Dreams of Now

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
These written are typed up word for word from my makeshift journal starting from Summer 2010 to Winter 2010. These are my thoughts as they occurred and part of an on going story. Everyone can learn from everything, so why not experience my life for a minute and see what we have in common.

Submitted: December 17, 2010

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Submitted: December 17, 2010

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DREAMS OF NOW

EUGENE, OREGON

If everything I wanted to say could be written in words, my little visit to Oregon would be a lot easier to explain.
Twenty minutes go by.
I came to conquer, make that money, grab my girl, drive off into the sunset like any good ending. “I’ll be snappin’ necks and cashin’ checks and not a damn person can stop it.” Except for myself. When I got off the plane, leaving Maui, I had this feeling everything was to go wrong. Not how I expected anyway. I lost the girl, I lost myself. Where did I go? Where goes the self-image? The sly moves? Smooth character? What about the wisdom?
They were waiting for me in a place I was brought to the mainland to see, even though it took me a while to see: Eugene, Oregon. My town. A small city with big dreams. I found where I stand. I’m not talking about where I stand, existentially where I stand, not right now anyway. I’m just saying I know who I am and how to be me and if we take the time to, I know you can dig it.
I’ve discovered how I can learn from everything, it’s safe to say I’ve learned more than I expected to. The people I’ve met and re-met needed me at this point in their life. This exact point, to hear my story. Just as much as I needed to hear I can help them by doing so. I found a new kind of love and a new way to show it.
I sorted what needed to be sorted and at the same time recorded 15 radio friendly and/or extended play tracks. Something Francis Ford Coppola could dig. Coast to coast mixtape would want their hands on some. Something for dreaming girls, waiting for the day that love will conquer all and every emotion that keeps their hearts from healing will be laid to rest. Something for the smooth operator, making victories happen in every move.
An old group of friends reunited, a brotherhood formed and my definition of a friend has changed, improved. We call ourselves the, “Sons of Thunder,” for photogenic reasons. Celebration, questionable behaviors, laughs, hugs, handshakes. We made our own Big Rock Candy Mountains where every cigarette got you to the next, every herbal blessing healed our minds’ wings. Liquid courage held strong and what we did was, “bravely done.”
As far as money and the goals I set out for myself in direct relation, I got a lot more out of Oregon than cash and I’m walking away a rich bastard with a rich Baarstad. It wasn’t in the cards for me to take any money out of this place and when three months can disguise itself as a year, my time is far from over. Money has no value.
To recap, mostly for myself: I left my home on Maui, greatest place I’ve ever known, to chase a fox. What could’ve been a catch and release turned to the hunter setting down his gun for a minute. Dreams of a limitless bond, full of mystery and passion, turned to darkness. Sleep is longer a time for rest. I could’ve said, “Met a girl, hit by an arrow, shit didn’t work out,” but I don’t remember it happening like that.
“Ok, now what?” Still in Oregon, explored Portland (under the axe) and experienced with lifestyles based on words like, “organic,” and, “natural,” and, “raw.” Which is all good biz and shit but unless the government is paying for my food, I really can’t afford to exclude anything from my diet. E is for Empty, you know what I’m sayin’?
F is for Family. Fast-paced encounters. Long-separated family members with different sides to the same story. Hopes of redemption and repair muffled by fear or pride. Chances lost, but solutions are just an expression away. She can still hear us. We can still see him.
G is for Eugene. Humor keeps us alive. Home of some of the strongest wills to carry on. Solid. Spending time around like minds, has dropped the barriers in mine.
Now the fox got away, but what I found is worth more. It’s time to go home. Can I make it worth it, or let it go in vain?

PACIFIC OCEAN

I’ll answer that question with one more: So, you get seven seconds to get high before the plane goes down?
At the last minute, there was no question of whether or not I was going back to Maui, but that I was. Most efforts were phone conversations and last bit of money came from the most unlikely place: the wiry jaws of a syrup-chugging, loony.
Sitting in a “user-friendly” seat, my body is moving through the air at 700 mph. Magazines are just glossy pages of models and green grass, the words in them mean absolutely nothing. Flight attendants seems to age much more quickly than others. Starting at about 28 years old, with baby blues, I fell asleep and woke up to the future her, as dreams of the Mile High Club deflate.
It’s hard to tell the difference between the sky, the clouds below, and the ocean. All the colors are similar and blurry to me. Flying through endlessness, I wait to see my home below. I hope that lady with the accent finds my condoms in my pocket and gets the point, if you know what I mean. I should’ve said, “P.S.,” but I wonder if she can afford a spinal tap. Allow me to elaborate: I’m sitting on this flight, anxious to introduce Maui to my new brothers. This lady approaches me on the plane and asks if she can borrow my shirt to keep warm. Shirt’s off instantly. Thing is, there are two flattering condoms in the front pocket. She later approaches me and says, “You have things in front pocket. I didn’t see.” Wink, wink. Ahh, jet lag, you bastard! It will never happen again. With a smoke of a cigarette and a visit to carousel 5, I’m home.

