limbo: when the aliens descend

there is a state between awakefulness and dreaming. it is unrecognizable when you are in it- the state of full cognition flows right into this limbo without marker. but it seems to me that this limbo might as well be a whole 'nother person taking over my body. invading my skin as my conscious slips from control. maybe it's an alien having fun with a corporal human. or maybe it is a me from an alternate world.

i have often wondered if our dreams are reality some where -- after all, if the multi universe theory is correct , everything that can be is somewhere. why not then our dreams?     if in a dream we can see into another version of ourselves, maybe this limbo is a different kind of blurring between our realities. this would explain why i still feel like me even if i can only vaguely remember what has happened, what i have said and done.

could this also be what happens when we drink? maybe not when we just drink to a state of drunkeness, but when someone's conscious blacks out, when we are still acting and speaking and doing, but not recording any of it. maybe we aren't recording it because a different version of ourselves is recording it.

have you ever stayed up all night? had a sleep over? as a four year old or fourteen or forty four? have you had those late night conversations where you know you are making complete sense and then you wake and your friend or partner or sister laughs and says "you were saying the funniest shit last night!" and you don't remember.

i have long loved to document those moments. well, i love to capture those moments for myself. but if they involve other people they can sometimes be embarrassing or too revealing just as often as they can be good fun.

but alone they are like tapping into some secret. the bulk of my really bad poems in highschool came from mining limbo. i wouldn't be able to sleep, would sit up under my skylight with my journal de jour and scribble away my thoughts. in the morning i would look over what i had written. the last few pages often enough were illegible - even my other selves have atrocious hand writing. but before it trailed off into chicken scratch, there was pure adolescent angst gold.

i don't do this anymore. i don't have the luxury, my days packed going from one thing to the other in my desperate attempt to realize a career of a working artist in nyc. it seems my nights are a delicate balance between struggling to sleep and dropping like a rock. if i tried to write as i sleep, i'd probably keep my mind spinning on endless tracks till dawn breaks.

however, i do take a very long subway to my pinnacle of manhattan. at least late at night i do. and i am becoming adept at thumb typing. which means my itouch is filled with "notes" thumbed out as i force my eyelids open to stave off opportunistic thieves, rapists, and hoboes.   sadly the touch screen keyboard isn't quite as forgiving as my  young penmanship. and the apple provided automatic word correction doesn't always help.

but flipping through those late night subway ramblings, i again wonder- just whose thoughts have been pouring out?  i'd like to meet her.    


ps. if you haven't seen the joe iconis rock and roll jamboree yet, what is wrong with you? don't you get how awesome it is? my sister, katrina rose dideriksen, is a superstar and joe iconis somehow taps my brain. not to mention the awesome stylin' of the rest of the iconis family. seriously. get on the train.