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Thursday, October 30, 2014

Mean Dream Awakening


Ladies and Gentlemen and Low Lifes,
I had a mean dream. It's 3:30 am and it spawned me to wake up and run straight to my computer and write, because it is the fastest and most direct way to capture what is going on in my head- faster than drawing or painting it, or making a movie for that matter.

I had a dream that I was walking with some friends in the rain to a hybrid of Yankee and Mets stadium for a concert in the rain (concerts never or hardly ever happen there). It was to be an insane event with all my favorite friends. peers and role models in New York City attending. As I pulled up to the event I began seeing Vandal Squad and random police officers handcuffing dudes amongst the crowds around the food fender booths. They were then wrapped up in a cloudy white heavy duty 10ml plastic tarp, like a burrito with their heads sticking out to allow for breathing. Anyone captured would be stacked up in groups of 3 or 4 near the road, ready to be thrown into an incinerator. 

In the wrapped up stacks I immediately began recognizing friends I knew. The first one was Bob Puloeo and  two other skaters from Brooklyn.  

As I scan the stacks of dudes wrapped up. I notice another friend.  Its my friend Charlie Buttelry, creator of Nimbus Skates. I ask one of the my skater friends wrapped up next to Bob Puleo and ask, "What's up Bro? What's going on here?"

Skater - "They got us all! And they're gettin' ready to burn us." "They got Bob!" 
They got UFO too! Look what they did to him!" as he pointed to one of the wraps. 

Inside the plastic wrap was a pureed white like sauce spread between a hero- life size piece of french bread. UFO was my longest lasting friend in my life." I met him when I was 5 years old. At first I thought I could save some of my friends, but when I saw UFO pureed into a sauce, there was nothing I could do to bring him back! It spawned me to wake up and express myself without holding back - to express myself for my friends. I'm glad it was just a dream.


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