We were mesmerizing into this room of celluloid film
Ships of energy sailing into our urinal waters.
Earthquakes and quadrant angels conspiring to steal our dream
vessels.
This room, this space, another mind.
Some dream of finding different waves in a place where the dust
floats before us.
Sunbeams. Rays. Seven.
In our red dreams we awaken in a place much like our own.
My place.
All places.
The landscape transforms.
The sky contains four moons.
They align.
Planets appear. Purple. Green.
An old teacher points out patterns and fields of energy.
Healing power.
Knowledge.
Observing transformations in the dream.
Where did the room...............?
Was there a room?.............and the film slides out of control.
Faster!
As slow as a monument toppling from the court square of Athens.
Athena.
My dream queen.

Marriage of the stone and grass.
Graves of wars and post-wars.
This radiation silence opens my paranoia.
Environmental hazards.
Waves of corporate drama.
We sleep in peace with three suns but the media drives us
to drink.
We are the media.
Mind control. Alcohol. Marijuana. The nose filters the ache
of cocaine.
Karl-Marx-types drift on and off the stage.
They repeat rhetoric aimed at fifteen year old virgins and
grandfathers at the same time.
Converging mentality. Mind control.
We don't breath out of rhythm.
The black guard answers dissenters with electro-shock.
The crazy protestors belong in a ward where they can be watched.
Black man. American Indian. Poor man.
Stay in your sweat job.
No time to think. Time...............
Time to take home the bacon.

This room grows full. Hiss of window.
Rising pools of LSD awareness.
Ships of dreams sailing in mental waters. Survival water.
Alcohol laden union. Virgins converging with dirty old men.
Bathroom halls and stone grass alignments. Pipe dreams.
Penis pipes of hashish.
All heroes walk this dream some type-written-coffee-break time.
I'd never make it if I didn't lie in bed until twelve noon.
Ignorance of madness.
I miss the madness of 2am howling down the streets of Knoxville
some nights.
Miss them and don't know it.
Soft moments of prayer for Indian-type tobacco spirits instead
of radioactive reincarnated drug users.
Dark nights when ganja was rolled tight and passed to the
spiritual waste land beside you.
No one walks these dreams alone in silence.
We're all in this together, spaced twenty light-years apart.
Rushing waves of sound energy.
Maintaining a degree of material sanity.
Oooooooom....we speak as if in confusion.
Male part:
I have too many waves of _______.....
This dark power magic blues spirit.
My woman done took my forty dollars.
Went down and got her hair fixed.
Magic spell on my mojo hand.
I'm going to make all you virgins dance.
My woman's out looking for stud meat.
I'm looking to drown in a lake of booze.

Female part:
Ships of ovary blood done sailed;
taken my spirit away.
I got ten thousand dreams a busting;
and ten hungry mouths to feed.
Desire is a wheat cake eat up too fast.
If it weren't for these house flies;
I'd go damn near insane.

At the edge of this absurd American drama are the patterns
of screen door flight.
The dust wanders in and settles on plastic Jesuses and praying
hands.
Holy books.
This and power company bills.
Sex and the life of a zero-shock cock roach in three acts of
sodomy. Father raping.
Pilfering the minds of the Athens rats.
Like paying $2431.00 to go to Italy to study raku pottery.
Like all the demons came home to perch on my eye lids.
Movie close ups of bed dream floppings and classical pipe dream
nightmares of chopping up apples that bleed aqua-blue
streaks of raw energy.
Somewhere in the ship there rides a mad captain.
There is a way of bringing security down to even the lowest.
All hands on deck.
Bring on the virgins.
Ho!
Oliver Loveday © 2//28/80/2am EST Leap Year Waxing.