"I wish I was free
of that slaving meat wheel
and safe in heaven dead."
Jack Kerouac

I was riding in the backseat of a car, playing guitar.  There were 4 of us, but nobody was talking.  Everyone was listening to the music that I played.  There were no words, no lyrics, no vocals, but I was telling the story of Jack Kerouac in song.  It was good.  The notes were bottomless.  They came from nowhere, and there seemed to be no end to them.  I was a well of unexpected sound.  I was digging notes out of the trash-bin of eternity like a blind man collecting bottles to take to the recycling truck roaring in the clouds.  I pushed a shopping cart full of unwritten music down the street, and everyone was listening to the bottles as they clanked against each other like a song in my guitar.  I was playing sparrows in the air.  I caught swordfish in the ocean with my hands.  I was the master of the sea, and poured the story of Kerouac onto the floor of the backseat of the car until it was drained of all its words and sat there like an empty bottle of pure and empty light.  Nobody said anything, but everybody knew it.  There was no jealousy or ego.  Everyone just let me play.  They could finally see that it was all about the flowers, and not about the gardener, and so, at last, I was able to prepare bouquets for them as I had been commanded to.  They finally were grateful.  They stopped arguing with me about it.  And so I did it.  And the  notes were deep, and free, and wild.  I had never heard most of them before, even though I know all the notes on the guitar.  But this was new.  There was no longer any stopping the flowers from growing through my fingers, as I plucked them from my guitar, and the garden in the clouds.  The car moved through the streets, and I prepared bouquets of sound in the backseat.  It was clean and free and quiet.  Everyone was listening.  We drove through the city and picked flowers of music from the garden of life, and believed that we were rich.

Then I woke up.

Who told you you were saving things by destroying or ignoring them?

Don't you know you are a butcher?

The traps are set for the innocent.

Gamblers,

Avoiders of blame.