From the Archives: 11 years ago on SoulSnax

...in this dream, I was working with a couple of police detectives who were trying to analyze a sort of clear, reddish liquid that had a reddish tinge. It reminded me of the juice that collects in the bottom of the meat drawer of neglected refrigerators. I decided to lead the detectives to the mortuary section of the hospital. You know, the room where they store the dead bodies in drawers and autopsy tables...

When I opened the first drawer, I noticed that the stiff, pale, drained and deflated corpse was my own. I looked at the wound in the stomach, and commented, "Whoa, what happened there?"

One of the detectives answered, "Well, you did get shot in the stomach. You know, when you tried to get the gun from that guy."

"Really? Hmm..." I remarked plainly as I tried to recall the event. Then I noticed some of my clothes, which happened to be folded neatly next to my body. As I looked at my bloodied merino sweater soaking in a pool of that aforementioned clear liquid, I couldn't help but think of the dry cleaning bill that I was going to have to pay. I closed the drawer, and then opened another one.

Inside the drawer lay my corpse, again. So I closed it, and opened another drawer, only to see my corpse again. I turned to the detectives and chuckled, "Hmm, heh... I guess I'm dead, huh?"

"Eh, don't worry about it," replied the other detective, as if they were going to take care of the rest. At this point I started to feel upset because I couldn't help thinking of all the things I had to take care of for the upcoming week.

"Really... I don't have time for that now," I muttered, trying to figure out how I could reschedule this death thing...

UPDATE 2/27/98: I mentioned the above dream to my brother yesterday and he said that he also had a dream that I died. I don't know what to think anymore.

black gold of the son

flowwwed toward our country
a rich dark brown and black
came from foreign shores
to fuel the engine of our economy
delivering loads
of prosperity and wealth
though not quite a sin
we struggled for redemption
from impending doom
because the fuel
of our economic engine
incurred a karmic debt
of mythic proportions
The year was 1861
when Cotton was King
And blood was first spilled
for the sake of slavery

From the Archives: 10 years ago on SoulSnax

Afraid of falling...
Terrified of not knowing
If I'll plummet
or soar.
reluctant to relinquish
unwilling to give,
uncomfortable taking
and living
what's mine
to give.
Just like you.
Afraid to comprehend,
or unwilling
too lazy to explore?
it's easier to ignore.