art versus the renaissance. Everyone drinks wine. Red wine. White wine. They all whine. Jeff broke up with me for some model that models for Ford. That's ok though his photography sucks anyways. Sarah left me for some douche who plays in a band and will be touring around the world for the rest of his life. Marc Jacobs new line looks like the last line and the line before that and you even have to wait in line now to get any of the new pieces of his new line. I get so caught up in everything else that has been happening since I left my apartment that I forgot I was looking for my keys to my car. I forgot that I was going to go for a nice drive in the upstate and watch the leaves fall and see the beautiful colors that fall has to offer. This happens to me often in NYC. I set out to do one thing and then split off into a million directions and then forget what I originally set out to do in the first place. My brain has nothing good to say about anything around me. It's like a badly composed type writer that just wants to listen to how everything sucks and how everything is this way and how everything is that way and the other way and I forget that I set out with one specific idea in mind. This disappoints the hell out of me for about two seconds. So I remember. I tell myself, ok so you forgot what you were doing big deal. That's pretty normal when you have a computer for a brain. I walk back out the door. Down Manhattan Avenue to Bedford. I run into Andrew riding his bike. I run into Alex, we argue for fun for a few minutes. I run in Hannah, we talk about how each other is doing. I run into Josh, he plays a prank on me. I run into Andre riding his bike, he gives me a big hug and a kiss. I run into Ame behind him, she does the same exact thing. I run into the guy who dresses like a clown who taught me how to dance in the street to the beatles, we dance for a few minutes. I run into the lady who sells me socks for five bucks sometimes. I run into this guy I forget his name but he always remembers mine. I walk into Oslo and get a coffee. Their coffee is the best, its so rich and dark. Alex gives the best hugs from there, she has like the biggest heart in Oslo, Brooklyn. I run into Dana and give her a big hug and Yana is right behind her, I give her the biggest hug too. I walk down Broadway. The train makes loud noises. The sirens of the cop cars flying by take over. I remember now that through all this damn thinking of everything, of looking for everything. NYC really loves me. I end up back at home. The keys were on the table the whole time.

{KOMUNIST}

Russia, some undisclosed year. We are at war around a giant lake. Bullets are flying past us. This is insane once again. Like always. People are dying on both sides of the enemy lines. It appear no one is winning and giant explosions just keep getting bigger and bigger. There's no winners in this war or any war that I have witnessed for that matter. I decide to drop my gun and walk away from the whole thing. Why do I want to kill? Why do I want to fight? I don;t even know why anyone is fighting in the first place. I take my bags and seek refuge in an old bunker and wait for the right moment to leave this place. When things calm down.

I am walking down the road no one is driving down. I walk to the nearest town. Buses and cars start passing by me as I get closer to a population. It is raining ever so slightly. I end up in front of an old house. I ring the door bell a few times. Then I am let in. A little girl helps me with my belongings and speaks to me in the little bit of english that she knows how. I sit down and relax for a little slice of time. The mother returns home and sees that I am in her home. She becomes very angry. She takes my bags and belongings and starts throwing it all around. The contents start flying everywhere. This pisses me off to no end. I gather everything up off of the floor and repack it into the bag. I pull out an international cellphone and make a very important phone call. Pam Sullivan answers. I tell her what is going on and she agrees to buy me a ticket out of here. I walk out of the house looking for a rid to the nearest airport. Trouble is I don't know where I am. How long I have been here. What year it is. I feel I am in a completely different period of time that is ancient. I am from the future I realize. This is way back in the past before this bodies time. A man in a van pulls up but doesn't speak a word of english and looks at me very skeptically. He takes off very fast. I continue walking down the road.

{THE HAUNTED HOUSE I SLEPT IN II}

Dream: Tops of buildings. People screaming. The city is a big scream. It is nothing else.

I wake up from the dream.

there is a 3 year old on the floor in the living room, another ghost. she looks and me and speaks.

she says, scary huh? I say yeah, a little unexpected. she says, you don't have to be scared and changes from a ghost form to a physical form and hugs me. tears well up inside of my eyes and I can't believe this is really happening.

