"Step up! I sense you're on the precipice of something..."

Hirasawa Susumu - [The Girl in Byakkoya - White Tiger Field]--- I stand in thresholds. I wait in the inbetween spaces of one moment and the next, constantly looking back at what was, what could have been, what never was, and always looking out toward what will be, what may be, what never can be. But there is nothing that never can be, and that is why the two points form a humming dynamic Now, synthesized. Organic.

I align myself with the gods of the threshold, the spirits of the crossroads, the men and women who make their deals, turning themselves into legends of story and language, and the Devils and Demons who drag their essences through the refining, compressing flame of a thousand sleepless summer nights, on dirt country roads, the heat of sweat and blood spattering on their skin, as they supplicate, cajore, beg, demand, ask, cry for compensation and solace.

Mindless Self Indulgence - [Bullshit]--- I and Thou are the essence of the connexion, of communion and not commerce, of commerce and of the constant call and response, give and give and give, and never taking, but receiving, slowly, carefully, tenatively, lest we tear something, break something fragile into jagged edges and the taste of our own remorseful blood fill our mouths.

I am the sensation of your teeth at your own throat. (Dead Can Dance - [Rakim]). I am the meaning of this song, and its inevitability, in context, in correlation of thought and Language. But we were talking about how you always find your own soft spots, and cut them open for everyone else to see, and how I have turned myself into the gentle whisper of advice in your ear, noting that mirror reflects only so much, and that the neck can crane Just So.

That liminal space is always weak, always paper thin, waiting for something, someone with sharp enough claws, edged enough analysis, pointed enough witticisms to come along and dig in, hold tight, and... watch as the boundary evaporates like dry ice, and the process is sublimated, folded in and under, and it was always without, always in tatters, and you forget that you rent that veil. (Queens of the Stone Age - [Lightning Song]). You forget that it wasn't always weak, that there wasn't even always a separation, or that you once knew precisely what i meant, when I said that there wasn't always a separation. Because mind, matter, thought, action, belief, outcome are along a continuum, regardless of how it may seem. They are all parts of something more than themselves, but that doesn't matter, here...

Poe - [Terrible Thought]--- What are you? I see you as the centre of a swirling mass of living sculptures, of pieces of flesh cast in bronze, screaming, frying, boiling as they are captured, but that's not you, it's simply something of which you can't yet make sense.

I see you laughing, playfully swatting at faeries like friendly flies, one of them catching your fingers and dragging you into the air, up and far, far away. But that's not you. It's the heart of what you sometimes want.

What are you? Tonight, I am the advocate and adversary of your crossroads companionship, the facilitator of your fictions and procurer of your proclivities, so I need you to tell me what you want, what you need, and I'll tell you what you'll have to give to Get.

Because here's what I want, here's what I need: I need to be a still, ever evolving, always Becoming heart of the storm of potential. (Tom Waits - [Poor Edward]). I want a perspective on Change and Active Evolution, from the internal postition of that which is doing the evolving and I need the fixed parallax of the external relative motion, as I watch changes circle changes circle changes square changes into exponential celluar generation and eventual mental birth. I need to be this change, this Being and Time and Becoming, because it is this that I wish to see in the world. This and whatever it is that you want to be...

So I need to you look down, now, and see the dirt road beneath your feet.

Red Sparowes - [Alone and Unaware, the Landscape Was Transformed in Front of Our Eyes]--- I need you to look up, now, and see a half moon.

I need you to forget the date and the phase, and recognise that it can wax or wane, with the merest wishes, thoughts, drives, desires and Wills.

I need you to look behind you and see nothing but a straight line leading away toward the far-setting sun.

I need you to look in front of you and see an intersection of intersections, of lines of commerce and communication, of crossed wires and of a field of signposts in languages you can't read, but which all speak to you, personally.

I need you to take a step forward, into the crossroads, right now, and let all the others fall from view, because there is only this, now, this choice, this Now.

I need you to look deep in yourself and find whatever it is that makes you strong, whatever it is that makes you weak, whatever it is that makes you cringe and cry and hurt and triumphant and victorious and emmergent.

I need you to rip that from yourself and drop it to the centre of the crossroads, at your feet, and I need you to take the knife that is in your hand (because it's always in your hand, and it's always been in your hand)...

And I need you to know what to do, next.

