taxi1010.com - Black Cat 03

(Dream) I have three layers. On the topmost a fire truck is ready to take care of very specific outbreaks — one weird thing after another.

The middle layer is a robot, really, whose job is to turn and mimic the functionality of the bottom layer.

The bottom layer is in real trouble. No matter what happens, it's wrong. I'll start there.

When I wake up at three in the morning that bottom layer had just had a scary dream. My P.O. Box was being removed by the authorities and I was just about to be questioned for the six murders. I hadn't really done anything except find bodies and put them in my trunk. On hindsight, though, why hadn't I taken the first body to the authorities? Why had I continued to load fresh bodies into my trunk?

It's very hard to explain the motives of a taxi driver. Something in me told me to keep my mouth shut. You see, we have our ten-hour shift to cover, and we see anything that interferes with our business during those hours as an irrelevant distraction.

As I fall asleep again, then wake up four hours later, the robot on the next level has matched the dream in its entirety, turning its head to the right, opening its mouth and not saying anything just when the guy in my earlier dream turns his head to the right, opening his mouth and not saying anything.

I fall asleep.

When I wake up the third and last time, the third level is busily pouring sweet wet sensual cement into the cracks. Sensation floods me from my genitals, up through the right side back of my neck, and finally up across my forehead, from ear to ear, ever so easily, pouring in the mixture which floods in and melts the tension.

I see a vision of the fire truck standing ready. The red, really. (Fin)

Feeling Self-Hatred

You feel you could have done better. Let's take that to an extreme. Here you are, the perfectly good one. You never get parking tickets; you never get fat. Hated and despised by millions, you're Mom's perfect creation. Yechh!

Okay, then. Let's go the other direction. A creature of absolute whimsy, you personally finance the city's operating costs through your payment of parking fines; you weigh five hundred pounds. The burden is enormous. Hated and despise by millions, you find the goof in yourself permanently cocooned in a posture of perpetual motion.

Let's examine the particular incident which triggered this self-hatred. Chances are, you had just used up your daily allotment for goofy behavior and something beyond your calculations propelled you beyond your threshold of self-tolerance.

It's over. There is nothing you can do about it. Try to feel fear. Take an imaginary trip to Mars for a moment. You look back at Earth and see the insignificance of it all. Lifetimes are fleeting. Down on the planet you see a particular person making gestures towards a more enjoyable life. Sloppy gestures, minute gestures, artful gestures.

A few of these gestures are missing a tiny component of fear. Add it. Bring yourself back to Earth with a touch of fear from space travel. Come in for a gentle landing, touching the controls the way you would hold a baby. Don't drop it.

Ø ¥


A White Horse				A Black Horse

(Using the Right Hand)				(Using the Left Hand)


Ideals & Values Tension & Control Understanding & Fulfillment				Dreams at Night Real Magic Spiritual Awakening



Layout & Text		Art & Graphics

Copyright © 1999-2012		Copyright © 1999-2012
Richard Ames Hart		Amoret Phillips


Notes from a Spiritual School, 600. People will always pull the same things. If you can't afford to be influenced in these ways, stay away. 601. "I wouldn't even try to have a good time." 602. "Promise not to remember anything I've said." "Okay, but why?" "Because you don't remember yourself." 603. If you are rejected, it's because you are rejecting — You reject yourself and nobody can stand being around someone who's pretending to be someone. 604. You want to be a nice person? Let other people take care of themselves. Take care of yourself. 605. A man caught a person in his garden at night stealing basil. "You don't have to steal," he told the thief. "I'll give you all you want." "Don't say that," said the thief. "It's better this way." 606. At first a person's essence isn't strong enough to live by itself. The worker is hidden in the workshop spinning a golden cocoon. 607. When you come to a place where people are trying to understand themselves, your essence gets injected with a certain nourishment. 608. People are either nourished — or they use all their energy trying to hold there shell together. 609. Don't worry. Life will split the nut. 610. With some people you can just be yourself. With others you can practice. 611. You must learn how to cut your losses — how to stop. Then you can do something else. 612. The reason you let your parents say anything to you and that you don't say anything back to them is that you think they have the right to hurt your feelings. And you don't want to hurt their feelings.				(Dream) I have three layers. On the topmost a fire truck is ready to take care of very specific outbreaks — one weird thing after another. The middle layer is a robot, really, whose job is to turn and mimic the functionality of the bottom layer. The bottom layer is in real trouble. No matter what happens, it's wrong. I'll start there. When I wake up at three in the morning that bottom layer had just had a scary dream. My P.O. Box was being removed by the authorities and I was just about to be questioned for the six murders. I hadn't really done anything except find bodies and put them in my trunk. On hindsight, though, why hadn't I taken the first body to the authorities? Why had I continued to load fresh bodies into my trunk? It's very hard to explain the motives of a taxi driver. Something in me told me to keep my mouth shut. You see, we have our ten-hour shift to cover, and we see anything that interferes with our business during those hours as an irrelevant distraction. As I fall asleep again, then wake up four hours later, the robot on the next level has matched the dream in its entirety, turning its head to the right, opening its mouth and not saying anything just when the guy in my earlier dream turns his head to the right, opening his mouth and not saying anything. I fall asleep. When I wake up the third and last time, the third level is busily pouring sweet wet sensual cement into the cracks. Sensation floods me from my genitals, up through the right side back of my neck, and finally up across my forehead, from ear to ear, ever so easily, pouring in the mixture which floods in and melts the tension. I see a vision of the fire truck standing ready. The red, really. (Fin)