1993 Florida Journals: May 08

It's late-night again, actually it's 2:00 AM on the 28 of May, and I wanted to speak about a dream that I had Last night .b*/L%e- the v m l for the song "Get Up" by R.E.M., Michael Stipe sings that dreams both capIicate and cmpliment his life. This is true. Last niqht, o r yesterday morning, I should say, I had a dream that I was walking down a w e t c i t y street and every few feet or SO I would vomit up huge globs of bile w i t h a face i n the center of the slime. And in my dream, my friend Carol Kam, was yelling at me, q u i t e angry because those faces in my bilous ectoplasm were precisely why she had to work every day this month. Now, I ain't a 'spicious m n , but I wonder if that dream wasn't s m s o r t of preccqnition, for as it turned out, I had to work at the Plymouth Rd V i d e o Watch where Carol is manager, and she complained to me of her hoarrid schedule, where she has worked everyday since last Tuesday or s m t h i n g like that. I call t h a t one strange, kids, Just plenty strange for my taste.

.

mile

I ' m here, I: might as w e l l t e l l y'all about Video Watch, the c a p a n y for which I work. I started at the location on Washtenaw St in YpsiPanti, MI as a job for my wretch& semester at W, and after bouncing ar~und a few times, ended up at the s t o r e on Stadium Blvd in Ann Arbor, a new and bright (if a little warm). store in the middle of white, middle-class Ann Arbor (or, A squared, as n a t i v e s tend t o abbreviate it). I t ' s a great place to work, f u l l of young kids, and it gets mighty busy there on the weekends. But here I am , jabberin' along like a l l get out. Fuck it, m n , I don't h o w what to tell you tonight. I: could weave you tapestries f m the stories I could tell about Video Watch, but frankly, who gives a good happy horseshit? I might as well, take this paper o u t , s l i p another one i n , writre an erotic story, whack o f f , and go to bed. I think I'll read sme more of Salem's L a t i n s t e a d . Then whack off. Lyle Lovett's on the CD player. Yep, she's already made up her mind, man. And 1 weep w i t h Lyle. G m d night, Lyle.

I: could tell you about the crosses. Theresa and I went driving s o m nights ago, about two weeks ago, I ' d reckon, and we would up in this tm in Indiana called Angola. One m u l d guess, at first sight, that this tm was inspirat i o n for H i l l Valley in Back to the Future. Even had a Strand Theatre, But that isn't my p i n t . As we drove along the black highway of Ohio, about thirty miles o u t eastbound of Toledo, the stars s h m l i k e a planetarium. The Milky Way crosses t h e sky l i k e a backbone, and mteorites fall and die about once every f i v e minutes. Tiny dots of light circle the planet in f i x d orbits, bouncing their rommunications back to the surface or to another of its own kind. It's incredible, that M e m Ohio *Y * But t h e crosses are scary. In the countryside of Northern Ohio, past Toldeo, out beyond the small towns and cities, there are glowing red crosses i n the f i e l d s . I've only seen them at nightf standing &rd over empty cam fields like sentinels, with their unearthly red light. They frighten me deep d m , for some strange reason. I wait for them to visit me in my dlreanls.

I plan ta r e v i s e "PJIood'hsoo. The crosses will find their way into that story. 1 can't pass that one up.