I need you to look beside you, facing you, grabbing a chair for you, and I need you to see that I'm here, and that I'll be here, for as long as I can.

Electric Hellfire Club - [I Dream of Demons]--- Today, tonight, this afternoon, whenever it is for you, I need you to do these things, because there is a threshold, in front of us, a doorway which begs us to cross through, to unlock and open and step...

You don't have to tell me what it is, you don't even have to tell me of the contrivance of this speech (I feel it, and I can only say that it's the best I can do, right now), you only have to do this, and see what happens next.

We need to see what happens next.

Good night.

Dreams: Missing something

Dreams started with being in this house, during a small gathering. Of going innto the fridge to get food, and then deciding to listen to the Sirius/XM satelite radio, set inside our fridge. Fiddling with the knob, changing the station away from new Metallica, as the metalhead pastry deliverry guy, from work, comes up from the basement, and makes fun of Anna by asking for some Blondie. Blondie comes on next. I think about an Old Metalica song, and it comes on. There are some weird composite, interpretational videos on a small screen linked to the S./XM Radio. I stare at these, awhile...

I'm off in a combination of the far north and far south of Georgia, lots of mountains, but also lots of plains. Driving along the state roads, seeing the strange liminal places of diners and truck stops.

Watching/Riding with a blonde cyberpunk-type girl through the backwoods highways. Watching because she's in a music video. We're obviously running from someone, as we pull off into the woods, near a swamp/mud hole, into which she rides her motorcycle. She reaches up from the depths of the mud, dramatically, and pulls herself to the surface. We hunker down behind a set of mostly buried and reclaimed concrete ruins, so we can watch the road. Some marauders speed by, one of whom is keeping an eye out for mud holes, and tossing grenades into them. we have to scramble to not get blown up, and not be seen, but her bike is destroyed. She goes out onto the road, after the marauders turn around and head the other way, and catches one of the stragglers off-guard. She knocks the girl out, takes her motorcycle, and rides far and fast. They follow her, and I'm left to commandeer a car, using the sword the female marauder dropped. I tell the old man to follow that motorcycle, and he looks disapprovingly at the sword. I look our over the mountain ridge, and I see the moon, and the old man starts talking to me about the choices we make in life. I look back down to the road, and see the guard rail and the edge of the cliff and the fact that the old man is looking through his centre console, for something, just as the car goes through and over.

We're falling down the side of a mountain, and I haven't woken up, yet. The fear and the adreneline haven't sent me shooting upright, out of bed, yet, and so I know that this is real and that I'm going to die, falling down the side of a mountain in an old Honda Accord Hatchback. I start mentally preparing myself for the things that will never happen, and the people I'm going to miss, and I start saying goodbye to everyone. After a while, I notice that I still feel like I'm falling, and that I should have "hit" a long time ago.

I open my eyes, and I'm laying on my side, on the couch in a fractal iteration of every apartment in which I've ever lived. By which I mean that the Entire Apartment is reproduced inside Every Room of the Apartment. i know that there has been a party, and I don't know how I got home. I am very upset that I don't remember anything that happened, or how I got home. I keep asking people what happened, and nothing jogs my memory, and I get more and more upset. Noteworthy cast of characters includes Luke, Brandon, hametsunosaturn, cailement, tsarina_bomba, theapplethief, and many others. For the most part, people I haven't seen, with my eyes, in a very long time. Each of them tells me a different component of what happened, and what I did, and I still don't remember any of it. The last I remember was driving along the highway in the Far North/Deep South of Georgia, going to a mansion in the woods, and then...? I keep complaining about the fact that I Always remember the things that happen, no matter How Drunk I Get, and Luke tells me that maybe my memory of the events is the price I had to pay for the events themselves. We're in the hallways of the apartment building, which are the halls of a hotel and a law school. Something about this price seems fundamentally imbalanced and particularly Faustian. Wonderful for everyone else, but complete torture, for me.

I realise that there are still events happening, at this party, as a sort of after-party for the party, and there's a girl from my job, cuddling on hametsunosaturn, obviously waiting for an answer to some question, which hametsunosaturn isn't yet ready to give. I go and sit down on the floor next to the dining room table, and make one last attempt to ask cailement what happened, but she only half hears me. Everyone is decompressing, as an after effect of the ridiculous party... i wake up

Yeah... Intricate, layered dreams.

How'd you sleep?