The Red Dot(s): Three Forms of Crystal to Get to The Great HIGHway

  
There was too much speed last night between the street racing and the methamphetamine. But I'm not exactly sure the drag racing actually happened although I do have a ruby I stole from some guys earring. I did end up hands and knees on the floor scrubbing with Target-brand Pinesol. That was much, much later after all the lines blurred and disappeared. It was also after a red dot in the shape of a pimple I just had to pop. My friend wasn't too pleased. Who really likes it when a friend obsessively stares at you and suddenly gets up from his seated position on the couch across from you and decides that he has to kiss you and as he is kissing you pops your zit -- the same zit you probably obsessed about in front of the mirror and tried to cover using concealer that made it look cracked and caky instead --  even though you're screaming and pushing him off and your other friends are laughing hysterically? At least I was able to blame it on the speed.

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The Red Dot(s): Buena Vista's Legendary Pink Dots

    

I had to just get out of the apartment and wander today. The dream, my growing collection of red dots, and my wavering sanity complicate my life too much. I want the simplicity of before, when as I walked to work I ignored everything around me. Ignorance was my motto. Now, I walk to work and have to choose to either pass by the mural that started it all of avoid it. Each choice requires thought and comes with consequence. I hate this kind of existence. So I emptied as much as I could out of my mind, opened the door, and let my feet and Echo and the Bunnymen carry me away.

The emptiness didn't last too long. I started thinking about my uncle when I found myself on the top of Potrero Hill. When I was really young, about four, we'd come up here and sit at the top of the hill and stare at downtown. There wasn't much here at the time, and people generally avoided the neighborhood. My uncle loved seeing how the skyline changed. And this was a better view to witness that change than Twin Peaks. I miss those days of quiet observation. There was a certain detachment that could be achieved if you pretended not to care or didn't get emotionally attached to a particular building or patch of grass or tree. If you gave everything the same value, there really wasn't any difference between the new condos going up and the historic home being torn down. One replaced one. Therefore, all is equal.

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The Red Dot(s): Yellow Squares

  
I had another dream last night. This one was about my uncle, and I couldn't escape the asylum. He's not as crazy as I thought, but crazier. I understand why he's there, and if the things keep going the way the are in my life this dream is my future. I won't escape.

I fell asleep on the couch. The darkness of slumber gave way to the forests of dreams. I approached the mental ward on foot emerging from those forests. Surrounding the brick and concrete building was a large, manicured square. The freshly trimmed bushes and potted annuals indicated this was a place of wealth. The absence of feeling screamed insane asylum. I began wondering why I was here when I noticed a large red dot painted on the front door. In the middle of that dot was a one inch by one inch yellow square. Although not exactly like all the other dots, I knew I arrived.

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The Red Dot(s): Aborted Raspberry Cottage Cheese

   
So I've given up completely on timeline and order. Fuck it. Too much happens betwen writing these posts by hand and typing them. Whether it is more fucking red dots or life or going on tour with the band ( I did not see a single red dot outside of San Francisco). I also am unsure of the order of things now too. I have posts written on napkins stuck in my desk drawer, random connections (Did you know that the red dots can work as a portal? I recently found myself doing speed at Krystal's house and ended up drag racing down the Great Highway. See...speed and then I was speeding.) scribbled on the back of receipts, memories jotted down in notebooks, and it certainly doesn't help that I don't write dates on anything and that all the drugs and alcohol (I have started drinking even more now that I see these dots) erase time. Thus, I am now here compelled to write the story of the weekend down, type it up, and confuse anyone who is actually reading this. (Thank god no one actually reads it or I'd be more worried.)

For those of you just joining me, let me outline the story so far:

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The Red Dot(s): The Urban Legend of the Dog Eating Peanut Butter Off Her Vag

    

Wow! That's all I really can muster right now. Fucking WOW! I've just woken up from a crazy ass dream that included chocolate dildos, banana condoms, and peanut butter-flavored lube. Intense and weird. The only other thing I can remember is the ground beneath my feet falling away. It was like that special effect in The Matrix when Neo's getting trained in the white room. Do you remember that? He was standing in that empty space and then shelves of guns fell like water from somewhere above and appeared as solid, concrete objects around him. This was that in reverse. Only it wasn't guns and it wasn't a white room.

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The Red Dot(s): December 1, 2009

     

I'm starting to type up old journal entries. The world is getting crazier for me, especially in 2010. The red dots are taking over, and I am having a difficult time distinguishing this world from the next. In fact, it sometimes seems that there are many different worlds and the red dots are portals to other places. But I am getting ahead of myself. I must try and put this in chronological order. 

This entry was written in my journal on December 1, 2009. 

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I went to a holiday party last night. It had a large Christmas tree, an abundance of sushi, and a chocolate fountain with a variety of treats for your dipping pleasure. It ended horribly. It was a complete misunderstanding. Yes, I am the one who cause it, but I swear it was the dots that made me do it. (God do I sound crazier than ever.)

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The Red Dot(s): December 27, 2009

   
Alright friends. I know. I know. I have been horrible at updating you all about Red Dots. My apologies. I have been swamped with work during the holidays, and our band is practicing almost three times a week.


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The Red Dot(s): November 23, 2009

This is the journal of Martin Morowitz.

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So...I didn't get to you yesterday. Sorry. It was a hectic day of cooking and entertaining. I set time aside in the morning to start this story, but instead called my grandma. (She's reading Going Rogue.) It seemed a better use of time. At one point during our conversation, I could have sworn she said something about a new package of red dots she just bought to price her homemade baked goods she was selling at the Christ, the Redeemer Bake Sale. But I could be crossing my wires. All I can think about are the red dots.

Which brings me to the beginning of my story.

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To read the first entry in The Red Dot(s), click here.

The Red Dot(s): November 21, 2009

This is the journal of Martin Morowitz. I've had some really weird things happen to me recently. All involve red dots. I am not exactly sure what they mean or why they keep showing up in the most random places -- old journals, television commercials, gossip rags, murals on buildings, people's clothing -- but I will figure this out. I have to.

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