Art. Music. Life. Et cetera.

Briny Blue

The TerZa Factor

When I fly over you in an airplane, I see that you are beautiful.  I have traveled far to be closer to you, but you are still far away.

When I travel to you by boat, the waters are clear, so I see how beautiful you are.  I am closer to you, but you are still far away.

When I don my goggles and dive below the surface, I see how beautiful you are.  I am even closer to you, but you are still far away.

When I get close enough to touch you, you are still beautiful.  But I cannot see you anymore.

Sight isn’t everything.  Love is.

Briny Blue - black

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“Life After Death” by @dtnart

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WARNING: This entry contains sexual content. Read at your own discretion.

So strange this morning.

It started with an uncommonly vivid dream. I’ve always been prone to them, but as an adult, dreams like that are generally precipitated by some sort of drug use. That is, above and beyond my usual medical use of opiates and cannabis – I mean -actual- drug use. Even if that usually only means a bit extra weed or pills, and that rarely enough… No more LSD, mushrooms, or amphetamines these days, not more than once in a blue moon anyway… yes I am 30 and have become lame with age. Pffft.

Anyway, this dream. At first it was more typical night-time rubbish – a jumble of images which I participated in with the usual sense of being involved for the moment but knowing underneath that it was all unimportant fluff and would be forgotten the moment I woke up.

But as I played out the dream it got clearer and more vivid, until the end scenes were of a strength that I know think they meant something, though I’m not sure what. I was in San Francisco, with someone else whose identity I no longer recall… maybe Mitch, maybe someone else who doesn’t exist in reality. Some nebulous pursuers were on their way but hopefully the apartment/hotel room (whatever it was) would hide us temporarily… I distinctly remember a scene where I went down to the shower in the place and considered allowing myself relax long enough to enjoy the luxury of a real shower… then something I don’t recall as clearly, I think violence. I remember a sense of lashing out viciously, but not who I was attacking or how. Maybe the person who was with me turned on me or maybe the pursuers found us. Unclear at this point. Then all of a sudden it switched to very sexual imagery, which isn’t shocking in itself… I’ve known for a long time that sex and violence are unfortunately intertwined in my psyche. It was a weird mingle of female and male, too… like, it was a clitoris being touched, but it was hard and big and phallic in an undescribable way.

I drifted awake feeling distinctly intoxicated but unable to place why, and knowing I had just had a dream-orgasm but unable to feel anything definite when I touched myself. The song ‘White Light’ by George Michael was also stuck very strongly in my head at the moment of waking up, too. Masturbation isn’t something I do often but when I wake up like that it usually has to be done to get my body to calm down and stop being all wound up. So I did for a while but it was frustrating somehow… I kept not -quite- being able to get it right. Found myself wishing I had a penis for the simple reason that penises seem, by observation, to be easier to please than clitori. At least compared to mine! Incoherent fantasies drifted involving being male and having sex as a male. The imagery was anthropomorphic but only incidentally – I think that’s just my mind’s default after so long. Mind you during all this I was barely awake. I was so blurry I was seeing halos around the lights in the room. It was a familiar enough scenario, not that it happens often but it’s done so often enough over the course of my life… have a weird sexual dream, wake up vaguely horny, rub at myself until the feeling goes away or until it gets sore down there from being rubbed and the pain becomes annoying, then gradually wake up and move on.

This time it didn’t go quite like that. Relatively quickly I got the urge to -draw- something erotic (which I pretty much never do) instead. So I sat up and listened to remixes of ‘White Light’ while I drew. It took a few renditions to get it out of my head. Really unusual song, too. George Michael is not normally someone I listen to. I’m only familiar with his work because Mitch listens to him. (Same goes for Madonna and a few other really-not-my-style artists.) This particular song, though, is… arresting. I like it but I’ve never found it to have much personal significance. This morning though every lyric seemed charged with personal importance.

Was it music, was it science that saved me?

Or the way that you prayed for me?

Either way I thank you – I’m alive.

This made me think of Anthony for some strange reason, for example. I dunno. I did have one of the weird heart episodes I get last night, probably the worst I’ve had in a long time… took several minutes to clear up and was actually painful. For the first time it felt like something was -wrong- rather than just temporarily mis-regulated. But it did settle down and get better.

If that happens again though I’m gonna have to do something about it. Sigh.. I’m too young for heart bullshit. Lame.

Then I transitioned into New Model Army’s Wonderful Way to Go, a song with a similar sort of mood if not the same… then Far Better Thing by the same band… and now I’m in a thoroughly weird mood. Shivery, discomfited, yet relaxed, even a bit dreamy-feeling still. Totally contradictory in other words.

Maybe I should put my pants back on and go back to sleep…

It’s been like that before a few times. So I just kept breathing, my friends… That’s all it’s taken to survive the life-threatening experiences I’ve had. Just keep breathing. Refuse to stop. Don’t panic, don’t freak out, don’t cling on desperately… just. Keep. Breathing.

So I took my morning dose, made it full strength, and now I’m just waiting for it to work and restore me to normal. Something’s got to be off in my brain.

I hope it resets soon… I hate waking up weird. It’s like I’m still asleep even though I know I’m not… and vise versa when I dream, I know I’m asleep but it can be as or more vivid than life. I’ve spread wings I don’t have and flown over archipelagos and jungles that just don’t exist… but they felt as real as the laptop I’m typing on, even as I knew they weren’t.

Ugh. Reality relativism. Definitely need to go back to sleep, start today over. This was a bad start/

:D

Forming The Thread

Instead of a thank-you, I’d like something different:  I want you to pay attention, stay informed, and get politically involved.

In recent years, more veterans are letting us know that they find it a little off-putting to be thanked for their service. The exact reasons vary, but I have my own, so count me among those who find it awkward at best.

I wonder just what people really mean when they say “Thank you for your service.” Maybe I should start asking. Why are you thanking me for my service? What did it do for you? What does it mean to you? I wonder how many of these well-wishers could even really articulate a solid answer to that question.

Here is what this veteran thinks: “Thank you for your service” is a pretty lame substitute for the public’s failure to be at all engaged, or even a little bit interested…

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The Belle Jar

I have an uncle who was a cop.

His kids, my cousins, were around my age and when we visited our family in Québec every summer I practically lived at their house. As soon as we got to my grandmother’s house, all rumpled and grumpy from our eight hour drive, I would start dialling my cousins’ number on her beige rotary phone. I spent the whole damn school year waiting for summer, and my time with my cousins, to come; we wrote each other letters all through the dreary winter, hatching plans for new summer exploits. Life with my cousins – swimming in their pool, family barbecues, playing hide-and-seek in my grandmother’s mammoth hedge at twilight – was lightyears better than my boring life in Ontario.

Pretty much every summer my uncle would, at some point, take us to visit the police station. He would pretend that we were criminals and…

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