Corpus Christi Revisited
Just woke up from a dream had to write it down quick. This is a dream I have had ever since the heroin days that re-occurs. This time however... Ron-E wasn't in it :(
I step into dream world. Before me is a pealing wooden door to a subterranean level club. I walk in to the familiar black lights and psychedelec drawings on the wall and floor. The entrance room about the size of two RV's inards is set up like a fun house: movable floors, twisty mirrors, and other illusions to make sure if you weren't about to fall off your feet before you walked in you are now. Past this is a doorway with beads off to the left. Through here a dance floor ahead and to the left old diner style tables are set about. This place is empty. I walk to the antiquated opening where once pan cakes were served, now vinyl cakes get served up on an old technics platter. The owner, a woman who has done more drugs than her guests combined, notices me and changes the music to My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult. She has dread locks, multi colored, and a face so worn I can't tell what age she is. I'm looking around this place for another familiar face I always see in this dream... RON-E, nowhere to be found. I turn back to hit the dance floor. As my heart quickens to the gothic stomp ghosts appear around me: Michelle, Ron-e, and Ben. They are dancing along, but the sadness in there eyes is telling me that this place is no longer for me. Just then my sister walks in. She is thrown back from the fun house entrance but I can hear her calling me. I head to the entrance and grab her hand. We walk outside to the drizzling rain and darkness but the old town of Corpus Christi is looking post-apocalypse. We walk down the streets and an alley way causes deja vu. Deja Vu in a dream!
The alley way yields a fire escape ladder up to a broken windowed room. We head up and in and it hits me like a full syringe of Mexican tar. The mustardy smell mixed with burning stainless steel fills me with memories. This place to is familiar. I keep telling my sister, "This is the place! This is the place where I first began to love art! I came here in a dream a long time ago. :: Looking back on this dream now it's shocking to me to realize that this may be the future I never lived, the future if I stayed an addict ::
The floor is covered with socks, ties, matches, silverware, candles and empty cigerette packs. I step into the bathroom to see a few clothes hanging from the shower rod. The bath tub is half full of semi-clear water. For some reason I know this place has been empty for some years now. You wouldn't be able to tell for the electricity is still on. The single light in the vanity flickers as it pain stackingly tries to hold onto its own life. I finish pissing and turn around and discover behind hanging clothes on the wall a medicine cabinet. A box of Q-Tips used cotton balls in the bottom of the box. Campho and Benedryl for the itches and orange caps litter the inside. YUCK! I think as I fumble through. I proceed to the kitchen. The cabinets are in disrepair hanging by one hinge revealing the stark nothingness inside, save the spider's home. The hum of the fridge catches my attention so I check it out. The refrigerator contains Taco Bell condiments and a sticky orange and pink gelatinous substense on the bottom. Thinking after all this time the items in the freezer might have held up better I peak inside. WOW! Every possible make of Eggo Waffles, even one I've never heard of before called Fun Gus which are these hash brown shaped toaster treats. While looking through the box I see one is empty except for the bags worth of syringes that are neatly arranged inside. Curiosity hits me and I go to pull one after another out. Either they are rusted from the remnants of blood and junk or the plunger is bent and the needle broken. All worthless trash, but why arranged back in here so neatly? Annoyed I turn back to my sister who is standing uneasily amongst the refuse in the small living room made bigger by the lack of furniture. In the corner two canvases face the wall. I grab them and flip them over. AHA! The prize, the reason I remembered this room. These are the paintings that inspired me. One roughly 8x10 grey and black background with pops of white and a broken maudi gras mask sits on a crusted floor next to the pulled feathers from the mask. The Larger one is a portrait of the girl. She sits broken and tired. The inside of her arms face towards the viewer like a junkies do after using for too long. Her legs a curled mess, half resting half ready to bolt. Her face white and gaunt under the broken mardi gras mask. Such sadness brought me to tears. Thank god I got out of this mess while I had the chance. The A/C turns on and sparks and goes back to it's state of silence. As if something was pulling me out of this place a cold wind gushed through the broken window and chilled me. I awake and remember this one isn't just another dream, so I rush in here to write it down.
To all those who are gone, Ron-E with your quick wit and almost poetry-esq slams about my Mama, Michelle with your Elastica stare and goodness for others you imposed deep down inside, and Ben whose wisdom you can't find at any Bus Stop but who had a way of words and manipulation to make you think that Bus Stop he hath invented and thus you should praise him while you visit him there. I will miss you all. And if there is an afterlife, I hope you are having fun. Because in life, you knew, that is all that truly matters.