KIHEI, MAUI

A cold welcome home. Being away for three months was either too long for people or not long enough. A friend lost. Plans steadily fall through but the crack of bottles and pops from the pool table help us forget. A man I once trusted said to me, “You make your own luck.” Look at him now, sacrificing four honest boys to cover his own vices. I spotted a right hook for him. A friend lost. Please don’t become a pattern. Morale is low. I looked to the stars and couldn’t see them. I looked to them for answers or hints, they meant nothing to me.
“Can you make it worth it, or let it all go in vain?”
Questions still stands, I’m losing my sense of time. Clock ticks at a different beat. The puzzle is missing pieces. I’ll be pissed if they’re under the puzzle.

KIHEI, MAUI

Maybe it’s only missing if you look for it. By searching you are taking for granted that it is always there. Maui hasn’t changed, I changed. By day I look for adventure, come short. By night, I live in fear.
I lie on my bed. I’ll pause for a moment to let that ring. Just before sleep, the breeze blows in through my window and I can smell the memories of the first time I was on Maui. Memories of a person that led me to be myself. Helped me pick up my sword, full of ink and 1000 battles strong. Does the breeze feel her? Does she feel the breeze? Does it matter? If I am saying this to you or you are reading it, you are in my world. No Elm St. business here, just coast, relax. In my story, every word is a book and every thought deserves recognition. Sleep is now a time for dreams. There will be no rest for the weary.


KIHEI, MAUI

Fuck all that for one second. Shit is not going as planned, fuck it. Shit is not going as not planned, what the fuck? Thoughts moving in all directions, even ones we never really use. The currents are strong. If you swim sideways you can see that fighting the current is useless. The aftershocks keep echoing; things are not as they seem. I said I could watch the waves all day, no wave is the same as any other. But the thing is, I do watch waves all day. Some gentle and fun. Some as powerful as they are beautiful. Some are monstrous and terrifying. I know I can never be as good of a wave as them but the best part about that is: no wave will ever be as good of a person as I can be...will be. Who I am.
All you have to do is act.

