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I was up in the mountains in wintertime -- colorful holiday season -- ice skating with my family. And then she was there, colored in quarters like Harley Quinn (not that I ever saw anyone dressed like that in life). Two of the quarters were red, and the other two were some other color (not black).

She danced around me and in and out of trees. A dreadful tease to hug me so. So over her shoulder and down I looked, into my hand where lay a book meant for me to read.

Out of that book poured the most beautiful poetry that loses its coherence upon waking. For all it's worth now, I could have been reading "Kilroy speaks the truth. One mouse could never eat it all."

~ I was exhausted, Emily handed me a metaphor about salted lights and circles which vanished confusedly into the shadows of my hands.

~Sleeping inside a speckled banana having pecan dreams.

~ A wallpapered ceiling in striped and retro pastels with advertisements in bold black letters. The texture was so rough it seemed jagged and course under my finger tips. It reminded me of some make shift and flamboyant ballyhoo from TV. I was pawning old clothes for money from my '74 Duster. Soon I was stealing my sisters clothes and selling them too. Fernando Póo was the brand name on the t-shirt. Feeling a little guilty, she always wore nice name brand clothes.

My aunt Deirdre took me shopping at this really chic hippie-like store in Amherst that sold everything and my aunt and I
were allowed to buy as much as we wanted at no cost. I picked out some
clothes, some Jewelry and there entire stock of Excedrin. It was the
Christmas Season and there were Christmas wreathes made of Palms (from
Cape Cod?) Every summer when I was little my grandmother would take
her six children and there kids (there weren't that many grandchildren yet)
to Cape Cod. My aunt really wanted that wreath but they were 3-4 four
stories up so she had to climb onto Santa's shoulder's and jump up. I still
don't know why she was able to reach. As she jumped they shot
fireworks off and I realized that the modern store building sort of faded
into a crumbling castle without a roof at the top. Sparks flew so they
sprayed water into the air. She got the wreathe but she fell....
Lying on the ground cradling her head in my lap, with the wreathe to the
side I called her husband but she didn't want to talk to him, she had told
him her and I were in Thailand. The ambulance took forever to get there.
My Uncle Charlie seemed more concerned about me than his wife. He
wanted to know if I needed a ride to the hospital and I reminded him I had
her car with me. The oddest part of it was [surviving the four story fall, but then a kid at my college did that last week....

With lightning speed, I leap forward, pull the dagger out of my belt, slash the man's arm and grab the submachine gun out of his hand. Yoink! His buddy, temporarily dumbfounded by my quickness, doesn't react soon enough to block the roundhouse I deliver half a second after touching the ground, and the first man grimaces in pain a few milliseconds too long, allowing me to kiss him upside the cranium with the aluminum baseball bat that's in my hand for some reason.

"WHERE IS HE?" I demand. I shoot holes in the ceiling to show that I mean business. "Start talking or your buddy here gets it!"

The first man coughs up some blood and gasps for air. I realize I'm being too harsh on him. How can I expect him to give me answers with all the wind knocked out of him? A look of sympathy crosses over my face, and I decide to give him a little while to catch his breath.

Unfortunately, the second man sees my demonstration of weakness, a look of pity, of empathy, of concern for others. He gets up and starts advancing on me. "Stay put or I'll cap your ass!" But he already knows I won't. We can almost read each other's thoughts. "You wouldn't dare. You couldn't bear to bring pain to another person. You couldn't live with yourself if you killed me." Of course, the whole 'bringing pain' thing is inconsistent with my actions 30 seconds ago, but the important part is that I won't kill him and he knows it.

Man, I really fucked this up. I search around for Start button, or some way to save the game. It hits me like a ton of bricks that this isn't a video game. I have to make incredibly important decisions and moral judgments, and get things right the first time.


Damn you Nintendo! Curse all those years of learning that if you die, you'll have 3 more lives, or you can just walk across the room and turn off the power. I've lost my ability to make split-second decisions and deal with dangerous situations.

I wrote this while E2 was down and am only just now getting around to noding it.

So I just woke up from a freaky dream that turned out to be a blessing in disguise because without it startling me awake who knows how long I'd've overslept for (turns out I was way too sleepy to reset an alarm clock after I went to bed really early last night, and so not only was the sucker not on, it was advanced two hours, which made for lots of confusion when I awoke. But I digress...)

It all took place in one of those slightly bent dream versions of a real-world place you know really well, if you know what I mean. This time it was the park a few blocks away from where I grew up in New Jersey. I spent a lot of time in this park as a kid, so I know it pretty darn well, I'd say. Anyhow, it was that park, but not really that park, because I was dreaming.

And a lot of people were walking dogs in the park. I remember that part. There was a puppy with a HUUUUGE head, in particular, which was probably what got my attention about the dogs in the first place, but after that I saw the dogs that somehow I knew were that puppy's parents (and yes, there were three of them, and how the deformed mongrel that made me stop and say "that's not right" could be the bastard love child of all of them, I don't know, but that was clearly the way it was, and hurray for the unshakeable faith I have only in dreams.) There was an Afghan hound like the one our next-door neighbors used to have, Scaramouche. There was a big golden retriever. And finally there was some kind of big terrier thing. Maybe an Airedale: some friends of the family had one of those for a long time. The weird puppy had a squarish terrier head, so that was how it was clear the big terrier was involved in all this. All these dogs were walked by on leashes, and I'm not sure whether I was there, standing in the park watching dogs go by, or doing some kind of omniscient eye thing, but I suspect the former, since I saw everything from about my height's eye level, instead of the skewed from above or below angle I get when I'm in dream-spy mode.

In the second part of the dream, I was walking a cat on a leash. That's oddly perverse enough, but there's more. I called him (I know it was a male cat) Arie, which was the name of my family of origin's first cat, but it was a big orange tomcat (like our second cat, Louie, and his adopted brother, Pixel) and Arie was a smallish tabby. So I apologize to his memory for whatever my subconscious was smoking when it came up with that part of the dream.1 Anyway, we were walking, and came up by the pond in the park, and had almost passed it by when Arie starts meowing like a mad kitty and pulling on his leash towards the pond. I try to pull him along our way, but he looks back at me, making the "I'm a cat in serious pain here" noise, and so I let him run around the edge of the pond and follow. As we're running, I see the outline of a BIG (like, four or five feet long, I thought in the dream) scary newty or salamandry thing in between the plants at the edge of the pond, and next thing I know a slimy green amphibian-arm is sticking out of the pond at Arie, who's gone into catfight mode. Good lord, there's two of them! I think, and that's about when I woke up full of dream-adrenalin, soon to be replaced by "what the hell time is it?" adrenalin, and now I think most of that is out of my system thanks to writing this down. Phew. Off to work with me; I've gotten my 8 hours in.

  1. Update, late August 2002: Recent spates of reminiscence with my parents have revealed that as a small child, I called all children and animals "Arie". So maybe I was reverting or something.

  2. Update, late 2002, early 2003: Alternatively, I was being psychic: Jongleur and I adopted a big orange tomcat (Iggy Pop) in January.

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