Sleep Log #612

i have been

sleeping alot. is there such a thing as too much? too much time travel? too much darkness? well surprise these dreams were filled with sunlight and the sunlight wasn’t from a nuclear attack on nyc. one year ago i asked where would i be now. and here we are. sifting through the ashes of change. M&J bought a new house but in this dream it was a skyscrapping building overlooking the Judahque river. the river was the brightest blue so J wanted to paint the walls orange because #graphicdesign and M was out on the deck yelling down to shawn by the bright blue river. he hasnt shown J his tattoo yet and confided in me that hes scared as hell about her reaction. he is holding a dunkin donuts cup filled with JD and coke. K is also drinking in this dream and telling me that she is a partial therapist, part time theologist, adaquaited numerologist, bi-partisian contracTOR, elo-marine-bio-garderner, flOWER grOWER (please help me my dream is starting to lose)control. that is what we love about (isn’t it) dreams? )anything can happen) M&J are in the spaceship now, my ‘new’ car cant fly like theirs but its history is starting to come out. You know how like, when you are with someone and their history starts coming out?(exposed) as they circle the skyscrapper in Hoboken by the blue river, M is telling us about the lion.
s t o p.
here is where the dream loses it. i realize its a dream but let it roll. thank you for all these colours now. thank you for all the fears i have recently conquered. nothing was handed to us on a silver platter but its amazing how we can all help each other. waiting at the airport. a cat in a pool. anna and her friends bowling in wedding dresses. getting my tie caught is a screen printer. burying my brother. cursing the snow in july. missing my mothers birthday. remembering my fathers death (to the exact hour)3pm june 11 1971 and knowing at that moment, even though he was in boston, that something was wrong. marine biologist. brand new drill. painting the attic floor. my new friend the vending machine, and coffee maker. Powdered forgiveness.

Last year two old friends passed away. I hadn’t seen either of them in many many years. Decades. Several decades. Yet they were, like most old friends are, always there. One lived in Elizabeth NJ, was my old boss, the other was my best friend when I was growing up. He moved to Phoenix Az a long time ago.
When they both found out they were dying they made it a point to contact me. I tried texting but they insisted on talking by phone. Both of them mentioned all these crazy little funny things I did and said when we were friends. They said I helped them. They said I was funny and kind. They were glad to have met me and be friends with me and sorry that life had split us up. When I get down on myself I remember that.
they* were both in the dream. sitting on the edge of the balcony of M&J skyscrapper by the blue river. sipping cokes. looking down at the busy city street below.
Dream over.

Published by George C. Hartman

Redesiging design, coloring outside the lines, rolling down hills, figuring out strange people, dreaming in black and white, photographing in black and white, juggling, body surfing, fantasy football, painting, design, digital art and photo manipulation, green oceans, blue oceans, museums, discovering small towns, biking, beach, relationships that tear my heart out, bad poetry, movie making and BLOGGING

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