The Flight of the Rocketman

Met an Indian boy, in Ottawa
He laid me down on a bed of straw
Said don't waste your breath
Don't waste your heart
Don't blister your heels
Running in the dark

Oh where, of where will I be
Oh where, when that trumpet sounds
-- Where Will I Be, performed by Emmy Lou Harris and written by Daniel Lanois

I hate dreams that are so real, you wake up and still have feelings of hatred and anger or hopelessness. Some dreams seem real that you couldn't tell you were in dream. You wake up and you're wondering if it really happened. A great big fight ensues, shouting, things were said that were real, things you feel the other person wants to say to you, you say things that you really want to say to that person. You end up waking angry, tired, frustrated.

I'm in a dark mood these days. The shadows of past crimes have come forth and covered me in darkness. I am all darkness and I can't even go out to exhibit it. I must stay home. I can't even do bad things because I've put myself under house arrest. The gym just becomes a wonderful place to expel all that energy. I haven't gone dancing in a long time. I'm glad you don't forget how to dance. It's all part of the way you hear music. It's all part of how you let music take over your body. I'm glad I will never forget how to dance. I just wish that there was somewhere I can go to where I can dance. There are no more real clubs anymore. It's such a shame. There's really a big difference, to me, dancing to R&B and hip-hop and dancing to house music.

Some people have even turned away from me. I don't know why. A joke turned into a cruel realisation of who I am. It has come back to haunt me. My distance and space from my friends have been misinterpreted, maybe. They don't care. They just want what I can give. The others, no matter how far the bridge I make to reach them, a storm always comes to break it apart.

And I'm left alone with strangers to talk to. I am connecting to family again. It's about time. But the shadow falls, the darkness consumes. I want out. I want to see the light again.

And when the trumpet sounds, where will I be? What will I be doing? And where will I be sent or called to? These are dark times for me. The year of the Monkey has begun to step out of hiding from the tree tops and has begun his mischief. His canny ways, his slyness. Will I be able to survive it? Will I be able to flourish? Will I try to be as cunning?

Do I have what it takes?