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I was walking along the beach with some other people. The water was to the right of us, and I get the feeling that it was Case Inlet by the property my folks used to own. I’m pretty sure that Jethro was there. We started running and finally we made it to the end of the beach. Standing there was a man, and suddenly we were all cavemen. I noticed that we had arrived at the summer camp that is at Case Inlet, a place for parents to scoot their kids off for two weeks during the summer for them live the outdoors and give their parents some peace. It was a place that, as a kid with my family, I had spent many good times at, although I am sure we weren’t supposed to be there but hey man, there were no kids so wut du? Anyway, I tried to make a fire, probably because we all associate making fires with cavemen in some sort of twisted way. I was standing on a sand bar that stretched out from the shore for about 200 feet and somewhere near the end of it there was a deep pit that the fire I, or someone else, had made in. The pit was three feet round and six feet deep. I looked into the pit and there was some fire in there, a little bit, but I also noticed some plastic; a crumbled up four-inch mass that was melting from the fire burning around it. I was confused as hell when I saw this because I knew that there was no such thing as plastic back in cavemen days. Sometime later I noticed an area about a hundred feet away where Charles, Peter Peckster, and I went fishing for bullhead when we were 12 years old, and at that spot was a dark opening in the foliage on the backside of the beach. I went there to go check it out. When I went to that spot on the beach, I saw some guys there and I started talking to them, you know, shooting the shit with your local human, then somehow I ended up in a room, or a complex of some kind. This place/room was like an observation place for these men to observe cavemen such as myself and other cavemen.
I was in a park-like setting, maybe a mountain, maybe a lake, maybe something else. I was walking along a trail with Lisa and Loren and at this time it reminded me of walking along Deep Lake from the cabin we stayed at, in 1995, to the boat dock. The three of us came across a small booth, about seven feet high and three feet square. It was probably a dull, red neglected color. In that booth was Lisa’s and Loren’s dad, Underwood. He was some kind of salesman and behind him was a lot full of stuff that he was trying to sell, like cars or something like that. The lot was 70 feet by 70 feet, the right end going to the shore of the body of water and the left edge developing into a slight upward slope and ending with what might have been a string fence with those cute little fucking flags you see draped across car sales’ parking lots. I got upset that Loren and Lisa wanted to stay and shop because that was not the original intent of this hike. Pissed off, I walked away to the left where there was a trail that sloped up and away into some woods. Lisa’s dad Underwood said something to me as I walked away, maybe inquiring as to why I wasn’t stopping what I was doing as his kids were and checking out his wares. I said that I didn’t come here to shop, that I came here to hike. Underwood then looked disgusted in his usual monotonous way and said to no one in particular, "Well great! This is all my fault!"
I was working at the place where I got laid off from last year and was sitting in the cafeteria at a table with Chad Benson. He was asking me about a part number for a particular piece of equipment. The number was 00-0001-something. This was a part number that would have been used at the place I used to work at before this one, but this was a dream so bear with me. I told Chad that the part number was for solder (which it actually is at my previous employer), but then I came to realize that it wasn’t solder at all. Chad was working in the new addition to the building and needed this part badly, whatever it was, so he came to me for help. I then saw Maylor Grandstand and either I asked him, or someone else did, how long he expected to be working at this place, and he replied that he figured he’d be here for another 2 months. I remember looking at a parts list, and I was probably sitting at the desk in the office I used to share with Deidre Sotcheck at my previous employer. I had the 11½ x 17-inch report in front of me and I was scribbling some shit on it, just like I used to when I worked at that place, only this time I was writing down some data from Jonathan Smiles that he needed for some reason or another. I was writing real large numbers and figures on the sheets of paper, and I was writing several lists of things on all those pages. The last report I wrote had to do with a bunch of us wearing green tights and wearing hats with tassels, the high-school-graduation kind, and we were dancing around in the woods in a forest somewhere. The reason for this was because I heard some Vivaldi music and I imagined us as nymphs in the wood, proclaiming our fantastic existence.
