One hundred times or more I’ve dreamed of a mummy at the foot of my bead. A beam of light cast upon me. In hieroglyphs, the mummy communicated to me, lifting my bed by a foot board’s post. As a procession of trash and toys roll out from under, compiling into a mountain, crushing through the bedroom’s walls, I understand the message: “Clean your mess or you will lose what you love.”
I’ve been having this dream for over thirty years. As I’ve changed with age so has my interpretation of the dream. As a child, the meaning was simple. Clean your room later became clean your apartment, which later became lay off the coke, which later became stop lying to yourself, which later became open your heart, which later became let go of everything.
Even for a Dreamweaver, it’s hard to interpret a dream when you know that all you know is you know nothing. Maybe the ancient is urging me to cleanse the sins of modernity. Bullshit. The idea that the world is getting worse is bullshit. I have to believe in this.
I have kids. I’m in a minivan with them right now, driving to visit my father, in a sunny place for shady people. They’re arguing about whether or not any platypi live in America. There’s a lot of online debate regarding the correct plural form of platypus. There’s a lot of online debate about the episode of Scooby-Doo from where this column takes its name.
Whatever happened to masturbation?
Expressing an opinion is a form of masturbation, as are mirrors. Although I am a staunch advocate of masturbation, of dialogue, and of self-expression, I’m finding these things increasing less fun to watch.
There’s a fine, almost nonexistent line between humanity and inhumanity in America today. Everybody wants to be smart, to be pragmatic. But there’s no pragmatism is an endless expanse of love.
Pragmatism’s a coke fueled porn shoot. Getter dun! Pragmatism is the saddest thing in the world.
Equally sad is the mirror. The effortless vanity of politik. To want to see yourself reflected in power, no matter the cost. Of course, you’re not the one paying, so sky’s the limit. Getter dun!
(Insert quote that I will not insert )
How many innocent people are you willing to kill with your choices. Be honest. At least be brave enough to answer one naive question. After all, it’s only a naive question if you’re unwilling to answer, in which case you, dear reader, are lying.
I will always be naive. I will always love. I will always burn flags. I will always burn myself.
I bow to love, poetry, and the telephone company. These are my masters. Who are yours?
What’s this got to do with my dream? Prove to me that you’re not dreaming and I’ll stop telling you that everything does. To dream is to live, in the most literal sense.
So get your cut-up heart away from
What you think you know
You know, we are all going away from here
At least have some human patience
For what lies on the other side
– from “I like Weird Ass Hippies” by Dorothea Lasky