dreamweaver three

hmm...14 July 2025.
i dedicated June to not much at all -
it felt as if i had wroted a novel
instead of dream notes...i kept
wondering over the puzzle of the
last penned dream herein...it
was too vivid, maybe too much...
i only knew that i had to end
the notes there in order to
start over...it was an estimated
three hundred pages if double spaced -
well, i've put those away and here
goes...monday, daria called her
puppy her soulmate...i felt in
a daze...on the fifth of july,
i happend to see a picture of
two friends, children...i kept
wishing i hadnt seen it, but
even as cut off as i am from
most folks and i suppose even
some of my own emotions, that
scene really got to me...
i was in the middle of writing
some new songs and wrote four
verses...the fourth was left out
when it came to recording -
it took a couple of days to settle
into it...when i finally escaped
noisy distractions, the sudden phone
calls insisting on either hanging up or
pointless trivia, the strange hound
seemingly in search of boy-vagina,
and an insane argument about the beach...
(what else could it be except madness when
i have no inclination or desire to sit in the sun)
oh yes and the bizarre 'no input' mystery
which i suppose is all part of the process, like
pound might say...
indeed, when i finally escaped
nothing mattered but the work at hand...i called
it 'the fifth of july' and put it out for release
with these lyrics;

I KNEW LILA WAS DEAD
- HOPED ELOISE WOULD SURVIVE;
SHE LOVED HER PUPPY DOG,
SHE HADNT EVER BEEN WED.

A HOUSE DANCED
ON A RIVER'S SONG AS IT PLAYED
LONE STAR STATE OF TEXAS
YEAH SOMEHOW STAYED...

I COULDNT TELL HANNAH AND REBECCA APART
- THEY WERE TWINS LIKE
FLOWERS IN A FIELD'S GARDEN
- IT'D BEEN THAT WAY RIGHT FROM THE START

A HOUSE DANCED
UPON A RIVER
(A RIVER'S SONG AS IT PLAYED)
LONE STAR STATE OF TEXAS
WE SOMEHOW STAYED...

LITTLE BLAIR COULDNT UNDERSTAND
- SHE WEPT SHE CRIED;
LITTLE BROOKE COVERED HER
SAYING COME ON GIRL HOLD MY HAND

A HOUSE DANCED
UPON A RIVER'S SONG AS IT PLAYED
LONE STAR STATE OF TEXAS
WE SOMEHOW STAYED...

A HOUSE DANCED
UPON A RIVER
(A RIVER'S SONG AS IT PLAYED)
LONE STAR STATE OF TEXAS
WE SOMEHOW STAYED...

i'd put placed all four verses on vsco from
handwritten notes photographed along with the chords
which remained the same...save for an added note
musical note.
as i glance through recollections, wondering why julia
mecey and joey king enjoy love island, wondering if
charles bukowski actually dropped a man at the race track
as in the italic section of factum or even why sylvia
plath's ghost doesnt haunt the hell out of matt haig...
i remember that night, the fourth of july...
i dreamt something like a bridge or a dam where the water
was red, crimson, but in that nearly dried blood brown color
and i couldn't see where i was but i saw a man holding a shotgun
and he did not move or speak, the motionless image against the
waves were etched in my mind the following day...i thought it
was about a guitar that had been slow to arrive and that
possibly it had suffered in transit yet by the time i went to
sleep again it felt revealed...well, decyphered...neither spirit
nor worry could save these lives from the devastation waltz
winding its way in what they call flash flood alley...
i was certain it was william s burroughs, a man who knew
about loss in an intimate way...aside from the wife, his only
son had perished and even in the afterlife i suppose some
emotions keep, all you can do is stand there and bear witness
i learned also that gabrielle's mother and my own share
a birthdate as it were...
i don't want to write anymore about these things as in
typing i might not reflect how much i felt and much less
how it all still hurts and will continue to hurt so many...
so i re-order that guitar and continue to wait...
i have a few dreams to jot, but those will be done
at some other point in time when i can turn my minimalist
writing into an even more concise style so as to not end
up with a book-length manuscript that might only serve
self-references...


