"...The Madness of Angels"

Another issue from my Journals. This from 2017.

Beware inking down of your dreams. They'll either end up in some future holy scripture, and or as evidence at your trial. This runs through my mind as I try to make a kind of coherent sense of my dreams of late. Dreams enhanced by the pharmacology of Emerald City health-care.

Long may they dispense.

To the matter. Time is not linear, and space warps. The damned thing stretches contracts, and twists. Like origami on crack whiskey, and pastries.

I mean just ask Niels Bohr,...he'll give you an earful.

My nausea simmers my vision jump cuts. My hearing enhanced painfully so. I have never had the pleasure of chemical withdrawal. I'm not sure I recommend it.

However the Dreams.

They in their wonder grotesque horror, and frightful majesty. (...same could be said of the recent Marvel movies.) All this noise to direct our short battered lives. Blessed are they that have no memory of theirs.

Just emerged from a mist where it was made plain in the vagueness of that realm that no you ain't from here. Neither is your family. Not your line nor the lines of many others.

Elsewhere, and Else-when.

I wonder if the "Twilight Zone" was not just an entertainment, but a message.

A "Cook Book".

"Not Just". That, and all the other strange stories wonderings, and essays. These that the "different" keep writing, and putting before our eyes.

Pain.

Pain for many days. Confusions. That, and my coming here to you. My family my friends all I have in the world. My digital "Hearth, and Home". If done right these platforms of meeting could be such a miracle. It is, but could be so much more. ...just needs a bit more heart, and introspection.

I'm not from here?

Well that would confirm certain oddities from early childhood. Hearing singing as I fell to sleep. Seeing the sky as different colors from what I was told it was. Remembering sight of the Earth from far above, and away. I saw, in dreams?, our cloud covered home as we see it now. I saw it as it really is before there was the evidence of science.

"I'm sorry,...what the fuck is going on?

Not from here.

...Some elsewhere else-when. Now my eyes hurt. Those that have issues know how pain is fluid. It likes to move. It is the ultimate tourist at home. I'm intermittently grateful. This for making me aware. For helping me endure life sharply, and perhaps more respectfully.

My nausea meds seem also intermittent.

Not too much information. I'm sharing the full Monty as pals should. Soup. Hot soup, and a used DVD. Through the ages these have been known to calm the mad cure the lame, and halt, and just bleeping chill you the bleep out.

Be back soon.

(...About the title. I'm no Angel. No one is. Well not all the time. An Angel as I've found is an act. A verb not a noun. We become Angels of the moment by our works, and example. Pass the popcorn...no butter thanks I have to be careful now.)