Dream #7

I go to Peru to meet with Che or someone like him. He gives me a 3/4 inch video tape case with a large revolver inside. It's a .38 I think. I tell him I'm worried about getting on a plane with a gun. He assures me everything is OK.
I go to the airport with Laszlo and Eszter. We are waiting in the security line. When its my turn I'm surprised and shocked that I still have the video case with the gun in it. The security guy starts to open it and I blurt out that I'm not ready to be checked and will come back. He looks at me like "right" and opens the case. Alarms go off and I'm hustled by security personnel to a dark room. I'm strapped in a chair and questioned. I tell them I don't know why I have the gun and I really don't know but of course they don't believe me. Now they bring out their truth device. My chair faces what looks like an old Pong video machine. A laser shoots out and makes contact with my eyes. The video machine starts producing images which I find very funny and can't control my laughter. I think my laughing convinces them I am innocent. A uniformed security officer with a mustache leans toward me with a box that is about 2 feet high and 6 inches wide. In it are electronic security bracelets and anklets wrapped like you find at Target's toy section, cellophane covers the devices. The devices are the kind you wear when you are out on bail. The mustache asks me if I would, hint, hint, nudge, nudge like to make a $20 dollar donation toward the departments purchase of electronic bracelets and anklets. I say sure but I need to go the ATM in the airport. They let me go. I am in a big hurry because my plane leaves at 7 and I have very little time. I run into a store and give them my ATM card and they give me 20 dollars worth of dimes. I argue that I need bills but they insist they don't have it. I start racing back towards my gate. The airport intercom begins announcing the momentous occasion of Barack Obamas inauguration and talking about its proximity to MLK day. I'm desperate to get on the plane because its 2 minutes after 7 and as I try to slip between two cars my rate of speed has become maddeningly slow. As I squeeze through the cars I see several uniformed NY city riot policemen hurling racial epithets.

Dream #6

I'm trying to get to Manhattan for a construction job. But first I have to cash a 25 dollar check in Queens. I'm with two friends who "know" New York. For some reason I'm the one who knows where the bank is and they don't. We approach a dingy outdoor escalator and put an undetermined number of coins in a rusty coffee can to pay for the ride. The escalator is only 2 feet wide with no rails. In the middle is a dirty, worn steel cable to hold on to. You have to take a ticket at the first station at the bottom and climb up to a wooden platform that leads to the second station which is only about 6 feet away. The platform is a chest high "step up". There is a place to put your foot but its only six inches lower than the platform. No one else seems to have a problem with this olympian style feat but I can't seem to manage to lift my foot to chest high. After several agonizing minutes I manage to get my foot up and pull myself onto the platform. I am suffering under the disdainful gaze of veteran New York escalator riders and transit workers. As I begin to walk toward the escalator I drop my ticket. I look at the ticket taker's face and know he is not going to allow me on without a ticket. No one below is even thinking about handing me my ticket so I climb down and get the ticket. I struggle once more back up to the horribly inefficient chest high platform, show my ticket and begin an endless creaking trip to the top.

Dream #5

I needed some unwrinkled dollar bills, and all the dollar bills I had were completely crumpled. The line at the bank was too long so I wandered down the corridor to the auditorium and opened the over-sized auditorium doors. In the cavernous dark room sat a small illuminated table with helpful lady attendants and only a couple of students in line. They were collecting for the United Negro College Fund, so got in line and prepared to trade my wrinkled dollars for straight ones but thought I’d better make a donation while I was at it instead of just trading dollars. So after a lot of consternation, I decided to trade in three wrinkled dollars for flat ones and donate two dollars to the fund. Just as I got to the attendant lady with her metal cash box, I felt the tension on the waistline of my pants go slack and my pants started to sag. I tried to ignore it and deal with the transaction, but my pants sagged some more and both my hands were busy, one clutching dollars to trade and one clutching dollars to donate. The problem was not going to solve itself. Then I saw the button on the table – the button Veronica had sewn on my pants. The button had popped, I wasn’t wearing a belt, and still wanted to trade up for flat dollar bills, while my pants kept slipping and sliding down my hips.

