The Bishop and the Butterfly: Murder, Politics, and the End of the Jazz Age
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    Driving With Mr. Death

    By quinn esq on Sun, 11/16/2008 - 4:30pm |
    Couple of years ago, I had this dream about death. Death. I was walking down a street in London in this dream, up it, actually, it was uphill. Saw Bono standing outside this cool car. Bono. Really. But as I walked up to him, he changed. Into an older guy. Silver-white hair. Cool looking. Long sorta linen suit. Southern. By the time I'd noticed the change, I already had my hand on the car door handle. So I had to get in, right? Strapped myself in. And the guy turns to look at me, and shitmefuck, it wasn't Bono at all. Not at all. I was riding with Death. Him. The car was parked facing up the hill, this long cool Caddie-Roller kinda car. And he pushes in the clutch & lets the car start rolling backward, down the hill, fast. That feeling where you're strapped in, trapped inside something that's completely out of control, and you know what's coming. You can see it. And I knew that at the bottom of that hill was a cliff, and after that, a long way down, the ocean. But I can't get out of the seat-belt. And I start panicking. And he just smiles as we pick up speed, enjoying it, that I'm losing it, and then... slips his foot off the clutch, shifts the car into gear... and off we go, forward. Smooth as that. Just to let me know he's got the wheel, got control. So we're talking as we drive. Me & Death. It's cool out, he's got the window open. But all I can think about is... how do I get loose from this seat belt & harness, so I can jump out or something. As we're talking, he becomes aware that I know who he is - even though nobody else does. When they look in through the window, all they see is Bono. He's smiling... he likes this. But I'm aware of the bastard, who he really is. I can see his long white teeth. He tells me, "Nobody ever gets out. Alive." Honest to God, the guy cracks that kinda fuckin' cliche, in a dream. Pathetic, eh? He knows it, and he doesn't care. Laughs. He's got one hand out the window on his side, breeze blowing in. He's letting it wiggle in the wind, you know, up & down, hand-swimming, and I know he's got a gun in it. I'm just trying to figure a way outta that car. Lemme out. That's my only thought. Frantic. When he looks at me & says, "You know how most good men die?" And instantly, I see World War I. With trenches & fields & bombs & shit. See it like it's sprayed across the windshield. And I think, "No, I don't know how most good men die."So he tells me. "Shot by their own side." And as he says this, I see it. I get to see some noble/heroic young captain, shot in the back by one of his own. And the killer, this cynical shit, turns his face slowly toward me, until I see that it's... Death. A younger version. As he says "by their own side," suddenly, he leans right in over me, gun in my face, making me slide down & cower in the car seat, lashed in by that fucking harness. No way out. Trying to rally every bit of fierceness I have, pissing myself with Fear. 'Cause I'm gonna die. And then... I'm out. Walking a beach road, with the smell of apple blossoms in the air. Free. Alive. And all I have left is a message. The message. From that trip. It's not quite what you'd think, looking just at the dream. Odd how I know this is the message, but it is - That Death is not our enemy. Death did not come to scare me. Or threaten me. Or take me. He came, just to tell me something. He came to tell me that we can become too fiercely focused on our enemies. Too focused "out there", out across the trenches, on our opponents. When sometimes, some times, the critical failure is actually happening just in behind us. In & amongst ourselves. This is not a story I've ever felt like telling in public. But whenever someone mentions death, I always remember that dream. And today, for some reason, I felt that I had to pass it on, that message. That we, somehow, the great grand "us" - whether generation or party or movement or community - that we, the good guys, can make historic errors, miss historic opportunities, by failing to bring forward things we actually possess, by failing to summon the courage. And thus, we fail ourselves. I donno. That was the dream-message. Death & his associates - the Crones et al - I have met a few times now, in this life. And below. And yeah... it was Him. No mistaking. I don't have dreams that scary about anything or anyone else. Maybe it'll mean something to you. Amen. Recommended by: Quinn