12 String Dreams Journal
The whispers of the secret laden Earth echo silently in my
head as I make my way
down the sandy path. What right do those have, Those that
dance beneath the
moon and stars. and laugh beneath the ancient growth of the
redwood trees. What
right do they have to put forth judgement on me... Me, a
man that no longer is able
to see the stars that hide behind the branches of the
forest that guides me down this
path... I use to dream, and still can see the remnants of
those dreams as I look past
the waves at the curve of the earth, as the sun retires
My self induced curse subsides for another moment as the
warmth of the sun's
final attempt to shine reflects off the mirrored reflection
of the sky.... What right do
Footprints of those before me..Two sets down to the
waterline, then one. I follow
them across the dunes, down to the creek that fights so
hard to die in the salty
waves of the one that pushes her back again and again. The
single set of prints
leads down to the soles of the one that created them. A man
sits hunched over the
transition from crystal clear and salty turmoil as the
creek spins with anxiety. I turn
and leave..... One sets enough.
A once stable base of an ever growing piece of nature that
somewhere along the
line of time gave up for reasons unknown, sits retired on
the beach only touched by
those waves that reach deep down inside and strive for the
rocky shores beyond.
A tree, turned driftwood, turned throne for a boy, turned
man, turned drifter.
The windsock blows to the south as I taxi the Cessna around
to a northern
heading. The radio squawks the gauges sit idle. I tap
gently on the glass as the
gauges come to life. I request permission to take off as I
laugh to myself and come
to a stop on the grassy strip. The only tower is the light
house to the south and the
only living thing for miles around are the seagulls that
fly above mocking the
machine below, and me, the heart that beats in the chest of
that machine. I thank
the tower. warn the birds of my intentions and throttle up
the fire breathing flying
dragon. I laugh again as the seagulls seem to take to a
holding pattern allowing
other skyward traffic to begin their journeys. I hear the
surprise and the applause
of their wings as this strange machine breaks it's earthly
ties and joins them in there
freedom. I bank left, and raise my hand to salute this
flying formation of those that
have patrolled this territory sense time began. I bring the
wings level and the
compass around 180 degrees, lower the throttle allowing the
wind to follow my
lead. I pass the light house a few hundred feet below as I
head slightly out to sea.
My last sight of earthly objects.
I unfold my electronic GPS and place the newly sharpened
cursor at my
approximate location. I remove the song, that I had heard
earlier this morning,
from my on board computer and enter the coordinates of my
With the help of a secondary processor I quickly determine
my ETA then fold the
calculator up in the map and throw it in the seat beside me.
The low hum of the engines brings forth a song. The bassy
rhythm and hollow
tones set the scene for a smoke bar and cold beer. The
metallic clank of quarters
failing endless into the lighted box as it's followers
hover religiously around it.
Those that touch it soon began to sway to the rhythm and
turn to the crowd and
proudly walk away as though healed by the hand of the
jukebox God. Set forth to
travel the bar, spreading their new found wisdom....
The words instantly touch me deep inside as my eyes scan
the mysterious bottles
and reflection of the mysterious bottles in the mirror
behind the bar. What genies do
these bottles hold. What memories did those that came
before me lose in the fluid
that poured from those bottles. What warmth would over come
my body, mind,
soul, as a shot is poured or drink is mixed. What will I
carry with me when I go to
worship at the jukebox throne. I feel the eyes upon me as I
start to answer. The bar
goes silent, even the songs of worship seem to die just for
a moment. My throat
turns dry, my hands clam up. Then above the noise of the
congregation a voice
The force of the words and the way they were delivered, and
the close proximity of
the one that delivered them, startled me as I seem to awake
from a trance or comma
with the words as they left my mouth.
I check the water to the west and the fading land to the
east as I finish the now warm
Pepsi and throw the corpse back into the Coleman grave from
which it came. I scan
the instruments left to right in random order. Temperatures
are fine, oil pressure,
elevation, air speed, all fine. Even the fuel gauge has
remained unchanged. I tap the
glass as the needle moves down to three quarters of a tank.
Everything seems to be
running as they would if I had actually planned on how I
wanted them to run.
"What right do they have ?" I scream above the crashing
dreams upon the illusions I
Who's lie was I fed ? Who's blood did I drink of?
"What'll ya have ?"
The echoes subside beneath the shattering glass as I tap
the misleading gauges a
final time. I should of known.... or did I?
The waves crash behind me now as I sit upon my throne
turned island. In my hand
lies the message and the broken remnants of the bottle in
which they were delivered.
The blood runs freely like the pain and the creek and mixes
with the sea and tears...
