224 | 080705

In what appeared to be a combination of a restaurant and a retail electronics store, I was sitting across a small round table from a stoic elderly man. He was slow but clean-cut, perhaps a war vet. It was imperative to him that he write a poem, and he asked for my help. I asked if he wanted "a poem that is good sounding or good meaning." He chose good meaning. Unsure of what topic to choose, I asked him what is most important to him, hoping he would realize that this is the proper way to begin writing a poem. He never got a chance to answer, but I was certain the topic would be his mother.

I was sitting across a table from several elderly monks in an area that resembled the bottom of the basement stairwell in my Dad's house, gray and dirty. The monks were putting me through tests of how well I can perform their rituals or answer questions about such, all of which I continually failed. They were eternally displeased. A real ceremony later commenced. They were inducting an infant to be their new leader. The ceremony consisted of several elephants slowly walking in line across a small muddy brown and gray back yard surrounded by tall wooden fencing. My vantage was that of looking down from atop a fence. One elephant had on its back a bundled up piece of white cloth the size of a bed sheet, resembling both silk and taffy. I was immediately aware that the sheet was the icon signifying to everyone that I failed the tests of the monks . I even knew that the sheet was traditionally supposed to be draped smoothly across the whole elephant, but mine was compressed into a tight wad resting on its lower spine, which of course signified particularly concentrated failure on my part. At one point the celebrated infant was right in front of me. He actually appeared to be over a year old and had curly reddish hair. He had no mouth. Rather, upon close inspection, I saw that he had a mouth about the size of the eye of a needle, even if he were to yawn. Later I was driving away from all of this through gray rainy weather. Karen in the passenger seat was angry and disappointed in me. I noticed that I had been drugged. I quickly felt a psychedelic sensory trip weaving itself into place. Objects in my sight such as the lines on the road or other cars began to smoothly twist up and skew, like bacon, inviting me a hundred times to play with them. I had to keep shaking my head to snap everything back to normal, constantly reminding myself that I am behind the wheel of a moving metal automobile. Of course the sensory contortions were relentless, and I did end up lightly hitting the back of one car while trying to stop at a red light.