I have dreams, too, people.



I have dreams, too, people. And they go beyond drinking Mr. Pibb from a hollowed out Slim Jim. I have a dream, like my man Martin Luther King. Martin Lawrence is more of a role model, but for poetic license we're going to use King. King, king, king, and boy was he a king. I never thought of the man as a king before I found out his transgressions. According to his best friend he had a thing for two women at a time. Apparently he hurt the ones he loved in a literal sense. It's no wonder we can never fully appreciate the people we put on pedestals. The idols themselves couldn't reach the high horses they're posthumously posted on. The mistakes are tucked away until the myth has become untouchable and beyond criticism. The legend is built up to the point where the top cannot be seen and there's nothing to aspire to.


I have dreams, too, people. They might not be "Be the change you wish to see in the world," like Gandhi preached, no. But I have dreams. I have dreams, though petty they may be. I have dreams to travel in a camper far and wide, whatever that means. Long distances. I have dreams to examine history and stand in awe of the thin connection I have with it. To stare at historic landmarks and wonder why they're underwhelming. To stand next to Rushmore and disgrace it by taking a photo with my head next to Lincoln. I want to travel east and west, and south and north in the form of an inverted cross. Then again in reverse order to see if the open land of the U.S. manages to restore my faith.


I have dreams, though petty they may be. A fantasy of having made it is one. Made it where? A realm beyond the benefit of the doubt. To the Valley of Loyalty where the climate of friends is never fair-weather, that's where I dream of being. It's a land where dads have no arrogance and exist within the 21st century. Hey, that's the universal struggle. It's a land populated by the entire adult population under the age of 40 but above the age of 27. When will I have made it? When I can open up a conversation by dropping a C-bomb and sleep with the same dame by the end of the night. When I get my own constellation. When I've turned out two-dozen lesbians. When I get my own street on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. That, and when Wikipedia contributors have written 10 pages in my name.


I have dreams, though petty they may be. That one day again, I'm washed over like as a child, with the sweet, hypnotic waters of delusion. Where I can believe in a cause again that carries as much weight as god or Santa Claus. A job that meets the checklist of: [ ] Purpose, [ ] Joy and [ ] Charity. Where I can travel holding the handle of my travelbag, enter a restaurant alone and ask the attendant for a table near an outlet. Ask a waitress if the wifi is down. Order a meal just before I take out a laptop so slim, so executive. So. Executive. My soul won't need searching, no, for I'll have at least the illusion of purpose. Every email, so important. Even if it's an email to complain about craft services. And I'll eat my breakfast of hash browns and pancakes at three a.m. while penning a love letter to an ex, because we all know it's more fun to be heartbroken.


In a day the world can change because in a day your mind can change. Instead of stagnating with a heavy heart that'll eventually sink you into the ground, there's a way. But where are these true motivating stories and movies. They're everywhere. What you don't hear are the stories of drug-addicted bums living in sewers who followed their dreams and drowned. You don't hear about the footballer with the broken leg who lives at home. You don't hear about the mother who birthed a million children while she was still a child, just as society dubbed her an adult. There's currently no good definition for that passage into adulthood. I think it's defined when you first eat over the kitchen sink. No, the moment you decide never to have kids. It's the responsible thing to do.


They say to live in the "here and now." The here and now. Everything's the fucking here and now. I suppose I'd rather now be at the here that doesn't lead to stress and mental collapse. I'm happy here, now, so long as later I'm not the denizen of a tent city, alright. But even that has its romance. Tents are temporary, therefore they promote the idea of motion. That's what the here and now thing is really trying to get at, anyhow. Leave your house and pitch a tent, that's the idea. ...Until a snake bites you. Then your warm blood will tense up and turn to rubber. And as your lungs collapse you'll yearn for the days of sitting down in suburbia critiquing the latest Vin Diesel flicks. You know it's true.



I have dreams, too, people, on this Thursday, October 25th of the year 2012. They're still unfulfilled, just as they were on October 24, 2012, and every other day this year. Like last night, which was a blur of caffeine, sleeping pills, indifference and cereal, all of which are hard drugs to an emotional cripple. And I waited another day. For what, not sure. Another story or sign. Another excuse to stay trapped in a cycle of confusion. Another reason to sidestep success. And I'll wait another day. For a purpose not worthy of ridicule. For a sign too supernatural to ever happen. For that bit of good luck that never comes. For a show of kindness that seems as rare as alien life.

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