PACIFIC OCEAN

Last time I saw Maui, it looked different because I felt different. Once upon a time, three people escaped to a tropical world seeking freedom for their minds. They found a land of love, they found peace of mind like they’ve never known, adventure was achievable just by picking a direction and moving...or, not. Freedom for their bodies, freedom for their minds, open doors for their hearts.
I sit, 23C, chewing trident gum delivered by a little princess. In the approximate month and a half I just spent on Maui, I slept on my bed twice. From couch to bed, bed to couch, couch to floor, floor to sand. We all had ideas and dreams of what we wanted to happen. We all threw hooks out into the water, hoping for a fish swimming by so fast, it wouldn’t notice the bait-less hook. I didn’t have time to wait for my chance or maybe I didn’t have the fortitude. Sleeping on the beach is amazing...when you choose to. It’s a completely different experience when every resource and friendship is expended.
I needed a new plan. I left behind unfinished business, unattended projects, relationships not yet formed to limitless potential. I am a Son of Thunder. A king with no country. A master of words and a soul of the heart. I had a kingdom to build, from below the ground, up. I had to go back to Eugene.
Hit ‘em up, hit ‘em up, shake ‘em up, wake ‘em. Calling all cars, baby, bring home the bacon. Simple requests turned to desperate plies as each night a new kind of suffering experienced me. Financial assistance needed to get this sick boy off the beach. Thoughts of severed friendships and betrayal haunted my sleepless nights on the sand. There will be no rest for the weary. A saved relationship with a wise, old man made him willing to provide help.
I learned a lot in Oregon, I never applied it on Maui. I can’t say it was all bad. Dubler hunts, critter hunts, homemade Four Loko, malt liquor. We get a little paia.
Walking under the sun made our bodies long for the always complimentary ocean. Everyone can be an acrobat underwater, shit I’ll go half and half. Flip over a wave, dive like a dolphin under the next, swim down and both hands on the bottom. Put your feet where your hand just were and moon-jump to the surface. Lay back and glide closer to shore. Alright! Now here comes a good one! Ride that baby all the way in and run back to do it all over again.
Watch it, asshole. Do you really need to walk down the aisle with your hands in your pockets?
I’m headed to Eugene by way of Seattle. And now, thanks to a cinnamon roll, headed to Sacramento, where I am supposed to find a way to get to Seattle from there. A bag full dublers, await me the minute we touchdown. A zippo I bought when I was on top of the world is now gone. Fear of terrorism and insecurity about how dependable a commercial aircraft is strip me of my duties as keeper of the flame.
I’m walking through the airport terminal, whistling to keep my mind sharp and crisp, prepared for a five hours flight over the Pacific Ocean at night with no electronic entertainment. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Contents of pockets: wallet, small note pad with the most important phone numbers, kleenex, boarding pass and itinerary ticket, two high-dosage sleeping pills, and my trusty zippo lighter. Standing in line to board, I pull out the zippo, do a couple tricks without lighting it and then store it. The air fills with unsettlement with a well-rounded teaspoon of doom. I board the plane, patting the exterior of the plane first. That’s my thing, call it what you want and you might not dig it but the passengers of flight 874 will arrive in Sacramento safely because of my homemade superstition. Hopefully. The flight attendants are early to mid-30s, all with sparkling eyes, pretty faces, and beautiful smiles. I walk down the center row toward my seat and get a pretty good smile from one, brunette. A smile that told me I was to get good “treatment” on this flight. I return fire and even get a follow up flash of pearly whites. A double take in the world of smiles.
I take my seat and get comfortable. Tension builds in the main cabin. Stewardesses rushing up and down the aisles looking for someone or something. Finally, my brown-haired beauty asks me to please come to the back with her for a moment, to “help her with something.” All the men aboard turn and look at me with a blend of jealousy and respect, mixed well. Damn, it went down smooth. The dream bubble breaks and I accept fantasy becoming reality. She takes me to the back, I’m surprised but, of course, ready. We go into the back and she slides the curtain behind me, gets close and says, “Have you ever done this before?”
Fuck, I wish I could say that’s what really happened. She asked me, “Do you have a lighter?” Word. First fantasy gone, new one takes its place. Ok, I’m about to blaze down with this lady. That’s how you get company loyalty. Alaskan Airlines, north of expected, right? I showed her the zippo and she demands it, saying other passengers were, “freaking out.”
“Are you fuckin’ serious?” responds the cigarette smoker. I had it over and in exchange, promises of its return and myself free of trouble. “Get that off my plane,” says the captain. “Federal offense,” says the flight attendant. “It was empty,” says me. Apologies for days and a free island lager set things a little bit more balanced. Fuck it, it was full as hell.
The sun goes down at about 630/700 on Maui, give about 20/30 minutes for darkness to fall. Add 3 hours, and we’re at 10:26pm Sacramento time. Now subtract two hours because time seems to crawl while you’re flying...figure that one out--  Ahh, there it is...
The moment we were all waiting for, “Ladies and Gentleman, I would like to introduce...Moderate to Heavy Turbulence.” The plane fills with a lack of applause. Turbulence, makes people think. I’m not going into detail because, to be honest, I’m thinking it, too. Won’t be a hypocrite on this one. I’m talking to my notebook and myself right now. Keep thinking. Don’t forget you’re alive, still alive. People take even that for granted and nothing’s like the wind (of calibers we never feel) shaking your plane around 35,000 feet in the air. I let myself laugh just now. The kind of laugh you let go on a roller-coaster. It helps. All I know, if the cap’n says, “Contents of the overhead bins may have shifted during flight,” I’m gonna be pissed.
What the fuck kind of professional game face is that shit?! Captain gets on the horn, “Alright, everyone, here’s the deal,” you really gonna start an announcement like that? Well, I’m glad actually, like he’s talking to real people. Turbulence slows down time.
“I’m scared as shit.”
“Good thing Vicky’s not on this flight.”
“Did you hear how the captain said that? Didn’t sound very confident.”
I am thinking about two things and have two things to say. “I gotta pee, land this mofucka.” I want a neck massage and cigarette. “Fuck it.”
The turbulence is from 34 to 27 thousand feet in the air with the most intense winds the closer you get to either height. The plane itself is creating turbulence behind it. Can’t go up, can’t go down, can’t turn. Oh, and the captain thought it would be alright to tell us there is a plane in front of us, so we can’t speed up. I don’t know about you but I like my plane to have lots of elbow room, ya dig?  
The issue on my mind right now is: should I say damn the seat belt sign and go piss? Or sit and think about it for the next hour and a half. “Ladies and gentlemen, please be advised that the seat belt sign is still lit, please remain seated, if possible. If you are up, you are up at your own risk.” I like that. Sense of freedom, sense of control. I’m not worried about the unthinkable happening while I’m up. I’m more worried about misfiring while the plane is shaking around. Matt, stick to the code: “Fuck it.”
Walking to the toilet on the plane I pass a girl playing scrabble or something with little wooden pieces. No magnets, no board, just little wooden pieces. What kind of moderate to heavy turbulence are you? Tiny jokes like that help keep your game face but there’s no denying what I am thinking about right now. Did I do at least something? Will I be remembered for this or for what I’ve done? Can it end right now? No, it cannot.
I’ve never been to Sacramento and I know at least one person there or nearby. I find it a little strange that I’m going there of all places; some kind of symbolism?
The guy behind the counter at check-in (on Maui) tells me he can’t get me on my non-stop flight to Seattle. He was apparently a newbie and couldn’t get me in the system before it shut me out. “You could spend the night here or in Sacramento.” Not here, as beautiful as Maui is, it’s my time to go. I didn’t make the grade, I wasn’t ready.
Ever since I met her I haven’t been able to get her off my mind. Yes, same girl. Same woman. I won’t see her in Sacramento, but if I close my eyes she’ll still be there. That should make the next flight (if I find one) interesting. Or I could eat those sleeping pills and forget about the whole thing. Right. The one place you can’t run from her is your dreams. Fuck it.
The plane is descending. Good thing I gave the plane those support pats before I got on. Mission, should you choose to accept it: Find smoking area, find fire; in any order. Find a flight to Seattle Tacoma airport. I choose to accept it.