Your friend,
Justin Surface a.k.a. DJ Skyy
I step into dream world. Before me is a pealing wooden door to a subterranean level club. I walk in to the familiar black lights and psychedelec drawings on the wall and floor. The entrance room about the size of two RV's inards is set up like a fun house: movable floors, twisty mirrors, and other illusions to make sure if you weren't about to fall off your feet before you walked in you are now. Past this is a doorway with beads off to the left. Through here a dance floor ahead and to the left old diner style tables are set about. This place is empty. I walk to the antiquated opening where once pan cakes were served, now vinyl cakes get served up on an old technics platter. The owner, a woman who has done more drugs than her guests combined, notices me and changes the music to My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult. She has dread locks, multi colored, and a face so worn I can't tell what age she is. I'm looking around this place for another familiar face I always see in this dream... RON-E, nowhere to be found. I turn back to hit the dance floor. As my heart quickens to the gothic stomp ghosts appear around me: Michelle, Ron-e, and Ben. They are dancing along, but the sadness in there eyes is telling me that this place is no longer for me. Just then my sister walks in. She is thrown back from the fun house entrance but I can hear her calling me. I head to the entrance and grab her hand. We walk outside to the drizzling rain and darkness but the old town of Corpus Christi is looking post-apocalypse. We walk down the streets and an alley way causes deja vu. Deja Vu in a dream!
The alley way yields a fire escape ladder up to a broken windowed room. We head up and in and it hits me like a full syringe of Mexican tar. The mustardy smell mixed with burning stainless steel fills me with memories. This place to is familiar. I keep telling my sister, "This is the place! This is the place where I first began to love art! I came here in a dream a long time ago. :: Looking back on this dream now it's shocking to me to realize that this may be the future I never lived, the future if I stayed an addict ::
The floor is covered with socks, ties, matches, silverware, candles and empty cigerette packs. I step into the bathroom to see a few clothes hanging from the shower rod. The bath tub is half full of semi-clear water. For some reason I know this place has been empty for some years now. You wouldn't be able to tell for the electricity is still on. The single light in the vanity flickers as it pain stackingly tries to hold onto its own life. I finish pissing and turn around and discover behind hanging clothes on the wall a medicine cabinet. A box of Q-Tips used cotton balls in the bottom of the box. Campho and Benedryl for the itches and orange caps litter the inside. YUCK! I think as I fumble through. I proceed to the kitchen. The cabinets are in disrepair hanging by one hinge revealing the stark nothingness inside, save the spider's home. The hum of the fridge catches my attention so I check it out. The refrigerator contains Taco Bell condiments and a sticky orange and pink gelatinous substense on the bottom. Thinking after all this time the items in the freezer might have held up better I peak inside. WOW! Every possible make of Eggo Waffles, even one I've never heard of before called Fun Gus which are these hash brown shaped toaster treats. While looking through the box I see one is empty except for the bags worth of syringes that are neatly arranged inside. Curiosity hits me and I go to pull one after another out. Either they are rusted from the remnants of blood and junk or the plunger is bent and the needle broken. All worthless trash, but why arranged back in here so neatly? Annoyed I turn back to my sister who is standing uneasily amongst the refuse in the small living room made bigger by the lack of furniture. In the corner two canvases face the wall. I grab them and flip them over. AHA! The prize, the reason I remembered this room. These are the paintings that inspired me. One roughly 8x10 grey and black background with pops of white and a broken maudi gras mask sits on a crusted floor next to the pulled feathers from the mask. The Larger one is a portrait of the girl. She sits broken and tired. The inside of her arms face towards the viewer like a junkies do after using for too long. Her legs a curled mess, half resting half ready to bolt. Her face white and gaunt under the broken mardi gras mask. Such sadness brought me to tears. Thank god I got out of this mess while I had the chance. The A/C turns on and sparks and goes back to it's state of silence. As if something was pulling me out of this place a cold wind gushed through the broken window and chilled me. I awake and remember this one isn't just another dream, so I rush in here to write it down.
To all those who are gone, Ron-E with your quick wit and almost poetry-esq slams about my Mama, Michelle with your Elastica stare and goodness for others you imposed deep down inside, and Ben whose wisdom you can't find at any Bus Stop but who had a way of words and manipulation to make you think that Bus Stop he hath invented and thus you should praise him while you visit him there. I will miss you all. And if there is an afterlife, I hope you are having fun. Because in life, you knew, that is all that truly matters.
Your friend,
Justin Surface a.k.a. DJ Skyy