hypocritepoet

I am the danger.

Driving a Van

I’m driving Maria, the white van.

I’m going around a big bowl-shaped curve in Roanoke. I take it too fast and drive off the road.

Then I do it again, only faster.

This time, Maria takes off and flies like a jet.

I swoop around through the air. Two other jets begin pursuing me and firing lasers.

Somehow, I realize Maria has become a jet.

I outfly them and shoot both of them down.

LTC

Then I’m in LTC. A job I had 26 years ago. Graphics and prepress house. A big deal.

It’s dark, with illuminated booths, like the old days.

I say hello to several old friends and walk into an area with a stage.

Tommy is working at a computer in the corner. Two women are flanking him. One is a stranger. The other offers him a barstool.

I don’t know her.

I sit down and start talking to him. The woman leaves.

Tommy is playing a video game and trying to hide it from view.

Jerry, an old manager, wanders over and wants to know why.

Then he asks me to paint a mural on the wall—to give the space some life.

We begin discussing what the mural should be. I imagine a violent splash of color and shape.

I wake up.

Kraft Paper

I fall back asleep and return to the same place.

An unruly roll of 48-inch Kraft paper is taking me over.

I wake up again.

Endless Page

I fall asleep once more.

I dream that I’m scrolling an endless page.

11am – Sunday – I could sleep all day. But there is worship, a dinner date, and a movie.

—

A dream about pushing past limits and then wondering what to do with the freedom that follows.

At first I’m driving something ordinary-but special to me. I push it too hard and instead of crashing, it becomes something far more powerful. Maria turns into a jet. I don’t just escape danger; I become the danger. I can outfly it and fight back. Something almost gleeful about that. I go off the road and find out I can fly.

Then I’m back at an old a lauded job, surrounded by my former world and known people, but I’m not really there to resume my old role. Jerry asks me to paint a mural—to give the place some life. I’m being invited to bring something new into a place from my past, rather than simply return to it.

And then teh creative space gets ridiculous: a huge roll of Kraft paper overwhelms me, followed by an endless scrolling page. Both are essentially infinite surfaces waiting to be filled.

This is where I am. I’ve learned that I don’t necessarily have to stay on the road anymore. I can fly. But freedom creates its own problem: there’s suddenly so much space.

The question isn’t only, “What am I escaping from?”

It's, “What do I want to put on the wall?”