American Bardo

Do I believe in ghosts? Fuck no. But there's some weird shit going on more interesting.

And besides, isn't real life horrible enough? Not enough terror for you? Well, your brain kindly takes care of that in your nightmares.

Item: The last night I stayed at Mom's house. The place was already cleared out. May was cold and rainy and the heat was shut off. So I crashed on the floor in the room above the garage,

Because I am old, I have to get up to pee. I opened the door to downstairs, and it was a pitch black ice cold dead heart of the house kind of vibe & I thought of all the demons in the dark and blew it off as silly.

One of these days, it won't be something silly.

In any case, I screwed up my courage and thought, shit, I'm the most dangerous thing in this house.
Went down and peed.

Item: after smoking a joint I was attacked by a large friendly ghost dog. A big white huskey if you must know.

Item: My mom had a shitty cat called Molly that I called Hissy. She had it put down. Next time I was at her house, I saw a white kitty out of the corner of my eye. Again during late night pissing.  I don't beleive in ghosts, but I said

GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE

And then there's the dreams. If I go through my pleasure hut*, I find all of my dreams are negrophilic. Meaning the characters in my dreams or avatars or mechanical elves are dark complected, and usually very dark complected.

I have a recurring dream of a daughter who is black as can be. And she is a treasure. I love her.

That's hard thing for a Northern Barbarian, to admit love.

So I have a dream we are in one of those endless houses of American Suburban Bardo. {Not to be confused with Urban or Rural Bardo. I have visited them all.} We end up in the basement(s). Check the corners, Check the doors. Check the holes. And vigilance is not eternal. And my daughter is snatched. Not by monster hands. By my kind of hands.

By my hands.

Of course I woke up heart pounding little beads of sweat and agitated.

And maybe that's the awakening moment when you realize you are a fucking monster. You meaning me. Me and mine.

I wonder if Jordan Peele's use of  horror and the current #BLM movement have pushed a much needed sea change? Problem with that is we all know, above the age of 8, that it's a horror show, and the monsters are real.

The question now is, can we stop being monsters? We meaning me?

Wow this one went off the rails.