The Taliban donates a box of bugs

Brickyard pizza with banana peppers and olives, water, later bowl of cereal.

I'm in charge of the rec room for the troops, stationed out here wherever we are. There isn't much to do here, I have little work with. It's mainly a big open room, conference center sized, one side is bounded by a raised hallway about 3 or 4 stair steps up from our floor. There's a folding table at the opening of the main stairway down, and I keep going back to it to check some sort of ledger.

A local mullah or warlord is donating a game for our boys to play, a little-man game like Risk. I figure that these guys can get into a little war strategy game, blow off some steam, have some amusement. There's gotta be some old gamers here, right? The stuff arrives, and it's a big cardboard box, about 24x18x10 inche, and rather full of the game pieces. A little more than I expected.

But then I realize that this thing is crawling, full to the brim with bugs, because that's how the locals play the game, with a host of insects instead of plastic playing pieces. Holy moley. I gotta kill these things, our boys are never gonna play with a box of bugs. But I also don't want to offend the old man, tall, stern, long black robe and black turban. (cf Taliban Ambassador in Tree Cups of Tea last night) I decide that I can microwave the whole lot, kill the bugs, and solve the problem. So I put the box in a microwave and set to going for a few minutes. I take it out and the bugs have all turned into plastic playing pieces. Or not, from underneath the remaining bugs come lurching and streaming out. A giant black centipede rears up, waves in the air, before the rest of him slides out and moves off at a clip. I've dropped the box, maybe even turned it out. There's a lot of centipedes and roaches or beetles still alive, but as they crawl away across a surface covered with newsprint paper, they stop, they die, they give off fluids.

Bad tattoos and the heimlich

"Chicken" & mozz sammies, peas with dill and butter, water. Later bowl of frosted flakes.

I think this takes place in Buffalo, NY, which Foutzy and I were reminiscing about recently. I think it's mainly around that hip street by the hotel with all the little hippy businesses & restaurants.

My friend, this mustachioed sorta guido guy in a tank top, is going to give me a free tattoo, homestyle. We're looking for a place to set up, preferably outside. We settle next to this concrete stair that joins two sections of broad sidewalk. I can't recall what my tattoo idea was, maybe a solid band across my cheekbones & the bridge of my nose. Or was it something along the side of my neck and up onto my head? Maybe it was never a fully formed idea. I lay down on the top landing of the steps and he goes to work on me. I'm really excited, and I'm not really thinking about what he's doing, off in dreamworld.

But then I notice that he's down on my chin, and I wonder what the hell. I come up out of my reverie and sit up, ask what he's doing. He seems confused; he assumed he was doing the tattoo I wanted. Someone hands me a hand mirror. He's inked brown scribbles all over my face, from over my brows, down my cheeks, to my chin. Sort of a heart-shaped pattern. The dense scribbles are definitely reminiscent of Jaune's Porcupine Ridge color blocks. I panic. He's completely scarred me, it's hideous.

I run home or somewhere I'm staying. I'm certain that I have a book of home remedies that had an entry on how to get fresh tattoo ink back out before the wounds set and it's permanent. I can't find it, and my panic is growing. I try for the internet. I can't figure out how to find the information I know is out there.

I go out in the back yard and there's a crowd of people my age, having a barbecue. A really pretty girl that reminded me of Myra Brown, or maybe one of the Next Top Model girls, is talking and laughing, eating a hot dog. She starts coughing, and at one point I hear a pop noise, I know that the hunk of food just moved from her throat to completely blocking her windpipe. She might actually die, and another young woman tries to give her the heimlich maneuver, but it's not working. Does anyone else know how? I step up, certain of my strength and skill. I grip her and in one powerful jolt knock the blockage out of her. It makes the same popping noise going out as locking in, so I know that she's okay.

Kimo makes a guest appearance

Home made minestrone, whole wheat rolls, water. Later a bowl of cereal.

I haven't been remembering dreams lately, or more exactly, I've been waking up with a memory but quickly forgetting, though I remember remembering. Very frustrating.

I know that Greg Mortenson (3 Cups of Tea guy) shows up, I think in a sort of... I think he is an Idol or priest of some god, there is something on his lap, triangular, and reaches up almost to his chin. He is seated Someone else comes into view with the same setup, and there is definitely a religious connotation there.

At some point, I look over and little Kimo is there next to me. He looks up, rolls over for belly rub. I am overwhelmed. Someone (I hope it was Josh) asks me what's wrong, and I can barely get words out. It's little Kimo, come back to spend a moment with us. I know he can't stay, this is just a moment, but it's the most wonderous thing. I lean down and kiss his soft little fur, stroke him and muss his hair. He gazes calmly and intently into my eyes. It is heartbreaking but wonderful.

Alien Invasion (again?)

Veggie burger & sweet potato fries at the Blackbird, water.

Left my job at NGPWG/Matrix on Thursday, start with Jaune on Monday.

Another alien invasion dream. I'm at an old, bombed out school/ruin of some sort, with a number of survivors, many of them teenagers. The aliens are on the move and we're all trying to stay calm and quiet, attract less attention. Rob Thalmann and Chris Lucas are there, Good to see them. I think that Josh is with me. We all are talking, and we discuss that Rob and Chris have only been together for a year, so they're not sharing a bed yet. We all agree that having our own beds is nice. I look out over the horizon, a relatively green and lush, grassy environment. I can see movement like a swarm of birds against the orange sunset. But I know that it's THEM. Suddenly strafing fire is coming down, tracing its way towards where we are. We scatter and dive for cover. Seemingly a passing attack.

I go back up into the building, walls all blown apart, roof sections missing, so I can see from above down into the sections of building below. People huddled in groups, scratching around. There are wounded. A woman is kneeling over a man across the room from me, he's hurt and maybe dying. So it goes, it seems. Noise at the door,a small group of soldiers is there, two or three men and a woman. She's one of them, though, inhabited, and only I seem to realize it. But then she breaks character, comes at me, lurching and like a zombie. There is panic, but I lunge and grapple with her. I position my leg and throw her backwards. Her forehead impacts the edge of a table and is bashed in. I think she's dead, but I'm uncertain. We're obviously unsafe here, but where can we go? I feel increasingly agitated and nervous. The strain is driving me mad.