It is Saturday morning. I awakened early, around 5AM I suppose. The nightmare caused me to grasp for consciousness. I no longer remember any details. A feeling of dread lingers though. The vision in some form is likely to return. It is there in the nether regions of the unconscious.

What fear is the cause, taking the shape of a nightmare, upon occasion?  I would bet that the knowledge that approximately one third of our population is “vaccine hesitant,” was catalysis for my dream.  “Vaccine hesitant,” is a circumlocution for willing to risk a lethal contagion, a long term disability, the direct consequence of distrust of the government.  I would not care if those citizens received fulfillment of their wish,– except that we are connected, linked in a social fabric that will not achieve herd immunity until 70 to 90% of us are vaccinated.  I am my brother’s keeper,  — especially when he/she has lost his/her mind.

Ideas for action?  Nothing this morning.

---

This poem was delivered to my email box this morning.  It matches my mood.

Insomniami

 By Ariel Francisco

^{The neon burns a hole in the night
and the Freon burns a hole in the sky
            —Dessa}

All night darkness
constructs its unquestioning citadel
of intrusive thoughts

*

if you listen closely
you can hear
the rising waters whispers

if you cover your ears
you’ll hear it too

*

trapped in the seashell of night

*

chase the echo
to its origin

*

a useless lullaby
a rythme replacing
the unticking
digital clocks
counting my sleeplessness
in silence

*

the shapelessness of waves
a watery sleep paralysis
gripping the city

*

the high water mark
is reaching for the sky
and getting there

*

new high rises rise
every day like shark teeth

a fire sale

get it while it’s hot
get that land
while it’s still land

*

the world is burning you know

*

all night you can hear them
building another goddamn stadium
while tearing down the house
around you as you sleep

*

enough empty seats
for the displaced

an uncheering home crowd
longing for home

*

enough hollow condos
for everyone
but it’s important
that they stay empty
they won’t say why

*

hurricanes come through
like tourists
and suddenly
there are less homeless people

their names lost
to the larger one
of christened chaos

*

night is a rosary of unanswered hours

*

count them
count them
count them

*

sometimes I’m grateful
for the light pollution

the smug stars
think they know everything

but their slow knowledge
is always late with its light

*

still

I consult the disdainful
horoscope to see what
they promise to promise

*

Miami is obviously
a leo
(look it up)

*

a drowning fire sign

pride pretending everything
is fine

I mean come on

*

a backwards place

you can’t blame everything
on the Bermuda Triangle
but you can try

*

swimming birds
and flying fish
burrowing owls

night sky
reflected in the water

becoming confused

a broth of clouds and corals

*

octopus conspire against us
limbed-brains learning
from our mistakes

our heirs
come too soon

*

certainly
they’ll do better
with this city
than we did

*

this city
with its history of hurricanes
and fraud

*

one day
the neon
will burn out

and then what

*

sun rises
like rent

*

sun rises
like a flag

*

sun rises
like the ocean

*

I can’t sleep
but the city I love
can’t wake up

 

There is always time enough for a tune, this one, Riders On The Storm by The Doors.  Impossible to say when/where “all of this” began.  The 1971 song references Billy Cook who killed six people, including a young family, while hitchhiking to California. 

Into this world we’re thrown
Like a dog without a bone
An actor out on loan
Riders on the storm

“Into this world we’re thrown,” is a reference to Friedrich Nietzsche and also Martin Heidegger.