It's all lies, from an outsiders' view, Babies. Kurt, since I ripped off his line, might say that. Actually, he said: "I'll tell you one thing, Babies. You've got to be kind." Which is: "Poignant, erudite and true." He had a certain knack for such things.
I had clam chowder and garlic toast for dinner last night. I cheated. Progresso soup as a stock, then a build up from that with Yukon Gold potatoes, green onions, celery, white wine, garlic, whole milk, a can of minced clams (juice inclusive), black pepper, Spike and butter. I embellish all canned foods. That, Tequila and rain left me with one option: "dreams."
I dream in Technicolor, C.G.I., Quad Sound and tactile sensory perception. I "feel" my dreams. I have no idea if other people do or don't. I've never asked. Dreams are sacred. The personal domain of the Dreamer.
I often dream of Women I Have Known. Some that I don't know. Characters pass in and out of my nocturnal musings like ethereal apparitions, borne of smoke and mirrors. As a rule, they possess mystical properties. Some fly. Others slither. They all amuse. They're all Witches. Or Wizards. I bow, humbly. Then again, I do that with almost anyone and everything. All are worthy.
Except Bullies and Terrorists, Politicians and Thieves. They get No Thing. Ever.
Peanut butter and Jelly Sandwiches all go to "Heaven." Coffee, too. Especially if it's raining and there's: "Nothing else to do."
My Pal, Mark, (His real name) says: "Life isn't about complaining about the rain. It's about dancing in the puddles." Not a direct quote. I'm ad libbing. Mark's famous. A wonderful guitarist and vocalist. I dig The Cat the most. You get the idea. (I DIG ALMOST EVERYONE THE MOST.) It's a Maynard G. Krebs line via Dobie Gillis.
Mark:
Good Rainy Day Music. I love the guitar he's playing here. A '54 Les Paul Studio Special. I have guarded it with my life (and a hand under my left arm) @ 24th and Mission at 03:00 on a New Year's morning.
Another one:
Aufenzie,
-Doc
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