can't we get this art show going?

Belgian waffles with blueberries & bananas, "sausage," water. Later a couple beers and some akavit.

A very scattered dream. In a nutshell:

I'm tying to get everybody together and over to my work, which is a wierd, nebulous building, its interior sheathed in black-painted chip-board.

We were supposed to get over there the day before, and I bought some pizzas for everyone, cooked som cheeseburgers. But now I've had to keep them all warm for 24 hours. Somehow, Jonsey has ended up with two of the four pizzas, and they're with him up in SF. We're trying to wait for him, but then it occurs to me that he won't be down before later in the evening & we should just take the two we have and go.

Sometimes I'm in my car, sometimes I'm on my bike. Pam is around. Josh is there. We have to meet up with Miguel.

We get to work and Miguel is trying to get people to listen to him, since it's his (fashion related?) show we're trying to get set up. He has informative instruction sheets to pass out, but I'm too chatty & he's frustrated with me.

I look around, and there's R. G ammons on the wall, paper-cutout pieces [cf his orthographic sketches, probably], but R has just taped them to the wall, strips all the way around, and some taped better than others. I'm frustrated. A swivelling camera is taking pictures of a woman who is touching the art.

Josh leaves me at the fair

Frontier early dinner, silent art auction at [AC]2, some beers & a movie with Josh after.

We're at the fairgrounds at the silent auction, it's over and Mike tells me that we've won "a painting by Beatta," which I surmise to be the round painting we bid on, since I know the other was Mike's. I didn't realize it was Beatta's painting, and I also hadn't realized it was only the tip of the iceberg, that the round painting represented an installation of an additional 28 objects, mostly chachkis, pennies on carboard, bits of this and that. Mike gets it all out & we take a quick look. We load it all into the car. Josh gets in to drive, and I'm about to climb in shotgun but something catches my eye and I pause for a second. Next thing I know, Josh has driven off without me. I run after the car, waving my arms, but the deep sand of the fairgrounds makes it impossible for me to gain, and he doesn't see me in his mirror. I know he's just spaced out & not being mean, but it is very frustrating.

Will he come back? Should I wait for him there? I wait for a few minutes and he doesn't return. Well, where can I go that he will find me? I don't want him to be driving all over creation looking for me and getting freaked out. Ahh, we were going to go to the post office, I'll go there and try to catch him. I have by skateboard [?] and I skate the short distance east on Central [the fair is somewhere around University in this scheme] to Cornell and go to the post office. I wait there for a short bit, but then figure that I should really just go home, where there's a phone and he'll have to come home eventually anyhow.

I skate south on Cornell, and Snoop Dogg is sitting on a stool in the street, near the gutter, with a gas can with a clock mounted into the top. Is this a bomb? Naw, he's just a homeless guy, and with the gas crisis [?] he's just there to give stalled motorists a bit of gas so they can make it to the service station, and make a couple bucks in the process. The clock is some sort of pumping system. As I skate past him, he turns and looks at something behind him, and I reach down and snag his gas can contraption and skate away. I head up Silver, and it occurs to me. "Did I just steal a homeless guy's only source of livelihood?" Well, too late now, I can give it back to him later, and I really want to get home right now. I suddenly have all of these packages with me that I have to balance. The second hand of the clock hits my fingers and I don't want it to break, so every 60 seconds, ostensibly, I have to lay my palm out flat so the hands can move over my fingers.

I get home, which is 406 1/2, and I approach from the far end of the alley. I pass Mikaela & Priscilla's yard fence, which has been replaced with chain link coops for large birds, like you'd see at the fair. We have a bunch in our yard, too, instead of the gate. I have to go through a series of these coops, which are tall enough for me to walk through, to get into the yard. I realize I ;ve left the first gate open, and a tiny black chicken and our little brown puffball puppy "Baby" have gotten out. Baby is chasing the tiny chicken, which is the size of a softball, and eats it before I can get to him and stop him. I'm calling out, "Baby, lay down' lay down, Baby." He chows the chicken and then "fffoooh" blows the head up in the air and it flies like a feather. I grab him and put him back in the coop and close it up.