35,000ft. ABOVE CALIFORNIA

The plane lands on time (Sacramento) and people start talking and joking to convince themselves they weren’t on the verge of accepting death, but the relief in the air called them on their bluffs. I pull out an American Spirit dubler. King dubler, baliwood. Previous owner took one pull and left it for dead. I’ll do you justice, my friend. I immediately put the dubler in my mouth, it’s a way of telling myself, “I know, I know, first things first.” As soon as the cigarette touches my lips, the mother and the boy sitting behind me both widen their eyes as if they expect me to pull out a zippo and light it. Mystery solved. Controversy hops around the cabin as people debate whether or not I should have it in my mouth. One man says, “It’s not lit, no smoke, no rules broken.” I’m cool with that statement. The whole time I act as if I cannot hear their rude comments or indirect suggestions. All and all, I really don’t fucking care. I’m gonna do me right now because when this cigarette is smoked, I gotta figure out what I’m going to do.
I cruise through the terminal wondering if I will be able to spot the Sacramento or California locals. I could, it wasn’t hard. It’s like a cross-breed between Southern Oregonians and Northern Californians. Cigarette lit, I decided to find a phone to borrow for a minute. I decided to be picky about who I ask, too.
Here’s why: When I got off the plane, my lovely flight attendant with brown hair saw the cigarette in my mouth and apologized whole-heartedly for disposing of my zippo. I wanted to bitch her and Captain James out. But you know me, I kept it smooth. I flash a smile, a good, classy one, and throw her a wink that makes her blush. The captain, too, but I’ll leave that one alone. She smiles back, ear to ear, as the other Ladies of the Sky join in, giggling and grabbing each other’s arms. Good choice, smooth operator, somebody get this man a Keystone. I pat myself on the back to activate my confidence boost.
So I’m feeling froggy, I hop up to the prettiest girl I can see (keep in mind I can’t see (just playin,’ she was gorgeous)) and ask to use her phone. The boys on Maui receive word of my situation, knowing they can’t do anything about it. I just wanted someone to have some idea of where I was. Situation: Wait eight hours to board the 700am flight to SEATAC or wait an undisclosed about of time about 15 minutes car ride from the capital of California. Seems like a no-brainer but really, I’m either stuck in Seattle, or stuck in Sacramento. Stranded. It would be easier to decide without jet lag. I ask to borrow phones from people who are willing to help, people who have “been there,” close to anyway. I try to use as much colorful language as possible to keep my phone lender/eavesdropper entertained in hopes of prolonging my usage of their phone. Hours of attempting to formulate a legitimate plan resulted in good, strong efforts and the usual outcome: “Fuck it.”
I decide to take my chances in Seattle. Seemed like the obvious decision but believe it or not, it was a hard one. It’s closer to Portland, Oregon and quite frankly, the Sacramento airport is boring, annoying, and cold. Sacramento’s airport seems as if it were constructed by the Children’s Miracle Network. Artwork barely worthy of the fridge is mindlessly scattered throughout the grey terminal. As I try to take care of business, I keep hearing the overly-friendly announcements on the intercom. The airport closes (but not those fucking announcements) and the security detail frowns upon me exploring. I find where I need to be at 400am and try to catch a few winks, high school style: Ass meet chair, head meet backpack. An hour and a half of dreaming about sleeping goes by and the airport comes to life with hustle and bustle. I walk to check-in, hand over my itinerary, and receive my boarding pass. All it took was a nod, a head shake, and a barely audible, “Thanks.” Straight up to the gate to try and get a few more winks.

