So freaking tired today, this is all I got for today... an old doodle, but a good one, I meant to post on Friday, when I was going to see Dark Star, b/c a story about the song Dark Star on the night I was going to see DSO, seemed to make sense. Now I am just so tired, I can't remember what i was going to do.
Back in the pool at 4:50 a.m. tomorrow. 1600 Pyramid. Its gonna suck. Being up at 4:30 sucks. Swiming when it is cold out sucks. However, i gotta do it. So read about my dreams and have a great Monday!
p.s. GO HORSE!
The Dream Sequence
Sweat rained down his face and his breath was hard and tight. He stood with his legs bent but locked at the knees with the left leg slightly in front of the right. His left arm felt week, but he could not stop now, he had keep going, he had to keep pumping violently up and down the neck. His right hand worked feverishly at the base. He looked up and his eyes locked with hers, but he kept both hands going, she saw him and he was pleased. He wanted her to see he liked knowing she was watching. He took his eyes off of her and looked back down and really getting into it now. Up and down the neck his left hand went and he banged harder and harder with his right and his excitement continued to grow. It was almost time, was she still watching? He told himself he did not care, but he did, he wanted her to watch, to know what she could have been part of but was not. He wanted her to know that there was more to him than she knew. He could think now he had to concentrate on the neck. His hand slid in a perfectly, and effortlessly on the neck. Almost time, but not just yet though.
He looked back up looking to see if she was still watching. He saw her, she was still watching, she looked shock. She had never seen him like this, he thought. She has to be impressed he told himself. That he was so mysterious, so unpredictable. Yes! Yes! He thought as he saw the surprise her eyes. His whole body was now rocking in motion with his two hands. Knees still locked tightly in with his right hand working even working harder than before.
Almost time, he thought again. He looked back down at his equipment and continued working feverishly with both hands. Hips now where rocking in rhythm with his hands. His head fell back and rolled side to side. His eyes were looking but he could not see anything. All he started rocking to the left and the right and then back again and again. All, the while he continued up and down the neck with his left wrist jerking back and forth. Then he would change the left-hand grip again and again.
AS he rocked back and forth sweat now as pouring down his face like a waterfall. His whole body began to tremble and for the first time Brent felt that he had lost all control. He could not stop, and his body continued to shake back and forth. His did not have to think about what he was doing any more, his hands were well trained and took all control away from him.
Ah, he thought now it is time. Now I can show her everything, he thought. He walked forwarded, his hands still moving furiously. Then for the first time in ten minutes Brent took his hand off the base of his guitar and adjusted the microphone and uttered "In another time's forgotten space your eyes looked through your mother's face!"
Brent shot straight up in bed and looked at the alarm clock that had jolted him out of his sleep. "Fuck!" He said to himself as he turned off the alarm and swung out of his bed. He shook his head. It all appeared so real, he thought. He looked across his room as he sat on the edge of his bed and eyed his trust six string. It was so perfect, he thought again. He stood up still looking at his guitar. I was so hot, he thought some more. Staring now at his Washburn nylon string classical. "But you my friend were not the weapon of choice." He said to the guitar as he walked by it on his way to the bathroom, in between his two closets he stepped over his jogging pants and t-shirts, he smiled and shook his head. Will I ever pick up after myself on a regular basis? He entered the bathroom and he hit the light switch. He stopped just shy of the porcelain bowl and began to relieve himself.
He slowly rocked back and forth as he took care of his business and then he slowly turned his head to the left and gazed deeply into his mirror. His hair was standing up on end, he noted. Funny how every morning he got up looking like the Wolverine with hair smashed upward on both sides. As he finished his business he turned to the mirror and looked down into the sink.
With his tongue he popped his bite guard off his front teeth and let it fall to the sink. There he looked at it for a moment, and then reached out with his left hand and turned the hot water on. He watched the water trickle over his mouthpiece, and then he looked back in the mirror. Again he took a good hard look at the man who looked back at him. He turned his head to the right, never taking his eyes off the face. Then he turned his head the other way; again never taking his eyes off the mirror and the face that looked back. "Fuck, I am gonna have to shave today." He muttered. His left hand wiped the left side of his face then the right.
The water continued to run into the sink, over the bite guard. Again Brent Baldwin looked at himself in the mirror. This time he did not turn his head from side to side, but rather just looked. Then as if ashamed he looked down at his bite guard and then back up again. "Still fat today, Mr. B." He said shaking his head, in response to the round face that looked back at him. He chuckled to himself, if only I had not eaten that fucking pizza. "No, no, I am not going to do this, I refuse to do this." He stared now into the eyes of the face in the mirror. "I am not going to beat myself up, because I ate pizza last night. I will not. I am allowed to eat what I want, when I want. So last night, I did not make the healthiest choices. So what, look how far I have came. It was the first time I had pizza in a month." He said to the face that looked back at him. "I work out five times a week, hmm. I eat more fruits and vegetables than most people, heh. I have lost 100 pounds over the last year, hmm. I have, yes I have." Brent smiled at the round face in the mirror. "I can not, I will not, and I am not going to feel guilty for eating pizza last night, plus mother fucker I ate a salad with it and there are left-overs in the fridge."
Brent moved his hands to his belly and pulled it up and then let it fall down under his white T-shirt. "I still am heavy, but not as heavy. I will never go back to letting food control my life." He gazed at the face in the mirror and as he began to say something to it, his mind drifted.
His mind moved past the rush water from the sink and out of the bathroom completely. It moved into back in time, back to his dream. The guitar, yes the guitar, a Gibson Les Paul, white with the cover from the "Dead Set" Painted on it. But it was not the guitar of his dreams that concerned him about the dream. It was not that he was playing guitar in front of a hundred people that brought his mind back to this place. It was not the lyrics or the rhythm or the smoke filled bar, or the faces in the crowd, but rather a face in the crowd. Yes, on face in the crowd that made him think about this dream.
A feeling of pain shot through Brent's body as he remembered the face in the crowd. He looked at himself and shook his head. Trying to just the thought go, but it was to late, he had seen the new face, and he could not let it go now, then again, he never could.
Brent grabbed is toothbrush, and applied the paste. He continued to look at himself in the mirror. His thoughts were conflicting. He tried to focus on the task at hand. He tried not to think about the dream he had last night, that now was haunting him, or then again it was not so much the dream as it was the face with dream. Ugh! Can't I just forget it? It means nothing, he thought as he moved the toothbrush to his tongue. He stuck his tongue out as far and he could and jabbed the brush back until he was gagging. When he almost threw up Brent finally pulled the toothbrush off of his tongue and picked up his bite guard and applied more past to it.
As he brushed the bite guard his mind began to run back into the bar in the dream. Past all of the faces in the crowd to the one face that he did not want to think about. He rinsed the guard and then with his right hand picked up the blue case and filled it with water. He placed the bit into the case and then set it on the counter. He strattled the sink with his hand and got close to the mirror. He gazed directly into the mirror, and into his big brown eyes. Then his mind ran again, to the face, to her
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