While I'm in the coop, there is a song playing,
"Jean Vasquez, Jean Vasquez,
It's a period, I've read.
Jean Vasquez, Jean Vasquez,
It's a theory that I had."
over and over again

(321-123-436554b is roughly the tune, if you it were applied to scale, don't know the key off hand)

The phone is ringing, and I know I'll never get there in time to answer. Yet I can hear my disembodied voice on the phone, obviously talking to Josh. I'm yelling, but with humor. "I don't care if you did it chemically [by which he means automatically, without thinking], you left me at the fucking fair!"

And then suddenly Josh has pulled up in the drive. He bypasses the coops and uses a simple gate next to them, duh, and goes in the house. He doesn't speak to me. I follow him in. He's sitting on the carpet playing a video game or something. He still doesn't speak; I blow him a kiss, he doesn't respong. Is he mad at me? What the fuck? I'm dumbfounded. In no way is he allowed to be mad at me!

Kill the Bledders (warning: kind of violent)

Brickyard pizza with banana peppers, beer, later night cereal

My group and I are hiding out in the mountains, in a place of gorges and cliffs and dense deciduous forrest and forgotten buildings. We're on the run from the nasty forces of doom or something. We have to keep moving, ferrying across gorges, setting up camps. But at some point they've caught up with us. Someone calls out, "Bledders!" [the first vowel rhymes with "instead".] On the path, approaching us, are 3 or 4 men in uniforms carrying flat silver headed shovels, their vicious weapons that they can use as deftly as a sword. The others get moving, I create distractions and catch up later. But they're onto us, and at the next camp we again are approached, this time by a column of "soldiers" in plate-mail [def. cf to the Bodikka vs the Romans prog we watched last night]. They're led by an old wizardy man in white, and there are more Bledders in the area. On the chase. At some point an obviously underskilled Bledder catches up with me, but I'm able to get his shovel away, and I jab him in the gut with it. He goes down, but is still alive. In his wierd, fanatical, possibly drug addled Bledder haze, he continues to blabber on, spewing rhetoric. But he's a broken figure now, pitiable. I know the pain must be overwhelming. I strike him again, but only jaggedly gouge his neck. His suffering is apparent. I strike again, this time driving down through his throat, severing it open. The meat of his body is the color of, and his flesh becomes shiny and puffy like, cheap sausages. I move on.

cunundrum at the log slide

Tortellini with pesto, feta, olives, tomatoes; broccoli with lemon; water

I'm at the amusement park/terrarium/zoo place (I've dreamed of this place before). I get on the log ride, but it's very different than when I rode it as a kid. I expect a very Uncle Cliffs rollercoaster experience, but the new park has changed it into a long cruise of a ride. We proceed low along the side of a very dry canyon, the ride track fenced in with chain link fence on both sides. When I was a kid, it was cool to take off articles of clothing and leave them, to be retrieved when you passed by again. I relive this and take off my Lonsdale and my Sambas, and drop them in a neat pile along the side. I realize only too late that the ride won't pass here again, and I'm fucked.

Once the ride is over, back at the octagonal room with the reptile tanks in the rooms, I try to decide what to do. I'd better just walk back up there and get my shit, cuz the park is closing soon. My friends and I try to get back there, but it's much much further than I thought. We're moving through this uppity neighborhood, and my instinct is to just go back in the yards and try to get up to where the track passes, but I also know that the place I dropped my jacket and shoes wasn't by these houses, so I hold off, trying to stay out of trouble. We do finally find a sort of concrete paved gully to get back up the side of the canyon, but we have to be careful, and I'm starting to lose my certainty about where I left the stuff to begin with.