16 july 2025

i consider yesterday notable even if i don't
fully examine it here...
learning another side of the camp story...
what was her name, hayden...well she spoke
kinda like how i speak...
the second axe was shipped on the 11th
and arrived on the 15th
it felt as if my writing had manifested it...
reminds me of the telecaster except it
has a decided rock and roll tone
(no single coil pick ups)
i decorated it while listening to mustang sally
for a minute, everything else took a back seat
meaning it was thrilling...
i'm thinking now of a dream i had in may
i'd been with lotta in my old apartment
she kissed me and it was magical
we lay there talking about what the next meal
should be when a man with gun started shooting
at me and i ran into another room
there is a bookend dream to this scene which
i will jot later...
she's watching the summer i turned pretty
which i looked at but found revolting
i'm wearing a snake ring on my middle finger
instead of my stainless steel spoon since
some sort of rust invaded it...
anyway i awoke with a racing heart and
the realization of how much she means to me
hmm...when i said not much in june i meant movies too
although i did watch most of the secret life
of the american teenager
well, this was more than i intended to note...
let's leave it at that - for now -
here are two outtakes of the song i mentioned
i had the intent to adjust my release for one of
these but i couldn't figure out how to do that
and i am aware that this sort of takes the
expectation away from the single but i want
to share these as a way of saying it is
not about streams or whatever, it is what it is.




the fifth, second alternate- two skinny girls...

the fifth, alternate- two skinny girls...


17july2025

correction, the mustang only sounded like that through the boss amp...at the fender, it was much nicer...yes i was fender-reluctant, but since i don't much use pedals, the champ amp was only logical...as for the guitar, i kept hearing a line from blind willie mctell when i would go window shopping for axes until finally i didn't want to be haunted by it... it is a step up from the ancient mustang i had which hardly ever stayed in tune but it is not for big hands, even mine feel it to be a task going up the fret as if i had to abbreviate my fingers which is the exact opposite of the jackson wherein my hands sense and appropiate the space... at least i feel a sort of bulgari vibe with my new ring...still, all this goes against my attempt at brevity and i have yet to jot the dream note...hmm, notes.. connie francis died and her song had recently become a hit again...even a parody emerged, "you can touch my pussy..." which might have been the cause of her demise...but many several poets also passed away and i had the evil urge to make a list of all the writers that had perished after 'the tortured poets depart-ment' hmm...but what really worries me is the grammar when gender is made illogical- andrea is called 'they' instead of she - here is quote/example: "Their father, Mark, worked for a post office and their mother, Shirley, was a secretary at a technical college. They have one sister, Laura." this plural form makes language more of a virus than it needs to be, indeed and why? where was i...ah yeah, i find lately that i go to sleep only to awake an hour or so later simply to wander around in confusion...that was the case last night, but first the bookend thing; i had walked into a shop with julia and told her to get something to drink, there were only cans of coors in the fridge... we walked out and there and then several men harassed us, one of them with a stick that knocked the hat off my head...it had been a goodly time until then...weeks later i learned that he had lost her red baseball cap - cut to yesterady, i'm in the bath and the bath is overflowing, i am trying without luck to shut off the water as somehow there are more knobs than i care to count, i say the words julia help but as i do i find the right knob then we are on a bed where a cat climbs up, i remark that it is not skirt and i think of hedwig who it resembles but as a kitten - the cat speaks and i wonder if we have all gone crazy...i awake and can't get back to sleep until half a pack of cigarettes and coffee argue with melatonin...i kept seeing romy mars although i only 'met' her at some far away chanel thing... i like her especially since she positively proves my point that sofia was and is pretty...the only thing is it makes mayhem of my fantasy life... love her ego song - so catchy... she had a bad scene at some hotel, in my dream which i thought was about michael madsen, another poet, i was in the elevator trying to get to the twenty ninth floor - there was no 29 button, someone pressed all the buttons and i got out on seventeen determined to navigate the stairs - 1920s elegance surrounded me, someone with a glass case of coins, collectables, and aritfacts was set up like a cigarette girl might be and i stopped for a glance there and then noticing a man seemingly having a heart attack nearby, i kept walking after thinking about it all for a minute - as i contemplate it now it was like the waldorf astoria...a minute ago having a grand re-birth...i'd been there once upon a late night frenzy...but i don't remember any stairs...not even much walking as yellow cabs did the work...miss morin was at the chelsea hotel, i took a peek at how upscale 23rd street is now...i think it's where i bought that other mustang...i think it's still there unlike music row on 48th...anyway, yes poets are supposed to die like everyone else while a few songs and verses live on but is it time to advocate for protection of the scribes... well, i dunno, but if someone whats to protect me - please do but get Daria safe before that...