I was a raccoon and Clint Eastwood was my human owner, like raccoons really need owners. It was like he had trained me to do tricks. We were at a school gymnasium performing tricks for the students there, like a hired program that Junior High faculties agree to relate to their students. Part of the program involved me, as a raccoon, chasing other animals around, which I assume were smaller than me. For some reason I had problems performing these tricks, so Clint decided I needed to go see a psychiatrist. I remember being in the presence of a psychiatrist but I don’t remember what he looked like, you know, being a raccoon and all. Part of the treatment the psychiatrist felt the need to put me through involved me looking at some ridges on a tablet of stone that was about the size of a bread box, no larger, no smaller. I suppose the psychiatrist held this stone-like thing in his hand and my duty, as a patient, was to stare at the ridges. The stone was light tan-colored and made me imagine of how the Dead Sea Scrolls might look. The ridges were an eighth of an inch apart and a foot long horizontally on the stone, and I stared at them. After a few seconds of intense staring, the ridges began to ripple like waves on the surface of a lake or bay or ocean of some other fucking body of water. I knew that the ridges really didn’t move but because I stared at them with unblinking intensity, they seemed to move. As I stared at these ridges while they halucinogenically moved, Clint was sitting on a couch behind me in this shrink’s office and I heard him start chanting, "The moving ridges . . .the moving ridges . . ." over and over again like he was a disembodied voice egging me on to get better. This apparently was the treatment I needed to make me want to chase animals around again at the show I was in with Cliff as my trainer and as me, the willful, playful, dumb animal. I remember being back at the school and being in an area that was either the hallway right outside the gymnasium (which held an uncanny resemblance to that of the junior high school I attended), or just inside the wall of the gymnasium by the bleachers. I had a harness around me, the kind that strapped around my chest and neck. Sometimes it felt like I was the human and was dragging the raccoon along instead of me actually being the raccoon. I have the feeling that I was able to chase the other animals around and the show went well, since I went to a shrink and all, but then I began to have problems again and I had problems chasing the animals around. Sometime later I was in the hallway right outside of the gymnasium, and again this could have been the junior high or the high school I attended. I was standing/sitting there talking to some students after the show and in front of me, off to the left about 30 feet, was Clint sitting down and looking sullen and dejected because his animal show just didn’t go as well as he would have wanted it to. I remember him trying to get me to look at the stone with the ridges so I could get psychologically fixed again and go out to perform. I spoke to the students there, who were kind of like the pubescent media on campus, and I was talking to them like a person would talk to another person. I came to realize that this was rather strange because I was a raccoon and should not be capable of human speech. It was a revelation, and I explained to the students there that when I am performing as a raccoon that I cannot feel what it is like to be able to speak and communicate like a human as I was doing at that time, and that I totally transgress into the mindset of an animal. I convinced them that when such a thing happened, that I would not even remember talking to them now because my animal side would engulf me and the human side would be no more. I looked at the stone with ridges again because I really wanted to get into my animal-act mode again. I detected some strangeness from the people around me when I said this, so I told them adamantly that, "I like chasing animals. I haven’t got a problem with that." I was confused at this point, and I didn’t know why I wasn’t able to perform.
Carrie, the surgical head in attending on the show ER, was jumping rope. There were two teenage black girls with pigtails holding either end of a jump rope that was the regular jump rope length, and they were swinging it. I was there watching the whole thing. We were all at the parking complex mall area on South Hill that is around 120th and Meridian, like by where Mail Boxes Etc. is and KFC, or maybe even by Mega Foods. I was sitting in the driver’s seat of a Toyota or Datsun-sized pickup truck and I had the driver’s side door open, and I sat there with my legs straddled out the side to watch Carrie jump rope on the gray concrete in front of the business that was there. The jump rope started to swing and Carrie managed to jump in and skip rope rather well. It was awkward though, because she was had that metal cane thing that you always see her lugging around on the ER show. After a few turns of the rope, Carrie’s cane got entwined in the rope and it prevented her from doing the actual jump that she would have been capable of if it weren’t for that damned cane thing. Then, from the right, an adult Doberman Pinscher appeared on the scene. Carrie had stopped trying to jump but the black girls still kept the rope swinging, so the Doberman decided to jump in and give it a shot. The dog was kind of coordinated at jumping rope, which you wouldn’t imagine a dog to be when attempting this activity, and it may have gotten tangled up and also given up. As it did, it squatted and started taking a steaming shit right there on the pavement in front of Mega Foods. The turd was a good-sized 10-inch specimen, and after it fell to its designated spot, the Doberman turned around and chomped down on it.