'What right do they have?" the words I speak get lost in
the salty mist that hides
any sign of the fear or pain that might have survived,
The tide, the tears, the pain, the story,... The worst, the
Excuse me.... Can I borrow your dream ? I'm stuck here and
seem to have lost
mine. I seem to be losing my mind.. You seem to be losing
your patients with me..
The waves seem more determined then before. I perch on the
jagged back of my
quickly fading throne... Like the seagulls or the vultures,
but they just fly away. Fly
away above the waves, beyond the shore, above the light
house and beside the
plane that flies silently to the south leaving it's Earthly
The sun begins to rise gently above the curve of the Earth
and peaceful waves of
the morning tide. How can that be ? Have I been here that
long ? Have I been away
that long? Am I that lost ?
"You can keep looking but your not going to find much..."
The voice sounds familiar... but from where?
"There's plenty to do and dreams don't come cheap"
The mist of the waves broken by the hull of the ship falls
gently on the pages before
me. Stains spread quickly beneath the outline of the
compass and pen. The mist
grows heavy like the clouds above till it's running from my
faces. The fresh ink
begins to spread on the map before me. It's crimson color
seems to infect the
page like cancer. That voice infects my mind.
'We're heading below... You can join us if you like or ride
it out up here..."
The hint of laughter from those that blindly make there way
to the safety below
leads me to believe the joke at which the laugh is me.
"What'R it be ??"
That voice ??????
I gather what seemed to be my only possessions and left
behind what appeared to
be the remains of my sanity- The slam of the wooden hatch
and the clank of the
metallic hatch seemed to punctuate the moment and the
'It's gonna be a long night.......
The words drifted off into the wind and rain, but drifted
endlessly in the hearts and
minds of the men that heard them. The lightning struck and
the thunder whispered
The night turned day but the sun did not shine. Night, day,
again and again. The
fear gave way to madness and the tears gave way to screams.
another eternity. The fight to survive became the fight to
kill. Words of hope
turned to words of hatred. The pacing footsteps wore
heavily on the nerves of
some. The silence wore heavier on others. Those that did
not kill did not live.
Those that lived wept silently in the comers of their minds.
I lived nor died, I exsisted in between and waited.
The glow of the early morning dawn burrowed it's way
through the rotting wood of
the deck The erie silence was broken by the sounds of the
morning, I looked past
the Hell before me till blinded by the light above...
"What the Hell was that all about. " I asked the snow white
clouds that danced
upon their sky blue stage. " Do the words I say not make
the dreams I dreamt... Is
there nothing I call my own ?'
The papers sit wet and wrinkled, crushed in my hand,
stained by the blood of
confusion. "What right do you have?"
The words I spoke nor thought this time, but heard in a
voice not unlike my own..
"I too have walked in search of answers. leaving behind
dreams, giving into
passion. Many times I have lost the paths that tried so
hard to lose me. I too have
fought the waves in hopes of dieing in the waters that push
me away. But to leave
me here unharmed by the water line... What right do you
I felt the need to answer with a question of my own, but
who she was it did not
matter. I knew by the prints she made it was not me to whom
"I'd give my life to die for you, and many times I have.
You bring me here to
forgive. What right do you have.?"
"Am I not worth a fight? Do the words not scar as much as
the actions.. I too have
given in to rumors, greed and lust.... Does this not bring
those words to heart.
Forgiveness? What right do you have."
"Laugh there on your throne... Is that the game you play..
Did you change the rules
so you could win. Two can play at that game. I'll forgive
Her foot prints laid a little deeper as she walked away
cursing life beneath her breath.
The waves wash behind her erasing any trace of her visit.
"Sweet girl" I think and climb down from the fallen tree.
"What right does she have ?" I think as I retrace my steps
down the sandy path.
Another day spent searching the past, avoiding the future,
and ignoring all around
me. She could have stood behind the man that stood beside
the creek. She could
have spoke to the man that could not hear. If only once,
she could have listened to
the man that could not speak. Could she have not pushed a
final time, casting his
body into the rapids, into the turmoil that flowed so
freely before them. Lost for
now but happy all the same. Is there nothing she could do.
Is the nothing she
couldn't do. What right does she have....
The silouettes danced beneath the trees against the setting
sun. Dancing there,
mocking me. I could dance, if I wanted.....
The sand beneath my feet turns hard as stone and as black
as the quickly fading
day. Painted lines and words, left behind by an acient tribe
I assume, mark this
asfault meadow. A flashing sword of light slashes across my
face as the chariot
rides away. The roar of it's horses and squeel of it's
hooves echo off the dunes
It's sad.... I guess thats the word we use. I think as I
watch the lights on the hllside
mingle with the evening sky. Headlights follow the mountian
road, a star falls from
it's perch. A leaf falls from the heavens above resting on
the hood next to my hand.
