Halfway up a tree

Odin is halfway up a tree. It is a big tree. An ancient tree on an ancient, stony mountain, one of many in a grove.

A grove of Yggdrasils.

Odin is halfway up this one Yggdrasil of many. He looks down and thinks: fuck. He is so high up he would die a dozen times if he fell, so he keeps climbing.

But the tree is so gigantic he can’t see the top. And to be honest, Odin is scared. So he starts climbing back down. He doesn’t climb long before he notices a branch hangs over a plateau of grey stone. He climbs out along the branch and dismounts to the stony earth, to his great relief.

He wakes up and there is an angry red scratch on the top of his wrist he assumes he got roughhousing with the cat the night before.

At breakfast he tells his wife about being stuck halfway up an ancient tree. Did the fire department come and get you, she asks.

At lunch he walks to the coffee store and buys a kilo of coffee. Odin can never remember if he wants a kilo or half a kilo and always buys a kilo and notices afterward it is more than he wanted, he should have bought half a kilo.

He looks forward to smelling it when he gets home.

On the way to the coffee store, he saw the grey crow standing by the bench, watching him, so he buys peanuts and a sandwich. When he gets back to the bench, a German woman is parking her car nearby and the crows keep away until she finishes, waiting high up in the trees.

When she finishes and gets out of her car and walks away, two men walk past, carrying advertising from door to door. After they pass, a man walks by with a white dog on a leash. Three boys walk past on their way home from school. Several cars. A man on blue bicycle.

But then the crows come. First the black one, then the grey one.

The black one is eating a sandwich. Then Odin throws him some peanuts. It sets down the sandwich, takes the peanuts, hides them, then comes back for the sandwich.

The grey one does the same thing, except it hides pieces of sandwich too.

Odin guesses rats come at night and feast, and the next day the crows are all, WTF? But maybe not. Instincts are things that worked in the past, right?

“I am your life.” When he dreams, Odin asks his dreams what they mean. The tree said it was his life. Looking up dream symbol information online, a lot of sites say trees are the personality, or the self, or the life, or connections; all things Odin has been thinking about.

What say the slain?

Sometimes life is relentless. It is like the giant shark bending the bars of your shark cage. It is like the monster in the movies that can’t be killed, climbing back in through the window after you lock the door on it. Like an army of zombies surrounding your house. Like whack-a-mole. Like a salesman. Like an infestation of moles. Like ants. Like a tree full of birds, watching your every move.

What does it want?

It wants to give you another chance. It wants to give you exactly what you need. It wants to help you be more like you.

That would be so cool, it thinks.

I dreamed

about a woman with a miniskirt and no underwear.

that my dick was so big it hit me in the forehead.

that my beard was shiny black.

that my red cat was calico and defied gravity, walking on the wall.

that the beggar woman from the supermarket asked me for alms and i said no.

The interpretation of dreams

1. I am in the living room, Gamma is beside me on the sofa. The cat is going mad with a drinking straw, clawing the underside of the sofa. I slap the back of the sofa and tell the cat she’s making it hard to concentrate on ‘Inception’ which we are trying to watch.

2. No, wait, that’s reality, the top stopped spinning and fell over.

3. Alpha and I were at Gamma’s school. Despite her forgery tendency, all her teachers like her, except maybe the boring one who doesn’t like anything, and her grades are okay.

4. No, wait, the top stopped spinning again.

5. A dark-haired woman in a white dress was kind to me. We had a nice, long conversation.

6. My daughter was stuck in a house with lion and I had a plan to get it out, the lion.

7. Physicists were flying around with jetpacks. Which looked like barstools, and were very quick and maneuverable.

8. I played two recognizeable (to me) songs on the saw (Red River Valley and You Are My Sunshine¬† – my dad used to sing them all the time. It was his birthday recently.). No, wait, the top…

9. Something else I can’t recall. My eyes hurt, I’m going to bed. But I’ll drive the van into the river first, just to be sure.

No, Tom, I don’t want to be your friend or in your movie or whatever

Tom Cruise invited Morgan Freeman over to talk about a project. Things kept happening while they talked. Accidents and catastrophes that Morgan Freeman eventually figured out Tom Cruise had prearranged. He also figured out that the project was merely an excuse to get him to come over, and that what Tom Cruise really wanted was for Morgan Freeman to be his friend. It was night and Morgan Freeman was wearing a colorful, striped terrycloth bathrobe, due to one of the catastrophes, and standing in front of the fountain at the Gloriette above Sch√∂nbrunn palace, when he said, “Tom, I’m not interested in being involved in your project, nor in any friendship with someone so manipulative.”

Then my alarm went off and I really had to pee.

I slept all night, interrupted only once when someone tapped me, twice, on the back. My wife seemed to be asleep. Have the cats learned to tap? I wondered. Or do we have freaky Mansonesque burglars? I couldn’t see anyone. Maybe they were hiding. But if we had burglars, the cats might be uneasy or something, and they seemed calm. But can cats tap like that? Like a wife waking you up in the middle of the night for some reason. Or a guy in a bar, before he picks a fight with you. Or a crazy burglar.

How odd, I thought. And decided to have a dream. And Tom Cruise wrecked it. I was showing Gamma a big, phat Vespa with a built-in television when Tom Cruise stole my dream and pissed off Morgan Freeman. Serves him right.

