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| Subject | middle night |
| DateCreated | 4/5/2007 1:12:00 AM |
| PostedDate | 4/5/2007 12:45:00 AM |
| Body | in the middle of the night (with all due respect to Billy Joel) I don't go walking in my sleep and I seldom dream (at least I rarely remember dreams... maybe it's a vitamin deficiency or some crossed wires... or maybe just contentment with leaving dreams where they belong, as an afterthought to life) and until recently, I seldom slept (so how could I go walking, after midnight, after all... wasn't that a Larisa Olynik commercial?)... if half my thoughts are lyrics (or some othr cultural reference)... I wonder, is such musical influence detrimental to my own individual identity?... I don't think so (oh, was I asking you?), because nobody actually hears the same song or words the same way (I'm not in your head, you're not in mine, which is the existential angst of loneliness all artists try to escape through the mad dedication to the form of choice, constructive, destructive, deconstructive, resurrected, or some other multisyllabic term, but that may be beside the point if there ever was one)... meanwhile, if a thousand people came here to read, a thousand different messages would be found in every entry... at least... of course it doesn't hurt that most every entry is different (or odd, even) in tone, texture, form, and quite often, content... one day you might find the semantically sweet sap that oozes from a hopelessly romantic lyrical heart (shhh, it's a secret) and before you blink you find irreverent sarcasm or caustic cynicism or even self-indulgent egoism (what, me worry?) that any gangsta rapper or rebel yeller would consider their mother's milk (see: Xmas)... or perhaps none of it ever made any sense... and then comes the music... the fluid that carries my spirit through my soul (you may have heard that somewhere)... the sounds resonating through the internal chambers, bouncing off the walls (much like me at times), creating an audio ambiance that envelopes the mind (if you let it) like the harmonic thunder of waves crashing between moments of serene silence (or vice versa)... some of you must understand, but who outside of my head really knows what I mean... another rhetorical question, of course... but feel free to answer... I love conversation, when I can find it... and besides, on the other hand, maybe there is someone out there (with all due respect to Kermit the Frog) somewhere out there who actually gets all this and will someday (out there) take the time to explain it all to me in a way that actually makes sense of it and show me what is real (with all due respect to Blood, Sweat, & Tears), viscerally, ethereally, emotionally, physically, spiritually, sexually, healing even (with all due respect to Marvin Gaye)... don't stop believing (with all due respect to Grace Slick), this is middle night (not middle earth, with all due respect to J.R.R.), a time that is a place, a place that is a time, a place that is a space in time and spacing in and out of the mind (look at all the lights, the lights... I mean, look at all the lights!... with all due respect to streamers and flares and the wonders of the eyes on drugs)... will you enter my mind in the flesh?... ah yes, the lights... and when you add the lights, the colors and the gels, the motorized kaleidoscope of hue and patterns created by the computer programmer and their effect on the retinal cortex of the far brain as they probe the deep mind as the sensory experience takes you into the heart of the middle night (through and past and beyond the audio nightmare of infomercial hell) and on into the connubial passion of ultimate union bliss perfection... or at least a really great flashback... don't let the madness fool you, there is (shhhh, the secret) genius behind the doubt and confusion if only for a moment, fleeting, sleeting, secreting (and greeting) every deepest dream of every heart and soul (especially the most cynical sarcastic aloof among us, even if you don't know who you are, nyuk nyuk)... and when you feel that all is lost, that no one will ever get you, that you can not do what you love to do and you've failed and are uncertain of anything, perhaps coming over for some wild sex, undercover of the middle night, of course, will be the great escape we both need... if the mutual libido attraction is there, let it happen, then... let it be... call it a birthday gift if the timing is right... tomorrow, or the next time (which might be any time or a while as I've not had much time to be here or anywhere online except for my daily drivel elsewhere) I decide to be ridiculous and give up sleep for whatever this sort of thing means to you, me, or anyone, we might reveal the secret (the other one)... or something completely different (with due respect to the Python)... until then, or now, or whenever, whatever you do, whatever dream of reality you live or sleep walk through, whether angst ridden confusion or agonizing self-doubt or pretentious egocentrism or casual aloofness or puritanical optimism or Hallmark channel bliss or preachy blind faith or new age wisdom or ancient secrets or whatever, enjoy it - or you're wasting your time... it's your time though, so never mind, waste it as much as you please... anything is possible in middle night... even you... |