Yea, strange title. So, as the (related) story goes... I have this friend back on my Hawaiian homeland. INTERRUPTION: I use the preposition 'on' because it's more logical to use 'on' when referring to an island- spatially speaking, of course. END INTERRUPTION: He's an archaeologist- one of the rare species still practicing this rite of passage. Anyway, he tends to ramble on in his thoughts while working- which I can admire since I tended to do the same as well.  His sometimes nonsensical thoughts, like my sometimes nonsensical thoughts, materialize into written word. As mine did/do occasionally. Ahem...

I mean, with the technological age, my thoughts also materialized into text messages too.  I wish I would have somehow managed to archive all those countless texts to Lil'D, Rochelle-Le-Belle, Codykins, Katie-girl, Shellusha, Hilly-Billy, EdVice, etc... Every one of you know exactly who you are.  What fun those countless hours, days, months,years of texting our immediate psychoses while attempting to keep our eyes peeled on some bulldozer or excavator, etc. 

Then there was the era of podcasts while monitoring- complete with texting when necessary.  Some great podcasts out there: The Moth, No Agenda, Adam Curry's Daily Source Code, Bluegrass Highway, Hospital Podcast, Naked Archaeology... etc

Okay, bringing up 'Naked Archaeology' brings me back to the original intentions of this story- in a kinda round-about kinda way... So, this dude in question. A bro actually.  I mean a real kinda bro that a girl can depend on. You know? So, there was this famous story of him actually that I had heard about even before meeting him. Again, as the story goes:

He was working for a big name on the Big Island. He was alone digging in a lava field in the middle of the day with a hot blazing sun beating down on him. This lava field was somewhere near the ocean, I believe (not a really important detail of the story honestly). So, this spot happened to be in the path of the local Hawaiian Air or Aloha Airlines flight route when heading to Kona International Airport, which really isn't an 'international airport' as we think of the term 'INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT.' I mean, it is kinda just like a landing strip I suppose. Again, not an important detail- the size of the airport...

So his boss was flying back onto the island (check the preposition again folks, 'onto') and low and behold what does he see as he glances out the window of the plane. A man. Nekkid! Nekkid with a shovel and boots (likely steel-toed) and hat with some wild hair flowing about (not sure about that detail, but added it for some charm). 

Is this true, or is this just an Urban Myth that has been spun so long ago that it sticks in the cobwebs of our memory as a truth somewhat forgotten?

Okay, this is getting me closer to the original intention of my post this morning. Incidentally, it is 10 am and I'm lounging in bed drinking some Mehmet Effendi espresso blend coffee with stolen Starbuck's brown sugar packets (thanks Fez). Just having finished the last of the pasta I whipped up last night and served to the troops.  My trusty companions that somehow still enjoy keeping company with me and all my absurdness... 

Anyway, to get off track a bit more. A little background on last night. Here are the highlights: Pasta, popsicles, Supreme Beings of Leisure, Solo_ojo, Warden Wardo, tequila, vodka, conversation, fact-finding missions concerning various deadly-serious topics... fade to black...

So, when I was working in the field, taking copious notes on soil, erosion, stratigraphic inclusions and such other titillating geologic lexicon (all done on the infamous 'Write In The Rain' booklets we were supplied with), I used to also write "Very Dirty Poetry". Now, it was 'Very Dirty' because I was very dirty. One cannot expect to come clean from a day's work involving wind, water, sand, hot baking sun, mud, bugs, exhaust from large machinery and other such highlights as the occasional spray of hydraulic fluid bursting out from a broken hose. Or, there is also the scenario played out MANY times of a broken waterline or, even worse, a broken sewer line... Anyway, point being is that I was always dirty working. I mean, my poems weren't necessarily ONLY themed with dirty verses- sometimes though...

So my volumes of 'Write In The Rain' archaeology notes entitled, SECRET SPY MANUAL. DON'T PEEK YOU SPY #1, #2, #3, #4, etc   has a long history of inclusions of 'Very Dirty Poetry'. It was always difficult to give up these spy manuals when one was filled up *blush*. 

So, THIS brings us to the point this morning- finally. I'm exhausted... I had a dream last night. I entered it into my SECRET SPY MANUAL. DON'T PEEK YOU SPY #43 (I just made that number up. As well the SECRET SPY MANUAL. DON'T PEEK YOU SPY Write In The Rain journal.  I didn't really bring any Write In The Rain journals to Turkey with me).  

But here it is for all to ponder...

(Inspired/written during after 5:30AM CALL TO PRAYER THIS MORNING & not able to fall back to sleep…)

Thought I saw a Merman
         In my dream last night
I saw his silky-wet-shadowy-sheen against the moon –held captive chained to luxurious lure of the sea
         Lurking through motionless tide, slick as
blackest of oil
                  Blend in he cannot
I am attracted to this oil slick

Thought I saw a Merman
         In my dream last night
“Do they exist”, silently quizzing myself sensing Darwinian scientific delight
         Trajectory Trailing. Moody heart pounding
He came to rest. Perched against a rock. Listening
                  For me
         From the offshore winds I sailed
Into his beckoning harbor. Take shelter from  storm-swept seas
         Suddenly surging white-capped surf.
Calm after the storm. Sunrise at last

Thought I saw a Merman
         In my dream last night
Their ancient lore buried deep inside my treasure chest
Of jewel-encrusted knowledge
         Ancient wisdoms
Only a solitary pirate can witness late in the night
         holding vigil at the sea shore.
A reflection of a soft, supple metallic orb        
         Taunting. Thrilling. Manna from the Divine?
Go Ahead- Rummage Through my Treasure Chest
         Discover that one gem so fine. That I am
No wonder the moon took such time to pass the sea
         Last night

Thought I saw a merman
         In my dream last night
                  It was just a dream
                           It was just a dream
                                    It was just a dream
                                             It was just a dream
                                                      It was just a dream
                                                               Was it just a dream?

Now, I didn't want to give it all away before you gave it a 1st look-through. A Mer-Mare, in my humble opinion, is a dream about either a mermaid or a merman (there ARE definitely mermen out there, and they are JUST as elusive as mermaids are). A dream about the 'Mar' (Sea)! Get it? So not necessarily a Mer-Man NIGHTmare, or a DAYmare, but a mer (in my case a merman) mare: Mer-Mare...


Again, I can't be responsible for figuring out a connection between any of this... I am still 'editor-at- large' -less.