old men dream dreams

Surviving the up and coming social/economic meltdown is just one aspect of the survival I'm speaking of as the Way of Survival is far more reaching in scope. This Way is not merely a quick dive into a foxhole, but a life style. So if I seem to be meandering around a bit, bear with me cause, although I paint with a broad stroke I am still on the same canvas.

Old Men Dream Dreams

It seems I do more of it in the winter, but regardless, as I get older I spend a lot of time day dreaming. I usually wake up about 5 am, make coffee and, being retired and having no place to go, sit in my chair in the dark drinking my coffee and dreaming about the past. A rather pleasant time, I might add.

Now I have been to a lot of places and done a lot of things, but the things and places have become mere backdrops, places to hold the faces and memories of the many people I have known and the friends I have made while I did things over the last 66 years that I have lived on this planet.

As I begin to think on a place and time the faces are soon to follow. These faces pop into my mind like a worn out jack-in-the-box. Crank the handle a bit and wallah up pops Joey Sirgo or Gunner Thompson, or Tommy One Nut, or Pissball Pete. . . . . or. (It's amazing how many of these guys have slang names and how often that's the only one I can remember.)

Then the fun begins as I sit and reminisce with these guys over all the exciting times we had together . . . and a few of the sad ones. Seems the good and the funny always float to the top first though. I have to dig a bit to get to the bad, so as I hate shoveling I mostly leave that part alone.

To all the girls I've loved before. I remember your eyes, the lift of your breasts and the swing of your hips, but little else cause my Band of Brothers meant far more to me than trying to figure you out ever did. You guys have a place in my heart, but the respectable amongst you live in a special 'other' room. This room is filled with bar girls, casual one night stands, and short time hookers.

The old boys club door is locked to the finer female. No equality here. You wouldn't like it anyways in there cause the room stinks with old cigar smoke, cordite and bull shit and the floor is littered with trampled peanut shells, dried blood and dog hair. A place only one of my old friends could love.

I always figured when I got old I would be sitting in the park with the rest of the old goats, like they did when I was a kid. Maybe the old project crowd still do that, I don't know because I lost contact with them at 15 when I had to move.

Today I live a life of seclusion. I spend my days reading, or goofing on my computer or driving my wife crazy, but rarely if ever do I spend time with friends, cause although spread out over half the world, they are not here.

Once I was in a Portland City jail cell with the walls covered in graffiti. I found an empty spot and wrote my own little tale of woe, “I've been alone since birth, I'll remain alone till death, then I'll have a friend”. Kind of a downer, but how else would you feel being stuck in a 6x6 cell with a guy coming down off heroin?

I do hope that quickly thought verse will prove itself to be true though cause I'm getting closer to D day each time I go to sleep at night and it would be really cool to wake up on the other side and see a large table of my friends gathered around it to greet me. (and my favorite dogs lying under it)

Jesus and God would have to wait for a while then cause first thing I want to do is drink some Maddog wine and hang out with the guys again for a season . . . or two.