Dreamscape.

Nap. Exhaustion due to insomnia.
I awake in a cold sweat with a start...Everlast and Sinead playing in my head simultaneously.
The profound disappointment of discovering, circa 1993, that the MTV “Revolution” wasn't “out there...somewhere...” after all.
I had doubted, of course...but by now I had found proof.
That doubt had been a defense mechanism...MTV was everywhere once I moved to Walters, Texas...snippets of Gil Scott Heron...just part of some nefarious marketing scheme.
I had secretly hoped that it was real...Live Aid...Bono...
all the rest...and that I was missing out due to the place I was stuck in.
Surely everywhere wasn't already submerged...
Surely the Wasteland had an edge...that one could get over...into some other realm where my generation's revolution...contribution....would have corporeal form....
But I went East.
East for thousands of circuitous miles...and all I found was the same bland despair...the same banal suburban “success”, interspersed with many pockets of deep poverty full of those who had already given up on all of that.
That Faulknerian Darkness I'm always referring to, like a patina of hypocrisy, coating us all the further east one went.
It was during this period that My Revolution became a Revolution of One.