A.G.E's Joint

Hey, Heidy and Howdy! It's Harry Handy on WOFT. I'm the randiest, dandiest D.J. in all oldies radio and I'm here to fuel your Geritol dreams. Dreams of long ago and far away, when you were sixteen and stupid. What's that you say? You weren't stupid? So, give me your answer to this. Yep. your past is NEVER far from the Google archives.And I am willing to go where no man (or imaginary DJ) has gone before to find it. (And this was the safe for work one). Speaking of Geritol Dreams, if you are man that is older than ol' Harry, you may have lusted after Ann-Margaret. Her red head meant fiery times alone in the dark. The girls hated her because she (along with a lot of others) date Elvis. The guys just wanted her. These days, she likes her privacy, but I'm willing to ignore that. Yes, you were Dazed and Confused. Then you got older. Found a girl and supposedly got wiser. Then you became this song. Now your doctor is telling you to give...

Fading into the gray, the dream of the asshole pigs and mother was replaced with faint images of Sarah and delicate lavender flowers, dimming into the black of death. The blackness stayed for such a long time he thought had death had really come. He wondered if the next sight was going to be Pastor Galloway, that false prophet,   saying “We are gathered here today…” But who would pay for a funeral for him? The thought drifted away almost as fast as it was formed. A slight glow grew in the lower left of his vision. He turned toward it, almost without being aware. Drifting on the tidewaters of never, he could feel something ebbing away, shadows of coral and whistles of the deep calming sore synapses.   Like a cork released, the sensation on rising, lifting enveloped his being. The round sun came through the surface like rippled glass.  Suddenly, there was Pressure. Pressure against his nostrils and chest, pulling him back towards the deep....

Crescent moon over Primeval palmetto grove Brow beaded with sweat On this mid July night Stepping off Kilkenny Ferry She waits Past or future? Real or dream? Questions rise From rum and percocet And fear Ovaline pendant glows Between non existent breasts A young old woman Dancing circles to a silent melody. Parrying around an ancient oak, Spiraling downward Her face reflecting the pale moon Passing together Neither willing to concede The losing race. Touching ignites frenzy Modesty and civility Vanish into thin air Arms reach toward Heaven Minds race toward Hell. As the consummation plays Waking alone when the sun rises Dissolved in passion She plays among the stars In the deep memory of time. Picture- (c) Christopher H. Mitchell, Atlanta, GA, USA, 2005, 2013.

She is in the room again Sweeping the floor Dusting the blinds As I go through the file cabinets Of life. I move to another room And she is there again Polishing the silver Mopping up the spill I had Anonymous and silent She moves from station To station Never to leave My dream.

Dream catcher From a hula hoop A parting gift She left Splinters in my Mind’s eye. Takes me back To the field Thin form shining Against flaxen ground Hurrying to share Before the dark Daylight is precious To us youngins Take and make Hay before the dusk Exchanging kisses As she is leaving Leaving me grateful For loving her.  

Chasing a bleeding sun Across red rock The last exit Before Hell Has come Dreaming a painting While painting a dream Borne of tabs Shaman's purses Vibrating Another joint Trying to fend off Bloodhares wanting to Consume my Flesh Finally the exit passes And I turn on  The Devils Highway.

So what are your dreams? Or as I have put it in my work, what do you want to be when you grow up?   Of course, there are the two types of dreams.   Sleeping dreams with fantasies so great we tremble at their appearance, flying naked around stone castles, or defending maidens against dragons.   Do we win or lose?   In the end it doesn’t matter because we wake up. Then you have the waking dreams.   The mirages of goals shimmering in the desert, shifting and fading as we trudge along the sands of life.   And when we reach one, we realize it was smaller than we though.   Or worse, like the new Coke commercial, it is just another billboard pointing across to a distant mountain, daring us to follow.   When I was in college, I had the dream of being a radio disc jockey.   I would hear the voices come over the speakers and think what a cool gig.   All I have to do is just sit and talk about music. I went so far as to...

Hey, Heidy and Howdy!  It's your favorite randy dandy old time disc man Harry Handy, here to fill up your time in God's waiting room.  And have I got a story for you.  Ol' Harry here took a road trip out west, to beautiful Santa Fe, New Mexico.  I'd heard it was lovely and a great place to relax after dealing with program managers without a clue.  I mean, I know the music exists to sell advertising, but funeral home ads? I just had to go somewhere far, far away. Getting there was quite the ordeal.  I flew out the nest and up to St. Louis, where I had to do the one thing air travelers dread, changing planes. We were a little late getting off and my layover was short, so I knew it was going to be hustle. I asked the gate agent coming off the plane where my next flight was.  It was all the way at the other end of the airport and I had 20 minutes to get there.  It kind of looked like this. On the way over, I had to visit the facilities....

I am a sporadic dream journal-er. If I can remember a particularly vivid or scary dream I try to write it down on that night .  I know I miss details, but it is entertaining and enlightening.  And it occasionally gives me story ideas.  I sometimes wish my life were like the dreams and perhaps it is like that.  A dream and a fear .    Here is an example: I find myself on a road trip, apparently to Greensboro, NC.   But the terrain doesn't match.   It is more like about 75 miles west, like in Hickory or Mount Airy.   The couple I am visiting seems nice enough. Kathryn and I exchange small talk.   Soon, I am in back of the house, climbing a granite outcrop.   It isn't a hard climb.   When I get to the top, there is a trail.   I follow it back aways, then double back to the house. Inside the ladies are talking.  My wife claims to dislike gossip, but she is always there to enjoy it. I am soon in my car running...