Dreams of Blue Tape

The One Thing You Can't Control.


Paint only goes where you put it.  (I'm going with the synopsis first.)
I'm done with blue tape, except for extra-ordinary circumstances.  (Taping down visqueen to a floor, the not-at-all inevitable Rapture (?), and painting stripes come to mind.  Meh, don't do much of those.)
But, otherwise, no more.
Because, at a certain point, it's easier to paint that line - while you're there - than it is to mask it as perfectly as possible, and then paint over it later.   And, then, pull the tape and throw it away.
(Away?  Is that a place or a concept?  We - both - know that answer.)
(Later?  There IS no 'later'  according to the quantum physicists, so "Get 'er done."  Jeez.  Science CAN be a bitch.  And so can 'cutting-in paint.')
I used to be a procrastinator.  A blue-taper.  Found ways to avoid 'doing things.'  Some would dare to say I was, hmmm, a bit 'lazy.'  I was in my 20's, and I found I still needed long-missed sleep... but being that I was in my 20's, some of my proclivities may have precluded a lack of slumber opportunities.  I was partying as much as I could.  (Like BEFORE it was 1999.)  After the Army, back in The World,  I craved American culture again, felt I'd deserved an extended fete, and.. and, after that saturation, I needed sleep.   I was spent.
Sleep.  Glorious, seductive sleep.  My nocturnal angels wait to whisper tales in my ears.  The pillow beckons, crisp and cool.  I fall away, soon to be the imaginary hero I REALLY am once again...  floating like a feather, measuring time a different way, allowing threads I've submerged to weave back into the fold...  WAYYY better than a hot-tub...
I didn't get THAT kind of sleep in my 20's.  Maybe I hadn't learned to need sleep, like a normal human, I suspected.  (Because I'm so awesome, of course.)  But I still stayed up, way way late, convinced I'd miss something unless I did.  I abused nicotine, alcohol, carbs, chocolate, U2, ANYTHING that'd keep me conscious - and thinking - so I couldn't miss anything.  I was content to let it all sort itself out later.  ("Later" - There it is, again.  Doesn't HE know?  Time, 'ticking away the moments that make up a dull day.'  {You're digressing.} )


Therefore, typing about 'sleep' leads to typing about 'dreams.'
And you can't control your dreams.  You can submerge active memories, color things a different tone, and suppress all you want while you're awake, but dreams don't follow the rules of 'consciousness.'
You can be ready for a night of peaceful bliss, and end up with a nightmare.  Is it bad karma?  Repressed bullshit? What the F?  You can define how you go to sleep, but not how, and/or of what, you dream.  The dream-state does it's own thing.  You can only control so much.  (What an awful lesson that was to learn.  I blame 'Star Wars.')
Dreams can paint you into a corner.  Recurring dreams, so much more so.  And where was all your mental preparation there?  Hmm?  HMMM-MM?  They creep under the barriers you've so carefully masked off, past all the 'construct' and effort.  Defying you.  Flipping the bird at you.

This has NOTHING to do with blue tape.  It's about paint.

Exactly.  Blue tape is a symbol, of something that at one time seemed useful, and may have been the best thing going, but now, now... not so much.  I've LEARNED how to be better than blue tape.

We'll talk about that 'later...'
In our dreams.