Breaking up the Seven Dwarves

I had a fucked up dream.

Was it about a beautiful red head in a bikini?? That would be too much to ask for. Instead, I and three other people were in this stadium and we had to get out and get to the car. Someone or some thing was blocking the normal exits, so we had to use back corridors and the sewer system. To make a long story short I was fucking killed, yeah, that's right, I didn't make it, but neither did two others. All that was left was me watching this lone woman, who I was fucking mind you. But not fucking in the dream...oh no...that would have been a great dream then...no, we just had the IDEA that we were fucking each other. Which didn't matter anymore anyway, because I WAS DEAD!!!

Well, I am watching this airhead make her way through the sewer systems and up a ladder, pushing aside a manhole cover all on her own to exit into the center of the parking lot outside...and THEN I WOKE UP!!! She had made a face, like she had seen the muzzle of a hundred guns aimed at her, but you couldn't tell what happened, because all I saw was her face and then the headboard of my bed. My eyes fluttered open wide, just as hers did whenever she saw what it was she saw! Son of a bitch!! I can't even dream correctly! What the fuck was going on here?

I rose out of the bed, sweaty and hot. it was 3:30 in the morning and there was no wind coming in through the open window. I fell back to sleep and woke up again at 6:00. This was much better. Even the dream was black and not as frustrating. The other one must have been a left over from the Willie Bo Bo yesterday. Go figure. I got up and made coffee, then I grabbed some clothes, a towel, soap and a washcloth and headed for the showers.

The waters invigorated me, cleaned me, made me new. I trimmed my new beard. Of course I fucked it up. It's my first beard, ever. I'll go get it trimmed properly when I get my haircut. I came back to my room and got online for a few minutes before heading downstairs to get breakfast/lunch. Stupid me, I got lunch but no breakfast. I'm not all together yet. That Willie Bo Bo must have been some potent shit.

I ride up the elevator with a Spanish guy who is drunk already, at Nine in the morning. He is going up to the same floor as I, so he turns to me and says: "I no see you on my floor, mein. You work at night?" No, I shake my head, I keep to myself. "Oh..." he nods drunkenly. We leave together. He runs straight to apartment number two...the apartment with the loud music, although it wasn't playing now, and slips in quickly as if he did not want me to know where he lived. Not that I give a fuck.

I open my front door and a stiff cool breeze comes in through the window, knocking over my pictures, my meds, everything up on the sill. I smile. Finally a breeze in this goddamn room. It was cooling off already. I keep the door open for a little while while I put away my lunch in the refrigerator. Shortly, I closed the door, got undressed and got behind my laptop. No sooner did I start to work did the Internet die.

Yes, once again, the Internet vanished and my stupid cable modem had two lights blinking instead of the working four lights. What the fuck? On a Saturday no doubt? What kinda shit is this? I have a lot of work to do on Saturday, the day of the SHOUT OUT and you have to be down now??? I do everything that I can do, while waiting, and just when I'm about to call it quits and crawl into bed to go to sleep, it pops back up. Then, there was a period of instability where the circuit kept crashing and climbing, and then all was normal. Beautiful. I got done everything I needed to, and then hit the way.

The trains were so good to me. I missed the Number 2 express, but that was cool, a Number 3 was right on its ass. It ran express and was at 14st at light speed. It felt like I warped in. I copped the L train and it got me to 1st street in no time. I was the third one at Otto's waiting for it to open. While I waited, I reached down and pulled out my Roscoe and sparked that bitch up. In five minutes I was lifted. My brother came along and I repacked the tube and handed him over a smoke. He was lit shortly after he lit the damn cigarette. That Roscoe will fuck you up.

The problem: I had the SHOUT OUT to do high. I didn't even think about that, my attention was so onto that Willie Bo Bo! I started to set up the stage and completely forgot about the sign up sheet that the poets needed to sign in with. They started wandering around angrily and I didn't even know it until OBSIDIAN asked me for the sheet. Now I have two bags that I bring to the SHOUT OUT. Can you believe I had to dig for like two minutes in these bags to find the clipboard with the sheets on them. My brain was that confused.

I was really fucking up. I got on the stage and my legs could barely get me up there, and the people in the audience seemed to multiply from some 35 people to a million!!! I started to tremble from head to toe. That shit was triggering a panic attack!! And then I got ahold of myself and went through the entire first half, half mentally there, the other half on planet Ex Eleven Zero. I started to get too relaxed on the stage, but still missing vital information that OBSIDIAN had to shout out from his side of the audience. But that was all right, because I was high at the time and everything was alright. I'm serious, everything was alright for a change.

I didn't stress, didn't strain, I just went up and did the job. Later, D2theL gave me good marks for my MCing. I'm too critical on myself. Too much of a perfectionist. When I fall short I stress. But perfection is impossible to reach. That's my problem. I'm striving for something that I can never attain, never reach. And in falling short I come apart into pieces. I'm stressed out over this, playing leaf in the wind.

Afterward we went with D2theL to the pizza place and dealt with the munchies. We hit that Willie Bo Bo again before heading to Starbucks. I struggled with writing emails. It took me two hours to get three emails started. I'm making it home on the way, reading my book and minding my own business when:

Four or six score teenagers pile into the car. We were like sardines in the car which was filled with screaming, shouting teens having a great time. These motherfuckers got so crazy, I swear to god, they started a concert right there in the middle of the packed car, with about seven of them gathering in a circle and rapping back and forth amongst each other. The beat travels through the entire car with damn near a hundred young people bopping their heads and snapping their fingers.

I swear to god the next thing I know a teenage girl goes crowd surfing right in the fucking car, passing over my head, tits, ass and all. This was enough for me, I fought to get out of the car and was stunned to see that it was 96th Street. Being still on the high, this shit was enough to unnerve me. I was shaking from head to toe. That whole ride hit me like some kind of sonic blast. That was cool though, I was home soon enough.

I sat in front of the laptop, working out the emails that I worked on all night and then crawled into bed. The shadows grew long. I turned off the lights. I found the black.

Hobobob