mountain vistas, deep dark warehouses, and demon kids

left-over pizza with green chile and tomato, a little salad, a little ice cream, a fancy caramel.


Up on the crest with J-Rod, I think we’re maybe with or even directing a tour group. We’re moving about in a sprawling complex that hugs the edge of the cliffs, It is cut stone, a glowing yellow limestone, and it has the aspect of a mediterranean villa, many arches and corridors leading courtyard to courtyard. A group of people, men and women and a small boy, ask us if it’s worth while to go on, if there are any better views further down, as the wind is getting quite nasty and unpleasant. Maybe even the safety of the little boy is questioned, as some of the overlooks are open to the drop. I encourage them to continue on, assuing them that the next patio gives the truly best view of the city and it really worth it. I move on into the next patio, ready to take some of the panoramic pastiche shots I enjoy. But the view of the city still seems somewhat occluded, maybe by the setting sun in my face. I can see pretty much straight down, though, to a world of very complex apartment buildings that come straight up to the very foot of the mountain these days. (Very Vancouver inspired image.)

We go back down, by way of an apparently very express elevator, which lets us off into the lobby of a hotel. We mean to leave, to go home, but the place is so very posh that we just have to explore a little bit. The lobby is huge, seems part shopping mall, there are pools and lush planted arboreous alcoves, broa carpeted spaces, and seemingly a concierge on every corner. We act like we belong, even tell a concierge that we’re too early to check in but are just having a look around.

Later (same dream? later dream?) I’m with Maresa, maybe Jason, and Josh. We’re travelling together, probably in Canada. We go to this Museum or Science Center of some sort, it’s all very exciting, though I don’t know what to expect. We’re being herded through corridors, past seemingly incongruous exhibits, things that don’t make sense and we aren’t given time to try to make them. One contraption seems to be a late-ninteenth-century pill making machine, as big as a (special) school bus, and ornately worked in gilded cast iron. We keep moving, the crowd seems to be losing momentum now, breaking up a bit. Not certain where we’re going or what we’re expecting at this point. Another elevator, I expect a throng to press in, but it closes before they get to it. Just us and a coung couple. There’s something sinister about them, especially the girl.

We’re let out into a GIANT, cavernous space, certainly a warehouse space, but vast, and the ceiling is out of sight. It’s surplus, seemingly, from the movie business, and everything is oversized. But there’s also a cheese counter-- oversized: but you can get a block of asadero the size of a loaf of bread for $1.50, and I’m ecstatic-- and there’s an impressive liquor section. Josh mentions ouzo, and I think that there might be raki, too, then. I start searching. Ouzo, lemoncello, all manner of liqueurs and concoctions, but no raki.

I go find the gang, we look through a huge rack of surplus lengths of rope, ribbon, twine-- but in gigantic quantities, rolled loosely in celophane into units that are 20 feet high and the dimension of a CD. We’ve all had such a great time with the wierd oversize movie surplus, but it’s time to go. I do have a bottle of something that I’m going to buy and take back to the states with me.

Back in the elevator, is the couple still there?

I end up in my parents’ garage, there with a little boy, a soldier who maybe reminds me of Spooky at work, except he’s African American, and a teenage kid. We’re discussing demonology, posessions. The teenager’s girlfriend arrives, and we realize that she’s one of “them.” I won’t let her hurt anybody, she has no power over me, though I am somewhat freaked o ut at the whole situation. Once we call her out and the teenager denounces her-- “I can’t believe I ever cared about you! You’re just a thing!”-- she devolves into a creepy, cartoony rag-doll, still screaming, but helpless. She is a toy, and we can handle her like one. We drop her to the ground, and I use an imaginary shotgun to blast her. Because she’s a toy, an imaginary gun is perfectly effective. But the demon jumps from her into the soldier, he goes out on the driveway and begins to dance and jerk around, posessed. The garage door has come down, so I can see only his boots there, jigging as he calls out and mocks us. I reach under the door with my imaginary shotgun and blow him away. The demons are everywhere. I have to destroy all the toys in the area, to keep the demon from jumping again. I order the little boy to lay down his “toy,” which is really just a large plastic cup. He does so, but doesn’t want or know to get out of the way. Someone comes and moves him away. I blast the cup. But I think my terror os growing rather than abating, I don’t think we’re winning here.