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON (SEATAC)

“Are you going to Seattle, sir?” My eyes shoot open and my brain goes into command mode: Legs, move; Hand, grab shit; Eyes, stay open; Let’s make this happen people. “Door’s are closing in 60 seconds.You must be Matthew?” asked the ticket master. “The one and only. You got a pen? I got time to sign something,” says the Real Deal. On to the plane I go, pat the outside of it and cruise to my seat, or I should say, row. I could lift up the arm rests on these bad boys and get the closest thing to sleep in weeks. Instead, I grab this book, drop the tray, and pull out the pen. Before I started writing, I watched the moon set to the left and the sun rise to the right.
I get some coffee, Kona blend, and say, “Keep it coming.” Start with two cream and sugars and work my way to black. The words are ready to come out, the coffee was good; the flight staff, professional. Smooth flight, part of me wished for more time. A good introduction to Seattle. I ready a smoke and head outside in search of a lighter. A full pack of matches was waiting for me in the first place I looked. A good introduction to Seattle, let’s keep it going. All that’s left to do is lay on these sleep-able benches here in the back 40, put on a Mariner’s cap to blend in, and pop these two time warps and wake up eight hours in the future when my hostess is supposed to arrive. I’m thankful, thankful I never have to hear the Sacramento airport again: “Please do not leave your vehicle unattended or it will be towed, and believe me, those tow truck guys work fast.”

EUGENE, OREGON

Some much things to say right now, none of them can be spoken. So much things to say right now, none of them need be spoken. What once was, is no more. The tide had changed and the shorelines are to be renewed. Not an easy process. I have places to stay but no home. I never say, “I’m going home.” Of course, I could do the whole, “Home is where the heart is.” I’m home when I’m with you. I should be happy then. I am a troubled man, who isn’t; I eat, I am starving; I sleep, I am restless; I breathe, I am suffocating. I think, I am alive.
There will be no rest for the weary. I have stories. Stories of good times, stories that your stomach won’t agree with. Storying of getting drunk, stories of being drunk. Stories of friends, of enemies, and everyone caught in the crossfire. Stories of cleanliness, love-making and gentle waves of music. Stories of drugs, sex, and rock n’ roll. A girl that once dominated my thoughts, loses her power. A girl that I don’t understand steps up to the plate.
My defenses are low, I’m on my last limbs. Will she kick the last ones out? Is she wanting to help me? What the hell is happening? Why now? All these questions are a result of me wondering if I should take charge. Whether I want to fulfill my responsibilities or not, I am Alpha. I said it, so I will. There are many different forms of love, all variations of the one. I look for it, find an empty nest. Nest is warm; I’m gaining on it. The world grows colder and I am fighting to keep my heart from doing the same.
Find yourself again.
Know yourself again.
Be yourself again.
Grow yourself again.
If only you could see what I see at the bottom. Appreciation, clarity, pain, beauty, light, hatred, undying dreams, motivation, musical freedom, love, respect, hope, darkness, coldness, warmth. Don’t stop now, you got it. You are a Son of Thunder, a king building a country, a brother growing a family. Don’t be afraid, you are strong. Don’t be afraid, you can see. Don’t be afraid, I will help guide you.
She will help guide me. I love you, I miss you, I will go on and your wishes of happiness upon us will be fulfilled. There is no end, there is only next. Your words were channeled through me and I bet you that’s where my wisdom comes from.

EUGENE, OREGON

Everyone knows there's something out there for them. Big important things, tiny wondrous things. You travel the world to find the thing that's right for you, but didn't you know? You picked it up on the way. The experiences and memories you made trying to find it ended up being the treasure. So now you gotta ask yourself "What happens to the memories and happenings after I'm gone?" Do they fly into the air and float above our heads so one day someone else can pluck them out of the stream? Or do they go where you go, lost forever to pages of history that get buried under the mountains for someone to mistake it as a fossil years to come? With that in mind, can you really afford not to share your feelings, hopes, and dreams? Can you risk those memories and experiences that have changed the way you think and feel being lost? People are open books, granted pages are missing. Read a book.
And smile, you have a pretty smile.


© Copyright 2017 MattSink. All rights reserved.

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