R E C E N T   D R E A M S


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June 28, 1999
I am three years old. I am wearing a railroad stripe pair of overalls, a white tee shirt that says Pedal-Power and waffle stompers. I know I am three because my hair is blond and curly like Shirley Temple's; when I was three, older people would often tell my mother she had a lovely little girl and I would scream in response, "I am a lovely little boy!" Unfortunately I had a lisp when I was three. I am playing with my Weeble Wobbles on a miniature dining room. This was the early seventies after all, a more enlightened time when a boy who looked like a girl could have a miniature dinning room set and not be made to feel effeminate. The chairs have a green leaf pattern on them. I am looking at this pattern, when suddenly the door bursts open and four older girls from the apartment complex run in, push my Weeble Wobbles Family Camper on to the ground and begin carrying the chairs to the miniature dinning room set away. I scream no and throw my body across the table, and they yell, "Your mother said we could take it!"

July 13, 1999
Hours and hours of repetitious thinking. Not thinking, but the same thought over and over again. Yellow. Specifically a yellow dot the size of my thumb, a foot from my face, right between the eyes. A dusky canary yellow dot. This dot hovers in my mind and all of my brain functions become devoted to the analysis of the dot. But there is no data. The dot is just yellow and hovering in my mind. My brain is frozen. No sensation of time passing, a constant oppressive yellow dot presence.

August 30, 1999
I am in Sears (Eugene, Oregon circa 1981). A woman with short blond hair wearing olive drab pedal pushers and collar-less tunic starts to throw knives at me for no apparent reason. I am unable to avoid the knives but they do not seem to hurt me. I manage to get close to the woman and I twist her wrists up and behind her back and put my knee into the small of her back. I feel triumphant that I have subdued her. Suddenly I look down and she is on her stomach and my knee is on her mons pubis and she is wriggling back and forth with sexual deviancy. I am repelled, horrified and leap up and away from her.

October 13, 1999
I am ten years old in the post-Star Wars, pre-Empire Strikes Back kind of way. I am running around familiar places in San Francisco and places as remote as my Aunt Diane's house. All around me people are turning into zombie/wolf people. I have to avoid them or at least avoid being bitten by them or I will become a zombie/wolf. While running from place to place I found my mother and her husband who were already zombie/wolf people but had the decency to tell me to run away from them because although they had just eaten their Scottish Terrier, they would be hungry soon. I run into a very kindly old black man who tells me that the I need to hide for four years the lifespan of the zombie/wolf virus. He says he knows of a place, a crawl space under the floor of the old Cadillac show room on Van Ness Avenue. A four foot-high crawl space and I spend several days stockpiling food and water and light bulbs to last four years.

November 9, 1999
I am in a large, beige, bedroom that has no openings except one window. A wind is blowing through the windows, fluttering the curtains. A feeling of complete dread overcomes me. My girlfriend is there. Her back is propped against the headboard, her knees are up and she is looking at a magazine. Casually she says to me "How are you going to explain your November 1989 copy of Penthouse?" I start to cry, down on my hands and knees, I wail. She laughs at me.

November 29, 1999
I am lying in a hospital bed, listening to the Scottish actor Ewan Macgregor talk about how much he wants to cheat on his girlfriend who happens to be a close personal friend of mine. I am of course rather upset about this and about to tell Mr Macgregor what I think of his desire to cheat and the bad form he displays in telling me about it. I am looking out the window and my attention is caught by a drunken woman on a rooftop having intercourse with two men: one in a bright blue suit and the other a grey suit. Suddenly the guy in the grey suit urinates all over the woman. She responds angrily and gets up, which upsets the other man, still in flagranti with her and so he tries to calm her down saying "He didn't mean it in a bad way."

December 22, 1999
A recurring dream. I am about seven. I am sitting in a rocking chair folding napkins from a laundry basket. My mother is opposite me also in a rocking chair knitting, an activity that I never knew to be an interest. We are sitting behind a huge plate glass window and just beyond the window beckons are forest track covered in needles and other forest litter. My mother's second husband comes walking into the frame and as he walks away from the window. He is going fishing and I jump up against the window screaming "Daddy please take me with you, please!" He does not turn around.

January 9, 2000
An equation using all sorts of substitutions and symbols. It has something of the form of a titration formula for acids and bases but that might not be true because I can not remember said formula. I try to solve the equation using the weight of my cat, the age of my grandmother when my father was born and even the amount of time I believe there to be left before the alarm goes off. None of these substitutions yields a value for x that makes any sense.

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Oh, David Gergen, David Gergen! A Refraction. by Roger Tichborne
An Amerian (Subsidiary) Tragedy by C.C. Baxter
How Do I War Thee? Let Me Count the Ways by Lavage Scarliotti