Transmissions from the Dreaming

Dear Mom & The Dreams Connected

February 28, 2010 at 1:06 pm (Uncategorized)

As the last bits of Mochi get chewed absently away I remember…  The mind clears and the alcohol slowly meanders in like some Ranger out of the wilderness, ready for a bit of warmth and relaxation, perhaps even a story, if the teller be of good quality…

With each yawn I acquire a new question, with each question I acquire a new curiosity, with each curiosity is aroused a new lust for Knowledge in all it’s  strange and brilliant ‘Rabbit Hole’ pathways.  In the microwave cooks a meal fit for a person who knows not the palate of a man with a fatter wallet, and yet the tongue and stomach do not disagree.  I am poor.  There is no argument to that.  What I do however have, is the ability to allow myself an imagination for how to prepare such a meal.  Add a few bits of seaweed here, throw some Mishima there, maybe a little pepper jack cheese, and I am well on my way to drunken happiness.

Alcohol… -sighs-  It has spelled the end of many a fine and beautiful relationship, and is the cause of many a broken home.  But for now, it is the only thing keeping me awake and focused on the only thing that I feel is really ‘Real”; the Words.  So in this daze of sugar drink and time fermentation, I arouse in myself the one thing that has always kept me going; the Need for Information.  The feeling that everything around me is a learning opportunity and that I alone can benefit from situations that otherwise seem hopeless from the start.

It was brought up quite recently that I deliver my writing in a Victorian way.  I guess that’s right, especially when I’m as ‘out of it’ as I am at the moment.  I revert to how it was read to me as a child and how I processed it at an early age.  Is it wrong to type in such a ‘polite’ manner?  I really don’t know.  All I can say is that it feels good to get the words off of my chest and on to a medium that works for whatever purpose I originally intended these words to be read, if at all.  J.R. R. Tolkien was one of the first Authors that I remember being in my Library that my mother read to me.

First The Hobbit and later the entire Lord of the Rings saga.  I doubt I’d be able to imagine that world without first hearing my mom reading each of the characters in a different voice.  It seems like forever ago that she sat patiently with me nearby, reading and ‘acting’ out the parts with a strong voice and manner.  I can’t even help but laugh at half the memories I have of those days.  It was like some new gate or portal had opened to a precious dimension, where only I and the characters of the story existed.  Me and Bilbo, stumbling around in the dark, fearful and curious, and Thorin and co., steadfast in our lineage, and the True rulers of the Mountain that Smaug had stolen from our people…

Even now, sipping rum and water, eating some microwave dinner, daydreaming of Frodo and Sam and Mr. Took, I shed tears of both joy and pain, wishing to once more know the magic that I felt when she introduced me to the path of Fantasy and Dreaming.  I will never forget any of it, and should I, it is my only hope to die and in my last, DMT induced Trip before death, lay my eyes once more on the lands and people that her voice and dedication brought to me in the years of my youth.

Thank you, mom.  I haven’t forgotten and doubt I ever will.

Regards,

Kandle Smoke

Aka

Your Son

P.S:  Happy Birthday – Hope it was one worth remembering.