Dream #4

I get stopped for speeding. I tell the cop he’s a terrorist sympathizer who wants America to fail. He lets me off with a warning. I complain. He admits that he’s not really a cop or a terrorist sympathizer. He’s really Sky King and we go for a spin around the arctic circle in his float plane. We get stopped for speeding by my neighbor riding his leafblower. I tell Sky King, “Hey let me handle this,” and I tell my neighbor, “Hey, I’m your neighbor.” He lets us off with a warning and gets in the plane. Everything is green and white and blue, even the traffic lights. That seems really weird, like you know in your dream that something is not quite right, but the idea starts to grow on Sky King and my neighbor and me. We agree that if traffic lights were green and white and blue, the world would be a better place. Much better. I wake up feeling really good about the inevitable forthcoming betterness. Blue means go. White means wonder. Green means pause.

Dream #3

It’s 20° below zero in a tent on a bog in a howling, whistling storm, and I’m panicked at sinking into the bog and trying desperately to chew my way through the ripstop nylon while sinking slowly into the ooze - - - so that I might somehow escape to the nearby warm and sunny and well-equipped luxury lodge towards which my outstretched fingers are madly but futilely grasping; but the the damp messy muck slowly envelops me until I am submerged but as soon as I'm underwater I'm instantly, miraculously enveloped in the warm, strangely dry and majestic ribcage of a giant fish who conveys me towards the luxury lodge and as I'm salivating over the forthcoming hot toddy on the terrace of the luxury lodge, the waiter in real time is announcing the arrival of a steaming plate of freshly cooked swordfish entrée for which I no longer have any appetite whatsoever.

Dream #2

I go into a bar. It is very old. The kind where all the wood has an old world patina from thousands of hands and arms shining it. The bar is very dark. In the center is a band playing. I can barely make them out. I see their arms and hands moving but i don't hear anything. A small crowd sits around them "listening". I strain to hear and think that I finally hear the light strumming of a guitar. After a short time the band gradually plays louder (but not too loud) and ends with a soft crescendo.

Dream #1

I'm at an arts center, like the High but smaller. There is a sudden hubbub, people moving around excitedly, almost like a crime scene. Turns out a forgery has been discovered - one of the featured pieces. Patrons, workers, art people, everyone is commenting on it and giving their take. A spontaneous seminar takes place with gallery people talking about the history of "art crime" and individuals, even the waiters who are circulating with finger food and ice water, piping up with anecdotes, jokes and pointed remarks.

The atmosphere is "we're all in this together" in this spontaneous event, very convivial, a brief suspension of rich and poor, patrons and workers. It's hot, and amid the talk, people are guzzling ice water and asking for refills like there's no tomorrow. You can hear the click of ice cubes against glass all over. The waitrons are happy to oblige, whisking around with big pitchers of water, commenting on the forgery and pouring water here and there. At my table the waitron pours water into our glasses and I take a satisfying pull of clear ice cold water. The guy is just about to go away to refill the pitcher when another table nearby waves to him urgently about something. He can't do two things at once so he stands there for a second and in a moment that crosses the usual boundaries he turns to look at me, holds out the empty pitcher and asks if I would do him the favor of refilling the pitcher with water.

This is THE LOOK - our eyes are locked and a lot is going on in that look. He's taking advantage of this spontaneous democratic atmosphere, and I'm wondering why me and why should I and am I obligated. But I am thirsty so.... I say ok. He is greatly relieved and pushes the pitcher into my hands and mutters something about the kitchen being back there before rushing off to the other table.

So I get up and move uncertainly to the back of the big central room. There's no kitchen, just a sink, and I fill the pitcher. I'm just about to go back to join in the fun when I look down and notice there's just a couple of weakass little leftover ice cubes floating on the top of the pitcher. The water's cold, but its not ICE COLD. This won't do. That was the whole thing that made the water so good - the ice. I look back at what is now a party and look around for an ice machine, but there isn't any. I've got a choice to make - go back or look for ice. The ice wins.

There's a couple halls leading out of the room so I walk down one holding the pitcher of water. The sounds of the party fade and it seems the rest of the center is empty. And no ice machines. Everything looks dark, weird and eerie as I proceed. I get to a room and there's a woman there. She turns and asks, "so what should I paint?" Turns out she's here for a class and we chat and I clear up the misunderstanding. "I'm just looking for some ice" I say, hefting the pitcher by way of explanation. I ask her if there's a fridge or ice machine nearby and she gives vague directions to another part of the center, so I head off again, in search of ice for the pitcher of water.