Sweet Dreams Are (Not) Made Of This


Upon awakening from a lifetime of recallable dreams, I’ve frequently mulled over the feasibility of online dream journaling. However, I’ve resisted making my slumbering nightlife an open book, mainly, because I’ve deemed my content, by and large, to be akin to a bedtime story; in other words, a real yawner. Uh, that is, up till this early a.m., when my R.E.M. sleep story seemed a bit more worthwhile and interweb interweave-able.

It all boils down to a specific dreams’ recursive, bothersome nature; of late, the bizarre manner in which my unconscious mind has been prioritizing a particular narrative; has become unduly fond of (unproductively?) sorting out my time served within a peculiar, particular gated community, a.k.a. Retail Hell (initially, as a sales rep; later on, as an entry level manager).

The, perhaps, unsolvable mystery, here, is why there’d even need to be a nocturnal rehashing of this epoch of my life; these dreams ARE playing out nearly 13 years following my injury-forced early retirement. Additionally, I’d hardly categorize more than 5 of those 30 work years as worthwhile and satisfying. Hence, my headline’s negation of the 1983 Annie Lennox / David A. Stewart’s song title, “Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This”.

Possibly, it’s my having pissed away nearly forty-five percent of my entire life within that milieu, which would account for this phenomenon? Might there simply not be enough of my other life experiences to draw on? My gawd, it’d be bat crap pathetic, indeed, were my so-called career the only aspect that had ever defined me.

Getting down to the actual dream details, they are, at best, phantasmagorical; the slew of farcical / surreal workplace settings, facial flashes of both wretched and wonderful big bosses and fleeting glimpses of the revolving door co-workers who’d been treated just as shoddily as I. Other mystifying dream elements include my neither showing up for work nor completing my assigned tasks on time, utterly failing to carry out the most mundane of work routines and, in the process, completely mucking up everything; all of which, runs totally counter to the actual facts; corroborated by my rock solid, top-notch, annual job performance reviews.

As for “the why” to my experiencing these (worthless?) dreams, the only working theory I can dream up is how that bygone era of my work life had been a walk in the park; when compared to staggering thru today’s zombie apocalypse.

Such an assessment of tough times, doth summon forth the 1967, James Anthony Dean / Paul Riser / William Henry Witherspoon, R&B/Soul musical masterpiece, “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted”: these songsmiths’ lead lyric, “As I walk this land with broken dreams” aptly setting the world stage.

Once juxtaposed, such a sentiment is totally relevant to the coronavirus pandemic, which has devastated, debilitated and decimated humanity; to a society sickened by the plague of racial inequality, police brutality, gun violence and mass shootings; to the delusional domestic terrorist sleeper cells, who await their collective alarm clock to go off; to trigger the unleashing of their deadly and destructive plots; all of which could, someday, trump Trump’s own, wide awake nightmare; his fortunately failed January 6th attempt to hack America to death.

Indeed, Sweet Dreams Are (Not) Made Of This.


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Enter This Road At Your Own Risk!


Welcome to my / my homeland’s nightmare. And do heed my headline’s warning!

Alas, we’re about to discuss the post Trumpian Epoch; the bare bones existence currently suffered by millions of us commoners, all across the Ununited States of America; a nation gone utterly mad. Granted, I do blog obsessively / excessively on this topic, but, especially considering the January 6th Insurrection, this is not without good reason.

For starters, while President Joe Biden has been doing whatever he can to right Trump’s wrongs, mostly by signing Executive Orders (EO), considering the U.S. Senate’s 50-50 bitter, partisan divide and how multiple state’s xenophobic Governors have been approving recently authored, seething with racism, voter suppression laws, Joe may wield neither the required political clout nor possess sufficient time to take on such a Herculean task; let alone, permanently fix our Donald-diseased, devastated homeland / world.

And even if he does, the bitter truth is that Joe’s EOs can just as easily be undone by any future, radical Republican who manages to mismanage (take out) the Oval Office; maybe as early as 2024; be that Donny, himself, or one of his scramble-brained spawn.

Now, I cannot attest to whether or not what follows illustrates a bona fide nightmare; i.e., seeing how, like most of us, I rarely recall all that transpires during my REM sleep. Nonetheless, here we go…

I find myself cruising along a two lane, rural highway at the posted 90 KPH (55 MPH) limit; one so steep I’m practically heading skyward. Just as I’ve reached the apex of this Wild West mesa, at breakneck speed, an oncoming, painted retina burning red, SUV veers over the center line.

Perhaps, its delirious driver has been driven to this off course, feverish pace by ague? Or, he is some inveterate, nonconformist who, by his very hot headed nature, is hellbent on disobeying all the rules of the road? Perhaps, he’s a hardcore science denier and, as such, actually believes that two objects can occupy the same spot at the same time; sans any damage?