I was on an adventure that took place in an area that much resembled the Safari Adventure at Disneyland in Anaheim, CA. The tropical atmosphere was there, as were the narrow passageways of water between islands with palm trees and large-leafed foliage. With me on this adventure were about 15 other people. Gregoire and Helen Henderson were there among the group of faces. At some point, we had to cross a bridge. The bridge was slatted with 2 x 6’s and was eight feet square. It stretched from one island to another, the gap across the muddy water being 30 feet in length. A lot of shit happened in this dream and it’s hard for me to put any of it in any specific order. I remember driving down a dirt road through the leafy woods on one of the islands in some kind of jeep vehicle with some other people, and we got in a wreck. I don’t know how the wreck happened but I do know the jeep was overturned on its side. This somehow alerted a rescue team to come to our aid. An ambulance or fire truck arrived on the scene, but this was not good news. The good guys that had driven the fire truck to the scene had all been murdered by a bad guy who had somehow managed to tag along with them. When the fire truck arrived our hopes were up but then we saw the bad guy, who was a human male figure in his 30s and was dirty, disheveled, and radiating with a gleeful madness. He poked himself up over the back far end of the fire truck and looked at us, and at that moment we knew that the crew who had come to rescue us had been done in by this guy. Suddenly we were on a boat. Actually it was more like a yacht, at least 30 feet or more in length. I remember walking down the steps that led to the living quarters of the deck and confronting the bad guy who was there. He may have been the same bad guy that was on the fire truck but I get the feeling that just the image of a bad guy was all that was needed here. The people that had been with me throughout this dream were still with me on this boat. I think we had somehow shot this bad guy who was on the lower deck of this yacht, but we may have done it later. I saw a gun mounted on the wall that resembled an uzi. Below the gun that was on a mount thing that resembled something you would paste a trout on then nail above the fireplace, were bullets that looked like shotgun shells. Apparently these were the bullets that went in the gun. The bullets looked shotgun-like, not quite 12-gauge-size but rather, 20-gauge or maybe even .410-size. We/I tried to use this gun and its bullets to kill the bad guy but all the gun did was shoot out grease, the kind of grease you cook food with. I noticed as the gun shot grease that the barrel of the gun was really wide and looked like that blow-dryer attachment thing that Lisa uses, the huge, circular, seven-inch round hair-attachment thingy. There was another gun involved in this shooting . . .but then this scene fades and I am back on the beach of one of the islands in this safari place. Ann Wilson from the band Heart and The Love Mongers rides up to the shore on a raft made of six-inch round logs. The raft is 10 x 10 and twined together with, uh, well, twine. With Ann on the raft is a guy who is very muscular and looks like he is in his late twenties. He is lying down on the raft in a posing position and he has a lot of muscles. He is wearing only a loin cloth and he has long black hair that goes to the angel bone of his back. The hair is not straight but almost permed, but it is more like hair that is on someone that has been in the wild for years and has not had the chance to be combed or washed. This guy is smiling and has his head propped up on one hand that leads to an elbow that is resting on the raft. His other hand is somewhere down along his waist. He is facing to my right as I watch the raft coast into shore. This guy looks very familiar, but I can’t tell who now he reminds me of. He is almost chubby because although he is muscular and an obvious bodybuilder, he is also getting to an age where you had better damned well work for that shape or you will lose it. His chest/breast are OK, but I can tell they’ll be flabby in a year or two. Apparently this is what Ann Wilson came to this adventure for; seeking a hunk, and she found it. So there we all were, standing on the shore of this beach among other beaches in a place that resembled the Safari Ride at Disneyland. We all discussed what an amazing day this had been. As I dreamt this part of this dream, I realized that I couldn’t remember all the stuff that had actually happened in this dream. A memory came to me of having to jump off the yacht/boat that we were on earlier in this dream because it was on fire, or we had planted bombs on it to kill the bad guys and it was gonna blow so we all had to jump off the boat. I stood there on the shore after we had swam to shore and I took an inventory of who was there and who wasn’t. I started counting the heads of people that stood on the sand in front of dense palms and elephantitis ti leaves, and I saw counted approximately 10 people. This seemed to satisfy me, although I couldn’t tell you if there was anyone missing at that point. I recall looking into the crowd of people and seeing Ming Dudley, and when I saw her this somehow triggered an OK in my head that everyone was accounted for. This made me very happy, so happy in fact, that I hugged several random people at once.
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