Follow Yer Dreams

“The trouble with being a writer is never being able to find the ending of a story so as to start fresh the next day.”
Albert Jones 2010

The trouble with the mirror is the reflection of course, the close ever close and coursing circle of you within you. They never promised you’d get a rose garden. But it’s not the end of the world. On the expansive superhighway there are your speeders and those you have left behind. The art of destroying the competition. It’s the game, I guess. It’s not real. Numbers. Before they could teach me about numbers they had to sit down and talk to me about how in the hell A could become a herd of buffalo. They never did. Oh well. I didn’t become a doctor nor a lawyer.

Most would call me stupid. No money. No name. No family. The no’s could go on forever. Regret? Sure, you betcha. Plenty of regret. Oh well, what are you going to do about it…Gain? Weight gain. What then? What’s left? What’s left for me to not to have gotten to have? Just about everything I’d guess. Oh well. Yeah, a little regret.

The sun was down now. Night again. Always night and nowhere to go no one to talk to. It’s going to be a modern hipsterevening because they’re the only ones who have the chance of being future readers after everybody has disappointed them later in their lives. But maybe that’s just the regret talking. I wish everybody well including myself and the more I let myself just be stupid like that the better I feel. That is intelligence that they can’t give you a diploma of in college.

I’m a post-modernist myself, a latent hipster myself. Diggin it. Studied mysticality and mythology extensively, at least a little bit more than normal. When I got my doctorate I told the world that it was great, that I now had a license to be nuts. Heheheh.

Susie says I’m bi-polar, but I don’t think so. I think I am something for which a name has been give only once. I would hate to think that I spend my life on a bi-pole contraption where my thoughts swing monkeylike back and forth until I am so compartmentalized in my explanation of myself that I forget that I’m the color blue. I’m not blue, but for instance. Does it matter anymore that I am the color blue? Maybe I am blue because there is a reason to be blue. That would mean I would have a whole new section of the ship to tend to to take the ship home and I’m just standing at attention all the time. Is Bi-Polar designation too unmythological? Maybe. That’s my formal education talking. You’ll have to forgive me at times.

I couldn’t make it at their cocktail parties. I didn’t feel inspired at that school either. I was meant to be a writer and researcher. Sam says he could get me a few speaking gigs on my whole Foller Yer Dreams shtick, a comedy bit, that I do about following Yer dreams. A lot of guys are trying to use this right now and it’s as good a shtick as any, Thomas in Vegas, Barclay over in London, a few others. Debbie…who is another story. Debbie and I had a fling. I hate to say it. But we had a fling. Bad on both our sides. Oh well. Like I said. Oh well. Turns out she’s a hessian or is that hussy? She’s got these claws that go out and scratch you as though she’s just trying to keep you next to her. She’s a big Jaglom film lover, but doesn’t ever get it that guys are as good as chicks. She’s like totally nothing I do and when I broke up with her she called my girlfriend who then broke up with me. Debbie. I think there’s a magician in Australia who uses it too.

The thing is that when you start telling your story because you want to you’re good, you don’t worry about others. But when you think that you enjoy it enough to want to do it all the time, even to make a living at it, you start wondering what the world was seeing and you slow down and are like the rabbit in the headlamps. We all have that aspect of ourselves. We hate it because we hate to think that we would stand there in the road staring at those headlights until it was too late. Snap out of it they say. Snap out of it. Well, you’ve got to if you are in it. But if you’re not then you shouldn’t be thinking like you were going to go back to it. That’s back rocking horse seesaw stuff.

Okay, I’ll tell you about Follow Yer Dreams. Follow Yer Dreams was something I used to say a long time ago back when you could say something and carry it around with you like a sign, before the internet. I was a dancer for a local club, a dude dancer, the kind that rocks out with the women and makes them think that not every man is a shmuck and at least one can dance and they’d gotten their money’s worth and all. When I got my Ph.d from the Oceanic I’d learned one thing. That it was mine. It was a piece of paper that I was lucky enough to be able to afford through debt and it stated that I did the work. Now, whether that institution is considered valid by those in positions of authority would be another matter. I’m not saying that the The Institute of Oceanic Consciousness is not a good school. It is, it is one of the best in what it specializes in: psychology, mythology, mysticism and the like. Highly regarded in fact within those “circles.” But it is a small world, too few dollars for every subject. Mysticism would often go out with barnacle bending and buckling.