The Cripple’s Reel

I would like to compose a tune with that title, “The Cripple’s Reel”. With some unusual time signature, such as 7/3 or something. Or, perhaps, being a reel, 19/8. I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking, Always the odd shite, Mig, because you don’t know enough about music to make something normal that’s interesting. To which I reply, What’s normal about being interesting? I mean, interesting about being normal? Unless the normality is merely a mask behind which nefarious or subversive intentions are implemented? That would be somewhat interesting.

I’ve been thinking about writing a clinical study on the interaction of muscle relaxants and Jameson Irish whiskey.

Abstract:

Large, mostly dark Gestalt appears to pursue two lighter, one reddish, one grey, and much faster shapes through a lime-green space, suggestive of infinite time/space.

See, this morning after Gamma left for school the kittens got into Gamma’s room and I, still a bit groggy from my “back pill” last night, was chasing them, in my usual black suit and tie, cursing like Harvey Keitel (I like to think) in a Quentin Tarantino film (Bad Vet, maybe). And the elusive little critters were diving between the bed and the trundle bed beneath it, and I would wait 30 seconds silently and, missing the attention they would climb back out, and I would chase them again, and they’d dive back under the bed. This went on for six minutes, or twelve tries, until I caught the female and tossed her out and closed the door. The male is easier to catch, generally, but by this time I was impatient, and my back was killing me from all the diving around, goddammit, so I endeavoured to make his trundlebed hiding place less comfy by sliding it back and forth with increasing velocity until he opted to join his sister in the hallway at which point all was calm again.

I have not combined back pills with whiskey since the first time due to the previously-mentioned (elsewhere) side effects which include falling down (due to excessive relaxation) and being treated well by my wife due to her mistaking me for a friend.

I have, besides this study, also been thinking about dementia, and two relatives directly affected, and how they are coping or not and also, as one does, at least if one has hypochondriac tendencies, wondering whether this dark hole haunting me has any connection to this.

You know the dark hole, right? Not really a hole, just this vast darkness in your mind? Or your meta-mind? This darkness back there, so dark it’s hard to say anything more about it but I’ll try? And you wonder if the names you forget, or switch, or the words you have trouble accessing, are somehow connected, and whether your pursuits, such as ballroom dancing, or music lessons, or artistic pursuits, or composition, are a good insurance policy against this, or useless.

Time will tell, I guess.

Also, fucking back, man.

At least I’ve been dreaming more lately. Great dreams, I am very grateful for dreams. Thanks! Two nights ago I was on a ship of some kind on a stormy nighttime sea, with a Danish singer of whom I am fond, and the ship was sinking, and maybe there was an airplane, and water was coming in, but the ship was very buoyant and my singer friend was reassuring me that this was entirely normal and the ship would not, in fact, sink, and that we would make it to Iceland just fine, or something. In the second dream that night I was pointing a plastic rocket launcher at a family about to escape in a helicopter, waiting for them to take off so that they would die in the crash when I shot them (they were bad guys) (there was also a cargo plane in this dream) when my alarm went off.

Last night: my wife walked into a wall in a seaside Japanese town (or so I was informed by a young man in the dream) and I was a spectator at a massage contest, and one of the masseuses and her friends had decided to massage me, when my alarm went off.

And so it goes.

Weasels Kittens ripped licked my flesh ears

The kittens have discovered Beta’s harp big time*. Louie likes to climb to the top and sit there. Gamma says he looks like the Lion King.

Last night we let them scamper throughout the house, instead of locking them into the guest room while we slept. Today, our ears are very clean from being licked all night by purring kittens.

It sort of felt like being Gulliver, asleep on a beach getting washed by little people.

Going through my journal, I found a list of things I wanted. I wrote it back in July. Apparently, things one can affect oneself tend to be achieved more readily when one takes concrete action than when one does not, whereas things one cannot directly affect (as far as I can see) could possibly happen even if one does nothing beyond wishing for them. Although, who knows what one can directly affect. Maybe there is something to the power of prayer, or something.

Like, item one on the list: new eyeglasses (due to blurry vision and headaches). I made an appointment with the eye doctor and now have new eyeglasses. It took me maybe a week from making the appointment until I had the glasses. Or, item eight: a theremin. Solution: buy one. That worked, same as for item nine, an electric cello. On the other hand, there is item four: Reaganomics (i.e. the neoconservative agenda) disgraced. Who would’ve thought, back in July, huh? Or item five: nationalization of certain sectors of the economy. Looking better, although I had been thinking of things like infrastructure, security/military (rather than the current trend towards privatizing that stuff) and extractive industries (proceeds of mining, forestry, etc ought to go to “the people” rather than some firm that did not, after all, have a hand in the production of the natural resources exploited) and not banks and stuff, but it’s a start. Solar roads and slot cars: nothing there yet, as far as I know.

So, I guess, the idea is to keep hacking away at stuff, step by step, where one can hack, and not give up on the big stuff, either. Small steps.

Bran linked to an encouraging article on late bloomers. So, yeah, I guess, keep hacking away.

Had a dream night before last that an old guy’s pants fell down, and a nightmare that my cello was all beat up. It has sustained another nick, a piece got chipped off, that always saddens me, and reminds me this is why I was originally interested in carbon fiber cellos. But in the dream it was awful, the back was cracked so bad the neck was wobbly.

*The harp is in a soft case, so they probably won’t damage it.