Thursday, September 18, 2003

The dreams, they've been graphic lately. Too much work and concentration makes the subconscious show funny pictures.

I'm in a drab bachelor suite with dingy, mint-colored walls that have the un-removable odor of stale cigarette smoke. My whole extended family is there, talking amougst each other in small groups. My brother and father have fallen asleep on the floor, with their backs leaning against a ratty brown sofa with a carved-pattern velour. Their heads are back and they are snoring loudly. Someone puts harmonicas in their mouths and they begin to play (in unison) Brahm's Lullaby. Suddenly, from nowhere, they are accompanied by bagipes.

I step out onto the balcony and see that we are at least one hundred stories up. Someone hands me my parachute (a beautiful, day-glo colored one that nicely accents the grey jumpsuit I am suddenly wearing) along with helmet, goggles and handicam. Twelve or so of us are crammed onto the balcony as I hear the countdown to jump. We do a group exit from balcony and do a nice BASE jump, landing in a field, miles from any building.

Peeling out of our jumpsuits and gear, we rush for seats at the table (we are now in a restaurant) and start bragging (lying, really) about the grossest kinds of pizza that we've eaten.

Now, that's just the brief snippet I decided to remember. I need to play, I think.

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