Monday, January 26, 2009


Dreams are so weird. I have been dreaming a lot lately and actually remembering them. This is rare for me. The dreams are seemingly meaningless, strange characters, odd places, scenes that jump from meeting rooms, to doctors offices, to fields of war.

This is what I penned down at 3:00 am.

His name was Jerry Weele and he had ridiculously enlarged nostrils. I can’t believe I actually remembered his name. He seemed to be in a twelve step program of sorts where he was learning to accept his tragic disfigurement. He also seemed to have suffered a ruthless barbering- hair chopped in every direction. He assured everyone his disfigurement was not a congenital defect, although he blamed his mother who he disliked. She apparently suggested that he was born a congenital idiot from his father’s side. According to him, she had proof. There didn’t seem to be any evidence to support this claim, at least he didn’t state any, but somehow he went on to explain that she had succeeded in securing government support for his disability. They needed the money he said. This, all according to the speech he was giving at the meeting. So on and on it goes, he spent his formative years with his mother who masterfully taught him awkward facial expressions and incoherent mumblings. For effect apparently. He demonstrated several of the facial gestures and delivered some noises. It was really quite funny.

Years seemed to have past, and as it happens in dreams, we are suddenly in war time. Apparently for the first time he seemed delighted that he was about to recognize the first benefit of his self-imposed lunacy. He was running around in the street waving some sort of flag and laughing in that mongoloid kind of way he had been taught to do. Regrettably the army took him anyway. They needed the help he said. He went, he marched, he fought, and he made friends. This all happened really quickly. I don’t remember the details. He then returned with a curious upper respiratory infection which caused a constant and uncontrolled dribble of nasal discharge which inevitably turned into a steady stream. His mother appeared again and blamed bad genes from his father’s side. This is what I believe I heard any way. A bunch of doctors and what seemed like years later (because he changed in appearance) the nasal drippings prevailed. They kept telling him it was in his head even though the snot just ran down his face like from an open spigot.

Finally he goes to see some doctor he kept referring to as Doc W- some ear, nose and throat specialist who was known to have done miraculous work on orangutans’ suffering similar maladies. There was big poster on the wall showing proof of this. I can’t believe I actually took notice of it, but it was hard to ignore because of the grotesque picture of the orangutan with what look like piping coming from his nose. Doc W apparently had perfected a cylindrical device which, simply stated, collected and evaporated nasal drippings. He explained all this to Jerry, as well as to let him know that there was a dilemma. First this had never been done on a human being and secondly, the device measured 4 centimeters in diameter and required one on each side of the nose. That’s how it came to be that his nostrils were enlarged and the devices implanted. It was a really messy procedure. Blood everywhere, but I like gory and I kept trying to look closer.

After that it seemed his life changed and that’s when he started hanging out with other disfigured people. It was a scene from a Fellini film – short arms, elastic torsos, earless children, eyebrows made of bundles of twigs. Any way, he seemed to be at home. Mother was out of the picture entirely at this point. He stopped all the facial expressions and was openly reading and writing as he pleased. He sort of emerged as a leader among his new founds peers. Below the window of his apartment was a dumpster. He suddenly started throwing away all his belongings, anything that had to do with his past. He was totally into embracing his new self. Everything was going out the window. The dream ended when he was totally naked and I found him disgusting to look at.
What was I to take away from this dream? I took it as a sign to start purging, to renew myself. Of late my brain has formed a crust of dried up thoughts. I come home and install myself on the couch looking for answers which I do not find. so I began the purging.

I cleared out my closet, then under the bed, the cabinets, the junk drawers, the studio. I can hardly wait to get into the basement. I need the trash collectors to come every day. It feels like a cleansing— a cleansing of thoughts and feelings that I wish to evaporate.

Friday, January 23, 2009

age is a work of art

always remember to wear a hat, it adds dimension and texture!