Black and Blue Morning

I jump up in the middle of the night!

Yeah, ANOTHER dream. It will not be the last time. I do it again. Dreams so FUCKING real you can swim through them. I shoo them off when I crawl back into bed. It's frigid in my room. I left the thermostat down at 70. That's too fucking cold for me. I like it hot. Or at least warm because I like sleeping naked. That's about the only reason.

I make a cup of coffee and sit behind the computer. And ponder. Today I'm going to take a walk, and I'll make about a million observations about New York and New Yorkers, and I'll be chock full of things to talk about in my blog, and by the time that I get home, I've forgotten every last fucking one of them. I have to do something about my memory. I wonder if there is a drug for that. I know that there are vitamins, but I've never put much stock in vitamins. I just never thought that anything natural was any use.

That's from years of being a cityboy. I'm of the impression that meat COMES sliced up and in clear plastic packages. Milk COMES from a big lake somewhere in Hershey Pennsylvania. I'm under the impression that bread COMES from batter already formed in tree sap. If it doesn't come from the grocery store, then it doesn't exist in real life. That's the cityboy's thoughts on nature.

I mean I know that a lot of people live out there in the rural areas of this country, or their country and a lot of you guys wake up to incredibly fresh air, birds chirping, wind in the trees, fucking deer in the back yard! To me, that shit's like the scene in Disney's Snow White where she is romping in the fields with birds dressing her, and squirrels and deer and grizzly bears dancing with her and praising the morning. That shit is as foreign to me as aliens dropping from the sky.

I'm used the the hard edged New York. I don't remember mornings well when I was I child waking up. I just remember that life was running too slow for me. I would blast out of bed as if ejected and race to the bathroom where I could brush my teeth, wash my face and hands, get back to my room, and dive into some clothes for the day. Then grab schoolbooks and jump to the front door, holding the knob, jumping up and down, waiting anxiously for my mother's inspection so that I could run outside and play with the kids before the school bus arrived. Yeah, I remember that vividly.

Then I grew up. Like I said, I don't remember mornings at home that well other than that. When I got to my condo, it was on the fifth floor of the building, or something like that, and I had this huge bay window right next to my bed. Back then, I had the body to be a real exhibitionist, and I would wake up to police sirens, and boom boxes, and passing conversation. I would watch the sun rise from over the shoulders of buildings, and the newspaper trucks driving by delis to throw their tied bundles of newspapers out to the sidewalks. That was a New York morning for me.

After I was married, and I moved to New Jersey, I lived in suburbanite living. There I was on a tree lined street, on the second floor in a world of malls and cars and back yards. I remember waking up then, every day, next to someone breathing. Actually I woke up next to fresh pussy. I don't know about the rest of you men, but I used to love sex in the morning while my wife was a late sleeper, so she'd be half dozing as I climbed atop her. But I would have the window side of the bedroom because it was the draftiest. And I remember birds chirping and squirrels running and dogs barking and that shit used to FREAK ME THE FUCK OUT!! I shit you not. I missed hearing sirens and alarms my first few months in New Jersey. It wasn't that bird chirps scared me. It was that there was no LIFE outside of my window. If you can understand what I'm talking about. That which I associated with the sounds of people living outside was gone, so it was more like a neutron bomb had went off overnight and turned everything to ash outside of my window, leaving it cold and lifeless on the other side. That's what mornings were like when I used to live in New Jersey until I got used to it.

After I was divorced, I ended up homeless. Now, mornings were a nightmare. I remember being awakened by the Tom Tom Mackoot rapping on the side of my bed burrito, made up of chairs and tarp, and the air being nippy, and hearing the early morning sounds of automobiles on the avenue. The sound was so close it was as if you were driving a fucking car. I remember standing, yawning and pissing into my piss bottle, the crisp morning, the sun not yet all the way risen during certain times of the year and being busy right away with my brother putting the chairs back in the Hotel, folding up my tarp and stashing it up the Lady's Ass. If you don't know what all of these terms are, you can relive all of this fucked up shit in the beginning of the blog.

Then after that I lived for a year in a men's shelter. Morning was one of the assistants, I forget what they were called, walking through this huge bedroom telling us that it was time to wake up. It was early morning, and I would rise to the sound of snoring. Men snoring, some loud, some soft, but what I remember the most was the snoring, the stirring, and then the talking in hushed tones. Sometimes not. There were no birds or cars or little else. I was some distance from a window which opened up to a rape alley (deserted, lonely, long and dark).

Then after homelessness, I wake up to nothing. Nothing. I don't see life outside of my window, I don't hear life outside of my window. It's just Neutron Bomb silence for real! It doesn't bother me though as it did when I was younger. And even then, it wasn't silent, it just wasn't familiar. Now it's silent. I rise to the air conditioner turning on with a deep hum, or the refrigerator's compressor, kicking on, humming happily. The gurgle of my coffee maker churning out new bean, or the beeping of my laptop waking up and bringing me my morning Internet.

That is my life now. Waking up from dreams that shock me with their realism. Scare me somewhat. I sip my morning coffee. It is quiet in my room. I put on the Internet radio and listen to music, breaking the silence. This is my new day.

I think that I'll take a walk through it. I'll go skipping down the block, singing, with nasty ass rats and pigeons dropping dirty, beaten clothes on my back.

It's good to be alive.

Hobobob