Vortices #3

Vortices #3

Strange dream last night. My psyche was throwing every one of life's uncomfortable moments, every personal failure of will and intelligence and a flotilla of errors in judgement right back in my face.

It is fading out of my cognitive grasp now but I have managed to retain a snippet or two.

I was at a hotel, trying to sell american indian rugs in a crummy banquet room to people who were no longer interested. Big L on my forehead.

All of my bad antique seller dreams revolve around cowboy and indian shows, don't ask me why but there seem to be more down and out people in that world selling their last bit and spur off a card table.

Of course I was in my underwear when the hotel elevator door opened, the door quickly shut as the passengers were obviously having none of it.

I looked in the mirror  nestled over the plastic flower arrangement and saw that my haircut resembled Scrooge McDuck's oversized pompadour, the same haircut that my wife says that the stylist recently botched in real time. No wonder the door shut. At least I wasn't exposing my junk this time.

Somehow I found my car and in leaving the hotel parking garage, gouged the entire top of the vehicle on the low hanging fruit in the undersized ramp.

When I got to the top of the grade the car stalled and I had to get out and push it, only to find that the pace of my vehicle quickly increased out of my control, not allowing me to jump in, instead sending it careening down a hill at breakneck speed right into an expensive luxury car.

There was a torrent of other bad decisions as well, now lacking in episodic structure and context, fuck ups in school, wasted opportunities, drug addled nights, wanton hussies, personal betrayals, the normal stuff. If I hadn't squandered so many blessings maybe I could have really been somebody?

It would be a shame to try to make sense of it so I will just let it be. You take your best shot, try to obey the secret promises that you once made to yourself that meant something and then see what happens.

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I can't believe that my gallery has now been physically open for nearly 19 years. Second oldest tenant on the block. Where the hell does time go?