But mysticism was where Follow Yer Dreams came from. I don’t know nothing. I don’t even talk like this, but I feel like I speak like this. You know what I mean? Nah, you wouldn’t. It was just that I was interested in the subject matter and then suddenly poof I was in the academic realm. Barkey was scratching his tit under the t.v. But when I got out of Oceanic I couldn’t parlay nothing into nothing except the university gig and that was an accident after seeing Bette Sue over at the Domgarten. Spaaten. You know what I mean.

People don’t much want to make their living like me using words and thoughts well enough to get bread and butter through them. Real bread and butter. I did. Like I say, I’m hyperactivementalogistically and that doesn’t mean that I am wrong. I am not on some radical and bad end of some pole, come to think of it, do they mean the actual pole or the two poles, or staffs really, on the opposite ends of the earth? Questions.

To be honest, to this day, I still don’t know what Follow Yer Dreams means, except now it’s out there and I make usually anywhere to four to five thousand dollars per month from it. Then the talks at the bookstores and all that and I got me this house overlooking the ocean, and it’s all good. It’s done. I’d followed my dream and gotten this house overlooking the ocean. When I suddenly looked up and wondered if I was possibly staring into the headlights. What was I doing here? What now? I had no love in my life. Single. Looking, but feeling ugly compared to past evaluations. I didn’t know what to do. I went to page 192, it’s a long book, and saw what I wanted to see:

If you follow your dreams you will not be left alone to the hounds of the world. The hounds of the world are the same hounds that you would find in hell but more real world, not as evil. But still they’ll nipping at your heel. Why? Because you wouldn’t know what to do if they weren’t. You’re human. Things chase you in your mind or you chase things. It’s a give and take, a big game of tag you’re it. So go out there and Follow Yer Dreams, because what else you gonna chase?

There it was, right there, as clear as your dreams. I’d capitalized Follow Yer Dreams. I’d trademarked it. That’s what I mean, there’s a few guys here and there using it, Thomas, Barclay, Debbie till she petered out. But I did it first. Yup. I capitalized the three words first and got the big bucks. But I didn’t mean to take away from the other stuff by doing it, but did. You see? I put a big sponge in the bucket of thought and it took everything else away. Why? Because you brought money into the equation. It’s like being at a cocktail party and suddenly saying excuse me and then whacking off right there momentarily until you are re-fastened properly enough to join back in the conversation.

That was the rabbit in the headlights as I looked out my wallwindow of sea.

I don’t like to say it destroyed me, but I will say that it is something that took me away from my original goal of really following my own dreams and doing some good work in my field and not worry about books, just publish them and be allowed to be left alone with my ocean’s hum and write.

When the capitalizations stop is when the original works begin.
So I’m there. I’m really there. That’s what I saw, what my rabbit stare turned into. It turned into a real pathway, but one thing I hadn’t really thought of was the letters. They never told me about the letters.

To Kleven Benjamin
From Lisa Wentworthy

Dear Mr. Benjamin,

I too have flown from a mountain, sailed, as you say, the way that you saw the world there blue and waiting and you yet had your wings and yet you went anyway, soared, sailed, sprouting your wings as your faith first lifted you. I too have experienced this.
I was wondering if perhaps you would like to speak at our gathering this coming Friday at 7 p.m. We are a light hearted group with mystical leanings. We are not naïve, but we do believe in what we believe. I am single and within birthing age.

Thank you,

Lisa

See what I mean? Everywhere you went there would be another one. Just when you loved them there would be another one and then they would start adding up on top of each other, but some of the things that they said. Lisa wrote back three times and by the third times I wanted to marry this girl, but then there was that weird statement about being of “birthing age.” Who says that except someone being held in chains somewhere. She seems like a Quaker. I got all the high flying ones for sure. Those were my specialty and I should have known it, but it’s the field too isn’t it? Isn’t it just that I no longer believe? Maybe. I stepped out of a lot of things on this little journey and accepted some new roles the most enormous being that of the role of “father.” An archetype. I didn’ t have any kids. I was always too screwed up to mate well. Yet there it is. It’s what paid for the view, the need of the people to have a surrogate father for 16.95 from the bookstore.

So I guess that’s why I slur back into stupidity. Why not? I’m not the story that they wrote about me. I’m just me. I was glad that I wrote Follow Yer Dreams though because I still believed it after all these years. But where does the end of the story begin? Even that doesn’t make sense.

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Published in: on December 22, 2010 at 6:23 am  Leave a Comment  

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