We tried to hang out again today, journal. These are such confusing times. My dreams lately are out of my understanding. I dreamt of a great flood again. God is trying to tell me something and I don’t know what.
It was sunny and rainy, sunny then drizzly and I needed a cigarette. I felt that I had never been so desperate and crazed.
The streets were a mess, full of horns and pedestrians, banging into each other, tailgating the coming of some great event.
Sun and rain, the sky dimming, the sky brightening, nothing felt good. I hopped out of her car, the girl of my dreams inside my dream, I stepped into the Ganges, the flowing traffic, and ran through the drizzle into an almost deserted 7-11.
“American Spirits, the yellow pack, please,” I muttered.
The woman studied me. “Everyone wants smokes today,” she said. Her eyes were hollow. “You’ll have to wait,” and she went to the back to find some.
Cigarettes help with the bloodstream, I heard somebody whisper and a radio with static was playing behind me somewhere.
The woman arrived with an open pack of Marlboros and said, “Here, have one of mine,” giving me a Marlboro and walking to the back again.
I hate Marlboros but I lit it up and ran out of the store.
Out of the store, into the gridlock of machines, like stumbling into a great symphony at crescendo, like running around a corner into the middle of a parade, I fell onto my face. She, my love, an expressionless statue, was parked in the middle of the standstill, waving her fist from her car like a dictator, honking her horn and irritated at all the hoopla.
She did not believe in the possibility of a great flood.
But I did.
So I ran.
I saw no rainbow.
I ran more.
I found a green valley, with lush open fields, calming slopes rising gently into hills for children to run and tumble down, a place where young lovers deflower themselves among spring lilies, a place where poets and songwriters find solace and inspiration. To my left was a castle, weathered and gray, ready to withstand any onslaught made against it. I thought that I might find a hiding place against the great flood in this castle. But every angle of the moss-covered fort was barricaded and unmovable. When finally I found a hole to climb into, it was too small to fit me.
I ran.
The sun and the rain and the sky. It was getting sunnier. Everything was brighter. The hour was coming, but it was getting brighter.
I ran back to where the people were. I saw a man carrying a raft. It did not seem very wise to me at that moment. The radios grew louder and louder. People were cracking open Budweisers. I was not as cheery as everyone else. I was frowning. I was feeling scared. People were talking to me and I could not join in with them.
“These times are not celebrating times!,” I screamed over it all.
And then the monstrous sky, as if in response, washed out overhead in a black sea of storm clouds, so black that the world was silenced and cried out in agony.
Everybody ran.
Many waters fell down upon the Earth.
The sky opened and a great bronze angel with six wings fell down, swift and motionless, like a statue from Heaven. A great beast with a hundred heads fell down, swift and motionless, like a broken piece of sky.
I tried swimming but it was pointless.///