I wake up again in the living room and usually to turn on the light I have to squeeze the button down really hard and turn and it doesn't always turn on easily, I barely even touch it and the light turns on all by itself.

{THE HAUNTED HOUSE I SLEPT IN I}

ZOMBIE I:

I am at a farm in the middle of Texas and it is night, the moon guides our way. I am driving in a car and there are dead living people all eating each other. I just keep driving and they just keep chasing me. They can't catch me.

ZOMBIE II:

I am in NYC inside a posh down town apartment. Really nice furniture. Beautiful gadgets and gobbledigook things everywhere. Outside you can hear the screams of people being eaten by other people who are the living dead. They start to get each other, the dead fight the living and the living fight the dead and everyone is dying in the streets. I hear them coming up the stairs. I sit on top of the fridgerator and can hear screaming children being eaten alive. I wait, I know they are coming for me next.

then, I wake up from the dream on the couch in the woodlands texas.

I see a ghost in the living room, its a baby screaming and running across the floor. it scares the fucking shit out of me.

{SURREALITY}

You wouldn't believe a thing I said unless you actually had something similar happen to you and even then none of our experiences can ever be completely compared because of the interpretation of what we thought we experienced. It's so much like language, the babel of tower collapsing through the only real communication that happens with no sounds. The waker has awakened in the dream. The dream has become the reality but you can't even take my word for it. This is my experience and it doesn't really even matter whether you read this and agree or don't agree or you think I am crazy or you think I am sane or you think you know any of these things. This is mine and it can never be stolen. Its the gem inside that no one can see. It shines like the crazy diamond that pink floyd talked about. I have seen it in the eyes of the seers. It happens in the state of non-doing. I don't have any more explanations for you. The philosopher has died. The linguistic tongue twister of parody and melody and romance has died. I can't even see my own reflection anymore. The mirror broke. The wave crashed on the banks of the shore. I have died to a new day and night. The merge as the sun and the moon dance around each other in cosmic swirl of lights and silences. I can keep entertaining you with these notions but advise you to go out there and see what it's saying to you. Abyss deep. The height and expansion of the sky. The unlimited boundlessness.

{THE HERMIT DREAM}

The hermit was sitting in his chair sipping on a nice hot cup of tea that he had made for himself and was lost in his dreams of these days that have gone by and passed on like those beautiful sunsets that we have experienced and continue to long for, long after they are gone. He dreamed a beautiful dream of the middle of the woods. A walking stick. A candle lit inside of lantern. Nothing but darkness all around, nothing to see. Only noises all around of nature singing its glorious song. One foot in front of the other. He couldn't even see the ground he was walking on. This is the faith that he had with the path. Who knows if he would make it to any destination but that wasn't the point of any of this. This is where it all started on that day when he erupted from the womb. Nine months inside of the mother with the umbilical cord keeping him alive. There was no guarantee that he was going to come out of the womb developed exactly the way that he needed to be. To this day we still have no knowledge of how this all came about.

Pregnant in the womb with the mother carrying the weight. That's the best thing about all mother's that is the least appreciated in the world today. We have also heard much about the orgasm and the pain that a woman experiences in childbirth. The orgasm is so intense from what we hear that it seems like she is in excruciating pain and its this mix of pleasure and pain that brings the birth. From what we hear the woman will never experience anything close to this, even with the most amazing Don Juan of the world. Thats what we have witnessed about birth and we are starting to feel that death is pretty much the same even though we don't really know the final death of the Hermit and what will happen to him. But we do know that he has been here for some time. He has been very irrational and rational, logistical and linguistical. He has been entertained with the notion of silence. The candle said to him, be a light unto your own. This light started from the moment the hermit saw the light of the day. Continued through the course into the night. Passed through the night with all of its uncertainty with only a small candle to guide the way and the intuition that he was going to make it. Then came the sunrise again. Things started taking shape all around. He saw the path again, he could see the ground. He was in the middle of the woods. The birds flew from the trees. The deer drank by the water. The leaves crunched underneath the feet. This is the hermit that exists in all of us.