Just when this impending, fatal head-on crash seems carved in stone / tombstone, I spot a side road. Even tho I know not where that dirt and graveled passage will take me, it’s down to do or die. With nothing left to lose, I swerve sharply leftward; barely accommodating the laws of inertia; i.e., narrowly averting vehicular rollover.

Just as I exhale my “whew” and nervous chuckle, I catch a fleeting glimpse of that kamikaze vehicle, reduced to momentary, mere red blur, in my rearview mirror. Another “whew”, for indeed, I’ve totally cheated certain death?

Maybe not! Now materializing out from a dense, billowing dust devil, I spot an impromptu, caravan parking lot; multiple dozens of pick-up trucks, all hued blood red; all veritable roadblocks to all forward motion and notions; to humankind’s journey thru life. This rabble flaunts and taunts; honks horns, hoots and hollers.

Worst of all, these guerrillas, teamed up with big city and small town rogue cops, brandish their assault rifles; aim them all in my direction. What totally innocent moi could’ve possibly done to face down such vigilante justice escapes me; but I am driven to escape and escape I will.

With my untimely demise, once more, imminent, yet another unpaved side road presents itself. Somehow, I manage to reprise my moments earlier, maneuvering miracle only to discover the road, unexpectedly morphing into two mere parallel tire ruts within a tall, tinder dry weed field; the median strip’s knee high foliage noisily scraping at my vehicle’s undercarriage; that clunk of a boulder cannot be good.

My gas tank ruptured, spilling petrol and friction spark flames; one certainty, there can be no turning back.

Momentarily my eyes gaze skyward; perhaps to see the light? The gate to the promised land? I dunno. But, one thing that fleeting glance doth provide is the forewarning of a looming storm front. Angry storm clouds hurl freakish, sky to ground lightning bolts, which set ablaze the drought browned vegetation, ahead.

Fortuitously, albeit a mere car width wide, yet another path presents itself; my last ditch, leftward sharp turn, momentarily, affording me a new lease on life? Or not?

OH NO! OMG! It’s now abundantly clear I’ll be running out of rutted road before I can lead foot my speedometer down to zero. Not unlike the dive of the fictional flick’s Thelma and Louise, I careen over a sky high cliff; plunge into a Grand Canyon magnitude abyss; FALLING, Falling, falling; the gravity.of the situation all but assuring an early meeting with my maker?

The End?

Epilogue: Be the above account based upon an actual nightmare, the composite of untold night terrors (accrued over a lifetime), or merely the musings of this sleep-starved blogger on this new / old pandemic day, it’s all, obviously, reality rooted; the current events unmistakably torn from today’s front page news; e.g., the pitiless pandemic, Democracy demolishing insurrectionists, reckless recalcitrant Trumpers, police brutality, hate crimes, mass murdering incidents, climate change’s freakish weather; uh, need I say more? Sure, why not?

Perhaps REM sleep affords us the best opportunity to make sense of our hometowns, homelands and home world? Of course, it’s not as if anything any of us could muster, solution-wise, would ever be taken seriously, let alone, get implemented.

However, there is one inescapable truth.

First and foremost, everything good we hope for is inexorably linked to humanity emerging from this godforsaken pandemic in full possession of sound mental, physical, fiscal health.

At best, our path ahead will prove a tough road to hoe. At worst, it’ll get roadblocked by horrific people and their horrendous policy; so much so that our forward momentum could easily come down to a brake squealing, tire screeching, crashing halt; perhaps, even drive us over a cliff; i.e., if we let it.

Let’s not let it!

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Knockin’ ‘Round His Gnarly Noggin


At some juncture, most of us have awoken with recollections of surreal, lurid night terrors; typically, accompanied by that unshakable creepy, weirded out feeling.

During the wee hours of this new day, I found myself experiencing that unenviable, unnerving state of mind. The significant diff, here, was, instead of that cropping up upon my departure from the realm of nightmares, this materialized while reentering / reclaiming, anew, my wide-awake parcel of the pandemic redefined America; a once great nation left battered and trampled to near-death by a recently dethroned, narcissistic, fascistic bastard. He was (still is) America’s wide awake nightmare.

Alas, this disconcerting phenomenon goes even deeper than that.

If you’ve ever wondered what it’d be like to see thru the mind’s eye of that mentally disturbed individual, that did get fully externalized from January 20, 2017 thru January 20, 2021.

I mean, look no further than America’s socioeconomic ruins. Transcending even the physical / fiscal malaise, we become eyewitness to his grotesque, ferocious brand of divisiveness, racism, classism, sexism and ageism; nearly every negative ism known to humankind. Hell, during his reign of terror, nearly everything that’s essential to a vibrant, enduring society did go wrong. If you find your own homeland in a similar state of collapse, you do have my sympathy.

Perhaps worse yet, is how, so far, he has escaped punishment; all of which means that he’ll be back, not unlike our recurring night terrors.

