Helloooo out there!!!
This page feels like a big empty room. I like big empty rooms. We live in a big empty room. We're living in a barn. It's red. Its name is...we haven't named it. I'd rather not. What if we didn't name anything? What if none of us had names!? Some people search this concept, but ultimately sharing a name with your parents is pretty cool. What if we chose our name after a while? Or chose it at any point? Well, we can. I'm not ashamed of my name, but I also realize that it's me. That's okay, because for as long as I'm here, I'll be myself.
So on to the next topic: Dolphins.
I feel this needs to be sincerely discussed. The free bin in Mount Shasta is a pretty good representation of what people are up to. It's more of a 'Hey I really want you to read this book about communication with dolphins so when I run into you everywhere I go because this town is small enough where you see the same people every day but they're all really cool so it's okay' bin. And thats okay. It sits outside a thrift store, and I've pretty much outfitted my self with clothes and books and other odds and ends from this bin. Most recently was a history of 20th century Jazz. I had a dream that I was listening to Bob Dylan on the radio and looked over to my father and said "what the hell does this mean." He looked over at me and said, "I don't know—you're the poet."
Dreams don't have to be seen as real, or unreal, anymore. He proceeded to tell me that he didn't like Bob Dylan or John Prine very much anymore (these were his two favorite artists, hands down), but instead he was in to Duke Ellington. I don't recall hearing much of Duke screeching from his turntable, housed in an asymmetrical wooden cabinet. It was usually folksy type stuff, lots of Beatles, Hendrix, a fair amount of Zappa and Beefheart, Marley, oh yea, and his all time favorite—Joni Mitchell.
So this Ellington thing was new to me, and I went about me day saying to myself—yea right. He was this and that and that's who he was. That's because I don't know his likes and interests as Scott McDermott anymore. I don't know what his body and his name associate with, so I figure it's easier to just assume that it's those things he once did.
I used to associate with eating McDonald's and collecting happy-meal Beany Babies, playing video games day-in and day-out, blowing up aliens with sticky grenades and flying Banshees over virtual realities. That must be how our politicians feel. Things change. We change. We grow beyond what we can see, and what we can put a name on. I'm only Kyle because I'm alive and as long as I'm living that's what people can see. They can't see the depths of my soul, but neither can I.
So I challenge you, the reader ... to like Duke Ellington. To accept something that you normally would pass by. To check out that concert that your so-so on. To write down the band that your friend suggested you listen to. To take a walk when you think about it, rather than talking yourself out of it. I'll leave you with this:
"Let yesterday's high be today's low."
And just to wrap up the dreamscape into something cohesive, the same day I had that dream, I found the book about 20th century Jazz, and sure enough, I open it up, and there's Duke Ellington.
Hurah!
KMCD
A few film images from our travels taken by Madeleine~ www.madeleinehanlon.com
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