A tear falls kom my face, never to rest.
I lay back against the cool glass as another star goes out
in a blaze of glory. Must
be a good night for that. I close my eyes and look out the
window at the vally
below. It's so quite up here sometimes.
A ghost from the past shatters the silence with the crash
of dishes and a silent cry
Two years in this twelve thousand square foot prison.
Forced to watch as the
ocean waves continuoy beat relentlessly on the rocks. The
silouettes of those that
sit and dream on the white sands of the beaches plague my mind and
birds that fly
effortlessly through the air and the endless hours of piece
"What right do you have ?"
The stairway that winds up to the loft and rooms above sits
unused. I still hear the
sound of heals and the grind of a metal bad on the
rail some nights. I
remember when this house was a dream and my life, a
fantasy. Now I live in a
nightmare and my life is only a dream.
Forgive me for the things I've done and remember me for the
things I did not.
"What right do you have..?" The voice cuts through me like
the wind cut through the
walls of the home we had left behind some time ago.
"Sit there so contents.. Dreamy eyed... You mean to say it
dosen't matter to you. It
dosen't matter anymore. Is this what our lives have
become ? "
The crystal glass rings out, echoing in the empty house as
the wine bottle caresess
it's rim. A crackle or two from the fire burning hot, then
all is silent once again.
'Do you want me to cry. Do you want me to give up. Do you
want me to ignore the
dreams I've yet to find ? So easy it is for you. Win or
lose, succeed or fail, you still
have a reason to accept your life for what it's worth. What
right do you have not to
cry for me. Not to cry when I'm away. What right do you
have not to fight. Not to
fight to make me stay.
The last of the wine from the smoked glass bottle runs
gracefully into the glass. I
slide the glass pane open and step out into the evening
air. The coastal breeze
blows calmly up the canyon side carring with it the salty
mist and rythmic sounds.
I watch the reflection of the moon distort and fade as I
twirl the glass between my
hands. A solitary cloud moves though as I swallow whats
left of the memory. The
cloud moves away as quickly as it came. I watched till the
glare from the moon
blinded me then turned away.
The moon seems to follow me as I tried to escape it's glare.
I move my arm up to shade the light.... Must be a full moon
"Sir, we can't have you sleeping here.."
We, who's "we...... Whos sleep did I disrupt laying here in
the still of the night.
Who's life did I affect, reflecting in the glow of night.
Was it the ancient tribes that
painted these lines and words. Was this a sacred temple
from dusk till dawn. What
would I witness if I were to remain in this spot when the
witching hour came around? Did these tribesman park their chariots
the lights, red as flames...
Dancing withal thier guns and light, chanting incantations.
"You have the right to remain silent..."
As they laughed and danced, pleasing the God of justice.
"Any thing you say will be held against you..."
The fire burs brighter as more tribesman arrive.
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave, on your own or
with my assistance..."
"What'll it be..."
"Whatl it be..."
On my own... I've been there before. I've been there
awhile. But what assistance
could he possible have to offer. Did he take this blank
look as lack of
understanding ? I understood, more then he could even
dream. More then he
would ever want to know.
*What'll it be,.."
The clouds moved on, the tide moved out. All good things
came to an end. I.. I
just continued to exist.
"Excuse me sir...
"Did you see the way the wind blew
"Did you see the way it carried me away so long ago?"
"A life or two ago, I'm sure you must have seen it fly."
"A wing, a string, a cotton thing that kept it in control."
Who was this boy that stole my voice and clouded my
thoughts with these words
he threw around. What is it he has lost and am I suppose to
help in some way.
Stringy hair and fragile smile that easily escape the eye.
An honest voice afraid to
speak. A child only in age.
"I swore I never would..."
"Never would what ?" I asked the boy now trembling in the
"I swore I'd never let it go..."
He raised his hand to point as the blood trickled down his
"What brought you here. What caused this pain you carry in
your hands and in
your heart. Don't be afraid ."
"Afraid". he repeated in a voice that chilled my heart and
buried my soul beneath the
asphalt covered sand...
"Is that what you think......."
"After all these years you think fear is all that plagues
He laughed a hateful laugh,
He pulls a string all laced in blood from the sandy earth
below us. It snakes it's way
beyond our sight.. He hands the end to me.
"It broke sometime ago, but like I swore, I never let it
go. Wrap it tight around your
hand, you'll find the end someday... I'll be there.."
"Afraid .... "
He walked away....