Cinco de Mayo/BAR/PERSONAL

Where was Bob Dylan when he wrote the line "I married Isis on the fifth day of May, but I could not hold onto her very long"? Seated by a window in his hotel room? On a bullet train to Prague? Maybe it was a fragment of a dream he remembered.

Today a woman at work said she was sure that these are the End Times. "The Bible say that in the Last Days," she said, "men will have prophetic dreams and visions." "What about women?" I replied. She didn't answer for a long time. In fact, the pause was so sustained that I reckoned she didn't hear me. So I moved on and started to think about other things. But, no. She came back, finally, and said, "I don't know about women."

I don't know what her source material is ("The Bible," but which one? There's hundreds), but, frankly, I doubt it. Men and women have been having prophetic dreams and visions for a long, long time. Has it always been the Last Days for the human race? Maybe. But if all the days are the Last Days, doesn't that make Armageddon null & void?

Last night, Dad & I stayed up late talking about the nature of things. Politics. Ecology. Psychology, etc. We both decided that the rampant homogenization of America, via multinational corporations and just plain laziness, is probably as bad as any of the doomsday Boleshevik Commie Infiltration scenarios he was terrified of as a kid. "There aren't many choices left anymore. Everything's mass-produced and it all looks the same." Amen, Clyde, amen.

These three drawings come from my journal. Two nudes and an alcoholic. If the alcoholic had a name, it would be "Albert Coholic." He's gripping his can of beer and thinking about his dwindling options. The nudes are cat people. They have no shame about their bodies, which makes them saintly, yet they are forlorn because the milk has turned.