Within dreams, begin reality. Someone in a dream told me that. I laughed, but then I realized it was a sad dream, so I cried. Graham Parsons heard my lament; he sat next to me on a cumulous cloud above Buffalo. “You can’t be too strong,” he said. 

 “Why?

That happened in the heat, somewhere in the dark. The doctor got nervous completing the service, he's all rubber gloves and no head.”

“No head?”

“Rubber gloves.”

Circling above the cloud, Barney Frank inquired about planetary visits—residential. Graham grabbed the wind and split to a banana republic. Barney wasn’t amused. He told me he was locked and loaded. I looked down at Buffalo—some bald chick looking through binary binoculars waved; she screamed, “Se do bheatha a bhean ba leanmhar! B'e ar gcreach tu bheith i ngeibhinn….  Do dhuiche bhrea i seilbh meirleach … 'S tu diolta leis na Ghallaibh.”

I looked at Barney; he explained reverting to the wisdom of his heritage, “Welcome, oh woman who was so afflicted. It was our ruin that you were in bondage, our fine land in the possesion of thieves… and sold to the foreigners.”

“Foreigners?”

“Limbaughs.”

“Rush?”

‘Run.”

Before I could ask for directions, purple became yellow, green faded to tangerine. A head that looked like a radio drifted past me smelling like weird fishes caught in mercury-laden waters.

“See you at the parade,” Barney screamed; his voice muted. He pointed his bazooka towards the encroaching stars dancing with delay. “Uranus, my ass!”

My lucidity became all Lucy Ricardo. I loathed a good Cuban cigar rolled real fat. But within this dream, perspective perspired anecdotal truth. This might be true, but the research shows that everyone does psychedelics if they would want to or not. Our brains produce them endogenously and our lungs also produce them in even higher amounts. So I took in a deep breath of Buffalo, but I choked on Detroit. Happy Harry delivered Heimlich’s Maneuver; I spit out nonsense, or so the passing prophet Wolfgang reminded me before reminding me that he said, “Nor do I hear in my imagination the parts successively, I hear them all at once. What a delight this is! All this inventing, this producing, takes place in a pleasing, lively dream.”

I thanked him for speaking English; “Caro mio Druck und Schluck,” he replied.

I was on a roundabout. A big jet airliner offered to take me to my home—what a joker. I laughed, but then remembered I was dreaming sadness, so, I capitulated. My subconscious laughed heartily laden with cholesterol and beet triglycerides—purple not white.

A Carlos cloud drifted by kissing his black magic woman. He waived; his wisdom came out in Dorian. “When we are sleep our brain is considered off, or once again specific chemical process are taking place with different areas of our brains activated again using neurotransmitters, specifically acetylcholine and histamines which continue to push our brains toward the REM phase of sleep until its ready to wake up.”

“Huh?”

“With the great possibilities that one of the most potent psychedelic compounds known to man is formed in the pineal gland that is most active at night, we can see why it’s so common that individuals dream of radical unexplainable experiences and places. It is all so possible that the secretion of this chemical compound into our brain could induce a lengthy 'trip' or what we call dream.”

“Oye Como Va.”

“I'm feeling you into the night, ‘bro.”

I didn’t know what to say, I was dumbstruck numb—kerfuffled beyond kerfubblebunkered. I woke and took the 8:15 into the city—morning not night. I needed to find myself. Just to make sure, I called my HMO for approval. The existence of preexistence precludes acceptance. So, I went to the dentist; he who was a her suggested psychiatric care.

“Mama says yes, Papa says no. Make up you mind 'cause I gotta go. I'm gonna raise hell at the Union Hall, drive myself right over the wall.”

“Remember to floss.”

But instead of the Union Hall I transpired within a town hall debate. A man from Appalachia spoke from his heart, “Been kickin’ sawdust in these clothes for a blue moon and a reddened nose. The boys will put 'em up and tear 'em down; we’ll wash away the dirt…. Just a glass a day ain’t gonna hurt. Pretty soon we’ll move on out of town.”

Conservative Red tried shouting him down. “You must be born in this country to speak.”

Roland the headless Thompson gunner searched the crowd for the man who'd done him in. “Second Amendent trumps aces and eights,” he said.

The mood became blue. Barney Frank reappeared. “If you want it, here it is come and get it…. Mmmm, make your mind up fast. If you want it, anytime I can give it, but you better hurry cause it may not last.”

Conservative Red chewed hatred on the microphone. “Did I hear you say that there must be a catch? Will you walk away from a fool and his money?”

Barney laughed a serious laugh. “If you want it, here it is come and get it, but you better hurry cause it's going fast.” Then he saluted Conservative Red with the Boy Scout salute minus fore and ring finger.

Some in the crowd broke out in applause. Jimi played the Star Bangled Banner all plugged-in. Roland the headless Thompson gunner erupted in automatic mode; solitude stood by the window crying before walking over to me, hand extended, her palm split with a flower with a flame.

I woke again….

How soon we forget....