What I remember is that I was awakened by a man I’d never met kissing me. He was a very handsome man, but I didn’t know him and that’s not how it’s supposed to work for nice girls from my background, believe me. My breath must have been awful, since I’d been asleep for a hundred years. Yes, literally one hundred years. It’s such a weird story. What they told me was that at my christening, someone, an old friend of the family, put a curse on me and said, “When the child first sees her own blood, she will die.” But she didn’t think it was a curse, she insisted it was a gift, and everyone was shocked and said, “Oh no, no, no, no no,” so she changed it, she said, “Then when first she sees her own blood she’ll fall into a deep deep sleep. She’ll grow up as graceful and beautiful as a flower and then she’ll fall into a deep deep sleep. She won’t die, she’ll fall into a deep sleep when first she sees her own blood.” But no one in my family ever told me about this, until afterwards I mean. It’s crazy. I was a baby obviously but as I got older they all knew I had this curse on me and they never told me about it. They didn’t want to or they didn’t think they should or something. I know. I know. That’s what my family’s like.
So I wasn’t ready for it, but sure enough it happened just she like said, one hundred years. I had nice dreams though, I remember that, and then I woke up and it was a hundred years later, and this man I didn’t know was kissing me, and I wasn’t ready, there was a layer of dust lying everywhere, over everything, and I remember I thought to myself, oh if only I could just sleep a little longer.
Well I ended up marrying this handsome man who kissed me even though I didn’t know him, and we’ve had a lovely life together, full of balls and banquets and horse-drawn processions, and everybody loves the story of how we met. He’s a wonderful provider, a good husband, a good father, and his head looks fantastic on the coins and stamps. The older I get, though, the more I realize I really was given a gift, maybe it was a curse but I see why she would have thought of it as a gift appropriate for a newborn. Sometimes now my husband will wake me up by kissing me, very gently, and it’s so sweet and beautiful but still, all the same, I think, sometimes I think if only I could have slept a little longer. Just a little bit more.
When I woke up they said to me, it was you, you were the one who did it, it was you who did all those things and the things they said, they said it was me but it wasn’t, it wasn’t me or it wasn’t, how shall I say, it was not me that’s talking right now, it’s not me who says I am I right now, does that make sense? It was another one. I don’t think it does. I see that, I see that it doesn’t make sense but what I mean is that the one who is myself, the one that I am right now, the one who I say I am, that one was asleep. That one is me, it is I and I was asleep and so then you see, right? That I couldn’t have, I couldn’t have been there and I couldn’t have done it because I was here, I was asleep. It was a dream and I was asleep and now I’m still asleep, I am still in this dream or, I don’t know any more, maybe it’s another one, maybe it’s a different dream but I think I’m asleep and having a dream, that’s all, it’s not me, it’s—I don’t know who but not me, not I, I am still asleep. It’s a dream, that’s all, but I don’t like this dream and they keep telling me what I did, but I didn’t, it didn’t happen, or it didn’t happen like that, like they say it did, or it did but it was someone else, anyway, no, I do not like this dream. I keep trying to wake up and see what happened, or see what it is that’s happening, or that keeps happening and they keep telling me it was you, you did those things and then they tell me all the things they say I did, and I’m talking to them, I’m explaining it and they keep saying it was you, it was you, and no, no I do not like this dream. It can’t be like that, like everyone says, like everyone keeps telling me, that can’t be it. That can’t be right. That’s what I keep saying. That I was asleep, that it was a dream. A bad dream though. A very bad dream. I remember…I don’t remember, I don’t think I can remember, but it was a very bad dream. I can’t tell if it’s over, it seems like it’s over now and I’ve woken up, and then I hear how bad it is, how bad everything is and I think no, that’s not it. That’s something different. I remember and it’s bad, it’s a very bad dream, but it’s different from what they say, but then that’s not the dream, it’s not that dream, it’s not what they say, it’s not me, it’s not me that did it. Not me, but…I don’t know. I don’t know who. Another. Someone else. You know? I think there’s someone, there’s a guy wearing my clothes, everything, my shoes, my watch, my voice, but he says, what he says, first of all, it’s much more, how shall I say. More confident-sounding, I guess, he’s much more confident-sounding than I am, like, he’s pretending to be me but he’s actually better at it than I am. You know? He’s better at being me than I am at being me, but that’s not right. I’m asleep, it’s night time and I’m asleep, but he’s out there and everyone seems to think he’s right, when they hear what he says it seems right, but that’s not what I would, that’s now how I’d, I don’t know. He was talking, he was talking and he was saying all sorts of things like I do and the weird thing is that I could hear him, I could hear what