I think we go back and actually get on the ride again, since it will take me inevitably to the place in any event. But now the fences to the sides of the track hold back angry dogs, big Rottweilers, and I'm less certain than ever. I think I try to explain my situation to a young woman who works there, telling her about the old days and how it was, but she seems unconvinced and I'm not certain if I can get my stuff back.

calling forth spirits

Il Vicino calzone, spinach salad, water

I'm witness to some sort of deep occult event. A young woman is calling forth spirits. A great and powerful spirit will be the masterpiece, but she may not be able to control him. She has drawn the face of this spirit onto her notebook pad, deeply and layered, in black ballpoint pen. She is invoking the spirit. But he is struggling to take control, he is not cooperating. She decides to re-trap him. Her incantation begins and she heavily scribbles in a wall above the spirit's head, then one below, then one to the right. The only opening left for him is to the left, off of the page, into nothingness.

by plane or by boat

Brickyard pizza with olives and bell peppers, water, a few beers

I'm travelling with my parents and maybe others, a tour, in North Africa somewhere, but the visual setting is mostly my parents' house. It's time for the tour group to move on to Spain. We had a choice during the planning stages, whether to take a flight or a boat to Spain. Everyone chose the plane, so I chose the boat, figured it would be a neat experience and give me a little time alone in the middle of the trip.

But now the days is here, and I realize I never even told my family that I'm doing the boat instead, and I start to think that maybe the plane is a better choice, as far as time and just sticking together. Yes, I'll take the plane, after all. I'm all packed, [my suitcase is really my brown tweedy one, but twice the bulk, a pretty serious monster] and putting my stuff into the car. But wait, will I even be able to get a place on the plane now? Is it too late? I tell my mom what's up, and she's pretty aggravated. She asks if I'm sure that I even did the boat thing, or am I actually supposed to be on the plane?

That's a good question. I can't find my personal itinerary. Am I remembering wrong? Did I think better of it back then and am actually booked for the flight? Maybe I can go on the computer and call it up to check. I go in and sit down at my mom's computer, but how do I log in? What's the name of the tour company, even? Does anybody remember? I rip through my suitcase, trying to find a brochure. Time's a wastin' and my family is due at the airport, which looks like a dock, all whitewash and rounded industrial forms. The frustration is overwhelming.

can i get a dentist in here?

grilled cheese & tomato soup at mar jar, followed by some rice crispy treats & her fudgy bar things

I'm at the house (a wierd concoction of my parents', the wolf's place, and la cueva high school), where all of us live. I think that maybe we all have some amount of super powers. But that's all on the DL. In any case, I'm trying to do a little yard work [mom & dad's backyard], pull our some old, expired sunflowers along our property line. The fratboy jock assholes from next door come over, complaining that we're ruining their view, apparently they like the dead sunflowers. [note, they came from the chen's place, cf dad's yard work causing issues back when I was young?]

I go back inside, [Wolf's back porch/door] and I see Jason Wolf, maybe still dressed up as me, asleep on a bed in a room with a window that looks out onto the hallway. I go in to wake him up, I think. [narrative gets lost here...] Part of the house looks like the La Cueva cafeteria.

I take off for Dr. Simm's, I plan on doing like I always do: go in, tell Natalie from Facts of Life, who works the front desk, that I'll be back in a room, find myself an operatory, settle in, and do my own cleaning. But when I get there, Natalie is nowhere to be found. I don't want to just walk into the operatories, don't want to disturb anyone. Through closed doors I can tell that there are two meetings going on, probably the staffs of the two doctors that practice here. Natalie must be in one of the meetings. Forget it. I'm ready to take off, but up at the front now there's a couple of cops. Not certain where they came from, what they want. I try to play it cool.

Urkel is a human, sexual being

Bean chimichanga at Casa de Benavides with ma, da, y josh, water, later a cup of orange tea and a couple pieces of halloween candy.

Around 2:30 I woke up having chaotic flashing dreams about art, openings, and so on. Back so sleep after a while.

I'm at an indoor flea market type place. I see Tam (from highschool, or was that midschool?), she is looking at The Men They Couldn't Hang's Silvertown on LP. I tell her that it's a great album, but that I can burn I can burn it for her on CD. She does seem really interested.

Jason Wolf is there, and he tells me that the Urkel show is actually really edgy and funny, and I should check it out. I find an LP, but then I'm able to watch it somehow, like it's a laser disc. I have to agree, Urkel is a compelling character, far more complex than I would have thought. He's a human being, passionate, and sexual. I think that he's probably a horny bastard.