Now I ask, if knockin’ ‘round his gnarly noggin is not akin to a wide awake nightmare, WTF is?


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21 Verse Salute: Nocturnal Admissions

Part One ~ The Awakening


Why oh why are we cursed? What’s the cause, bizarre dreams?

Ones, which lock tight our muscles, and stifle our screams.

While real world type nightmares, can inculcate fright,

There’s far more to my strange dream, this midsummer night.


From toss and turn slumbers, I abruptly awaken,

Are night terrors at fault, for my feeling so shaken?

I cannot help but wonder. What’s the cause? Who’s to blame?

Was THE VOICE really real, which had called me by name?


The whole room is spinning, my head is a reeling,

Try as I do, I can’t shake that weird feeling.

I’m not buzzed on booze, doped on drugs, NO, not my scene,

So what the Hell won’t permit me to feel calm, serene?


I hide beneath blankets, pillows cover my ears,

Such childish defenses, can’t fight grown up fears,

Bits and snatches besiege me, my memory cache,

A fleeting image bursts forth, like a forked lighting flash.


Tries to snag my dream frags, are a task truly daunting,

Creepy, will-o’-the-wisp, not too unlike a haunting.

Revelation now strikes me, I nearly scream,

It dawns on me how, this is far from mere dream.


As I lie face up fretting, wide awake in my bed,

Decibels grow intense, the sounds spike in the red,

Were I to tell anyone, would I lose all my cred?

OMG! Once again THE VOICE talks in my head!


It knows all I know! All I think!! I think so!!!

“Yes we do”, it responds, “ESP’s our MO.”

I then pose the question, “Are you friend or foe?”

It drones, “Let’s meet in the woods. Just follow our glow!”


I’m enraptured, intrigued, entranced, in a daze,

A lightshow backlights closed curtains, rivets my gaze.

I’m suffused with blue hues, pastel greens, purples, limes,

Tick-tocking so softly, twice the clock chimes.


In awe of the unknown, I lunge for the phone,

Press handset to ear, yet detect no dial tone,

I shout in the mouthpiece, “I can take this no more!”

THE VOICE in my mind says, “Egress your back door!”


Deadbolt clicks, doorknob rattles, all hinges creek,

Which way should I go, in our game, hide and seek?

Perched atop porch, my skyward stretch and a yawn,

Precede my two downward steps, my stroll across lawn.


Part Two ~ “Miles To Go Before I Sleep”


I enter the woods, the nighttime chill’s everywhere,

Watch pale firefly flickers, both on land, in mid air.

Starlit sparkles above, twigs snap beneath feet,

I cannot help but wonder, whom on Earth I shall meet?


Looking skyward, I spot three disks, fly in formation,

They light up wood’s clearing, our shared destination,

Blue hues, pastel purples, all bathe the expanse,

Instinct warns I should flee, while I’ve still got the chance!”


Yet, Earth has no future, due to despots so manic,

They scare me more than ETs, ergo I don’t panic.

Silver saucers touch down, the pilots appear,

I approach, we shake hands, there’s no need for fear.


They’re large headed, gray skinned, but that’s not important,

It’s big thoughts that count, here, our behavior, comportment,

They seem to be stunned, by my no-nonsense amity,

As if fully expecting, a first contact calamity.


Our telepathic connection, our meld, mind to mind,

Greatly aids close encounters, of the third kind.

I feel just like Armstrong, who, need I remind,

Once took “one small step”, “giant leap for mankind”!


But our facial expressions, all the sudden, turn sad,

We’re all keenly aware, that my world has gone mad.

ETs tell me it’s too late, that needless to say,

Tyrants, who crave Armageddon, can’t stave off Doomsday!


ETs have heard about DT, they appraise him as dim,

Since they’ve seen Earth’s near future, they know that it’s grim.

Once this narcissist despot, upon world stage, encroaches,

He nukes the whole world! Sole survivors? Cockroaches!


Part Three ~ The Light-Years Shall Set Me Free


ETs next make an offer, I cannot rebuff,

I can leave Earth, forever, avoid the times tough,

They plan to rescue ten thousand, save our helix double,

Transplant us light-years away, to a world free of trouble.


My thoughts? I’ll go gladly, the zillions of miles,

And this lights up our eyes, turns our frowns into smiles,

Here on Earth there are too few, who care about me,

So, off to distant stars, planets, is where I shall flee.


I enter their starship, we prepare for our flight,

They’ll provide all I need, I’ll be traveling light,

We lift off, zoom outward, soon Big Blue’s a mere dot,

I bid, “Farewell cruel world”, though I know it will not.


The starfield blurs brightly, as our ship starts to gleam,

As we attain speed of light, we become a light beam,

But the whiteness of linen, replaces white light,

Back in my bed, my dream dies, in the dark dead of night.