he was saying even though I wasn’t there, I don’t know how, maybe that was the dream and I could hear him, it was like me, it was, it was like things I would say but it wasn’t. It wasn’t, it was much more, I don’t know, more clever maybe, clever and interesting and people seemed to be listening and they liked it but it wasn’t me. And do you know what he said. It’s not, I know it’s not true, all those stories he told, they’re not true but I wouldn’t call them lies. And even what I’m saying right now. I mean who’s saying it. Who’s speaking right now. It’s me, it’s me of course because—you can tell right? You can tell that this is me and it shouldn’t be, no it should be, it’s right but now I don’t know any more. I can’t tell. And no one would listen. They all said, they all kept saying I did it, you shot at that boy they said, you covered those people’s faces and made them stand on that stool, all those things, you did that, and you know what it was, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me I was asleep and then he, you know the other one, he said, that one said, well then someone did it for you. You wanted to, I didn’t want to but he said I wanted to, he said I wanted to and someone did it for me, he used my name and he did it for me and now you’re happy, you can admit it, you know this is what you wanted and I’m not…I don’t…I didn’t do it and I didn’t want it and now I can’t get rid of it. I can’t get away from it and everyone says it was me and I can’t wake up. And he keeps saying, he keeps telling me that even if you didn’t hold that guy down, even if you weren’t the one who grabbed that woman and started choking her, which even if you did it was OK, you did what you thought was right, but even if that wasn’t you, still you know what you’ve done. You know what you’ve done and it’s just as bad. You’ll never straighten it out, you’ll never be OK but think it over, really it’s OK. He says, you can never come back from this. After what you’ve done, no you can never go back. What you’ve lost is lost forever. But you know you would have lost it anyway so in that way, yes it’s OK. That’s not true, or I don’t know maybe that part is true. That I’ll lose, you know, lose everything I guess, I don’t want that to be true. It doesn’t have to be. Do you know what he told me? This really was a lie I think, I mean I know it’s not true, he said—I know, I know I shouldn’t fall for it, but he said don’t worry, things can be like they were before, everything will be like it used to be and that’s just what I wanted to hear, I knew it wasn’t true but that’s what I wanted to hear, he said things could be like they were before. But that it could be over and I could just forget, no I don’t believe that. I think if everyone would stop saying it, if someone would just say yes of course you were asleep and it was a dream but not if I say it. Not if it’s just something I’m saying to myself. You know? But I think, I don’t know it seems like it can’t be just a dream. If it’s a dream, if it’s only a dream, then this is, I mean me saying it is a dream. Then it’s not even a dream it’s a…no. Then there’s no end. Then it couldn’t stop because, do you see, because it would keep going on. I mean if this is. If me right now. If me what I’m saying. If this is a dream and I’m still dreaming then I don’t need to wake up, I need to go back to sleep. If this is a dream I’ll go back to sleep. No.
One week later
OK he's dead, what now?
I've been thinking about
I've got a lot of good tenets
Only the best
And a Church of one
First : No love songs
Second: Whatever works
Or maybe the reverse
Third: Let's take it from there
Did you ever touch bottom?
Gravity embraces you
Over the hill
Sitting on the curb side, staring at my thoughts
Waiting for a pickup, a ride back to the loft
The evening light is fading, the cars keep passing by
Mister's not around yet, I start to wonder why
What if he doesn't turn up, what if I'm on my own
I'd hate a cop to stop me, and give me a hard time
Don't quite know where this one leads, but thought you might want to play with it. I've been working hard and traveling a lot, so a little disappointed at not doing more on this blog. Have some ideas that are very slow in fruition.
I plan to "transit" through San Francisco on the way to Halifax (!) around 10 July. Would be nice to see you, if you're around. Let me know and I will plan accordingly.
The day the brownshirts marched by on parade
The townspeople all hip-hip-hoorayed
We all felt a special kind of pride
Whatever they’re fighting, we know they’re on our side
We cheered more and more as they marched round and round
The day the brownshirts cane to town
All us boys tried to sneak out of school
We wanted rifles that would make us that cool
The girls were all saying those brownshirts looked cute
But we knew it was more than the buttons and the suit
That brought them running out of the playground
The day the brownshirts came to town
Grandma said, “It’s just about time
Someone did something about the dirt and crime.”
And then just like always, this set off my dad:
He said, “Those guys are trouble, they’re just as bad!”
And momma smiled to calm him down
The day the brownshirts came to town
We were a little confused, no one seemed to know
Whether this was part of some reality show
Then Uncle Louie sort of disappeared
But we always knew he was a little bit weird
We figured sooner or later he’d be found
The day the brownshirts came to town