Counting pesos in my dreams

I wanted to write a masterpiece and found I was the masterpiece as I was typing away in the Maya slip, with friends of magnitude in every corner that came along bearing gifts full of surprises…

Image by Fabio Marciano from Pixabay

Is the music designed to make the girl dance?

Or is the girl making the music dance?

That's the great mystery

I can never break through

And it keeps me here awake every night

Mesmerised…

Image by Janeke88 from Pixabay

There, will that not do I said to her from my soul spices and heart drops?

What do you mean by that she said back to me while leaning on my heart and growing beetroot at the bottom of the garden on her bike?

I’m not really sure I said, and pulled my pipe out for a smoke.

Are you really going to light that thing in here she groaned most righteously?

Looking around for my matches I growled back: and what’s wrong with me smoking in bed?

Some walls are climbed by going down into a deep dark well to find your self.

And some walls grow all by themselves.

There are even walls that can’t be climbed at all…

Whichever wall it is you’re climbing, watch out for the fallen fangs of Dracula floating around and ready to fang you for all your blood.

I have to agree with someone soon I cried, or I am going to die here resisting my appreciation, and turn over and over and face another way until I do and not know which way I’m facing.

A small prickly growing on my sleeve and blowing in last year’s breeze wasn’t wearing a life jacket and so soon became airborne and hooting: if dragons can do it then so can I, and personally for all the world I think the universe is a gas pack, a fast breeder, and a people pleaser for sure, and that's my official stance.

Meditation techniques to please you, class 57 was a Maya slip in the wind and on my mind as I was balancing on thin air and striving for success.

And then it came at me from out of: take it one day at a time where I was mooch and movie time and perfecting sliding down the slide and a silent operation in the wind.

I was gravy in the dust

I was the satisfied guru

I was my own homecoming and safe in my knowing where I was hypnotised and breaking lovers all over the place to find I was nothing more than what I would resist most of the time until it all turned back on me where I became the beggar’s lament in the ship-less ocean where the flames of eternity beckoned.

Saviour dust they used to call it, but these days I think it’s just another fad to be got through for the asking in the meditation techniques where the waiting is forever and the tide never turns back.

00.04
Afterwards, I found it was forty three minutes past eleven. And then the next time I looked it was forty six minutes past eleven. And then I thought, maybe I should stop looking at the clock to see what time it is as I’m trying to fall asleep.

Minutes or hours later I turned over again and closed my eyes ever harder to drown out the world so I could sleep. But the cavernous echo waited for me there to gobble me up, and even though I wanted none of it, it would take me and devour me until I was no more.

So I turned over the other way and found the same thing there.

oo.o4…

The very next morning another arm of reality had me counting out my pesos in my dreams to give to the beggars around the corner when the telephone right next to my ear on the side table began to ring most loudly.

So I picked it up and looked at it as if it was really there, and felt that it really wasn’t there for me, not really, so I put it back down and carried on counting my pesos in my dreams.

Images from Pixabay