March 1, 2011 by Manny Wordsmith
I’ve been lost in a world of insomnia, homework, alcohol and music. The insomnia kind of blends everything together so the lucid images I see when I do fall asleep just build up a world that I know really doesn’t exist…I think.
The women in my dreams seem a little shinier and more elegant than before. The feel of a blond ballet dancer’s back has sent me on the search to find the real thing. I don’t even know where the dream came from. I usually have action flick dreams with guns and triads, but the other night was different and that shit blew me away.
I was transported to a movie theater with this girl who insisted that we danced while we waited in line. She laughed and giggled, but I never saw her face. Unless I did but I can’t remember it. I do remember how the fabric of her clothing felt. Her thin white cotton shirt and her black tights. After the movie I gave her a back rub with some Kid Cudi song playing in the background. I remember the way her skin felt and the freckles that were scattered all over it. That’s all. Mad cryptic.
So I was sitting in class today working with only a couple of hours of sleep. The 40 of Colt 45 and the Buck Double that I haphazardly consumed yesterday still swished around in my angry stomach. But the girl who sat in front of me, a young slender blond, took my attention away from my bubbling gut. The dream I had a couple of nights ago put me on this Cinderella type search. It’s impossible to think that something that was created in my sub-conscious can actually exist, but there I sat imaging this girl in the place of my dream girl, trying to determine if her body fit the shoe.
I probably looked like a stalker…
I would’ve said something to her if I didn’t look like a dusty out of work bank robber. I remember sitting next to her a couple of weeks ago, we were at a luncheon/seminar. I was to her right and probably could have planted a seed then, but I consumed my turkey sandwich and barbecue chips instead…quietly.
Who knows how things will pan out with that. The first thing I’ll have to work on is not looking like an ex-convict. Or smelling like one. Each one of my burps smelled like I had breakfast at a homeless shelter. Things would have ended real fast if I walked up like ODB BROOOOOOOOOOKLYNNNNNNNN ZOO! I would have thrown up a W though. So I think I gotta a be a little more Method Man and a lot less Big Baby Jesus. I’ll keep you updated fam. Peace
RIP Ason Jones