The Light! It Burns!

Mumble, mumble!

I have had what seems a significant dream. I was in the Weasel Ghetto, not much as ghettos go but enough. I was at Sissie Weasel's and one of her friends or boyfriends or what have you was being aggressive. So much so that he tackled me, but I had dialed my phone and was crying out "Nine one one! Nine one one!". The assailant stormed off but I was livid, and I broke the handle off of a broom in anger and began capering around with it.

An intervention vehicle arrived, but it was also like an art car of sorts, all decked out with glowing dingle balls and cheap voodoo totems. My feeling was that they had been this way before. I realized that one of the people on duty was my old friend Brer Mongoose from back before I'd even gone to college. He was sober and I sat down at the vehicle, happy to see him. He told me about his life these days, how he does service work at home. Apparently he was just visiting the weasel ghetto and taking a shift on the intervention vehicle.

Since he knew me Way Back When, I told them about how when I grew up in Weasel Ghetto I was a peacock, strutting around showing off my brain. "I can get an A here. I can get an A+ there," I said. "But when you get strung out and try that shit with the junkies, they don't give a fuck. I mean, shit -- they're like 'How about you get an A sucking my cock, bitch? Shut your mouth...no, open your mouth!'". I paused, thinking, in the dream, and realized "I didn't know that then, and now never again can my higher self exist without knowing that that part of life is there."

Saying that I burst into tears and the men on the intervention vehicle just sat with me as I laughed until I cried and cried until I laughed thinking that it was all like a shitty plastic carnival wheel alternating between beautiful and awful.

Then I woke up.