Dream 19/6/2009

I am at piso due. "Piso due" is what we called the all-you-care-to-eat cafeteria at our University. It is on the second floor. "Piso" means floor in Spanish. "Due" means two in Italian. I might have spelled that wrong.

I am choosing my ass off. Everything looks really appetizing. It looks appetizing in a specific kind of way. In the way that you know you will feel like shit after eating so much of it. This is part of the real world, as well. I know it is going to mess me up, but I want it regardless.

I am at an Ecuador fútbol match. I am there with my Mom and my Dad. We are sitting in the aisle on the steps. For some reason, we rise and start moving backwards up the steps. I assume during the dream that this is for a better view of the action. The steps are precariously steep and thin. Every so often, as we´re creeping up, I nearly fall. I get really pissed off when this happens. I don´t understand why we don´t just deal with the view we have and enjoy the game. Nearly falling isn´t the way I like to enjoy the game.

At one point I have about ten clear steps in front of me. The opposing team´s keeper on the field is quite close to our section of the stadium. He has a blue jersey on. The blue is the same as the feet of the blue-footed booby. The jersey´s sleaves are long, and the collar is black. I yell, "¡Hijo de puta!" at him, which means "Son of a bitch!" A cop with a long black jacket yells at me in Spanish. We argue and finally agree to something. Just then, another cop shows up. His uniform is different. I think about paramilitaries in Colombia.

The second pig is screaming about my initial transgression. I thought we were over it. He approaches me with his billy club in hand. He´s threatening me with it, so I grab it. In the struggle, which is weak, I get plunked on the nose with it. The blow is not forceful, though evidently enough for blood to be summoned. Summoned´s ass, it´s pouring. Cold, metallic blood rushes into my moustache and upper lip.

The crowd, naturally, has noticed the scuffle. I am glad that there is so much blood. I think every drop should make the pig feel more and more like the asshole I want to believe he is. Soon the blood has formed a small pool on the step in front of me. The pig´s overaggression is now palpable, beautiful, vibrant, lasting, primeval.

Finally, I step downstairs to get some food. I am assuming that I can clean myself with napkins at the food spot. On the walk, I am still relishing in the symbolism of my bloody honker. I regret not taking a photo of the injury. In "real life," I take photos of my injuries so that I can make a totally destroyed body collage someday.

Just as I´m thinking this, my real big brother, Sterling, shows up in the breezeway. He is armed with a digital camera. I think it is a Nikon D50. He takes a photo. He analyzes the photo. His eyes say he loves it. His laugh agrees.

I have an encounter with a feller from my high school. This feller, in "real life," wanted, with varying degrees of devotion, to beat me up. I made his mommy cry. In the dream, we exchange shoulder bumps. After that, we exchange words. Shortly, we come to a peaceful agreement to steer clear of one another. Fine. Fuck it. Move on.

I make it to the snack bar. I am no longer alone. My companion is a girl. I don´t remember her face or whether I know her or not. It doesn´t matter. I am looking at the menu, still covered in "blood." After a minute of looking, I see my reflection in the window that separates customers from workers at the snack bar. What I see quite surprises me. There is, indeed, a bit of blood that has seeped into my moustache. The vast majority of the substance that I´m feeling so proud about is actually snot. Thick, yellowish green, snotty mucous. Fuck. I look like an ass.

Neil, a friend in "real life," has a skating party. He is in a tuxedo. I like that. In the parking lot is a dog who wants to take a bite out of my meat. I punch the dog in the snout. It gets a clue.

Inside the rink there is no skating surface. Instead, the floor is occupied with workers. The workers are rotating the skating surface. From the looks of it, it will be days before they are done. I mingle amongst the few guests. I haven´t seen them since I returned from Ecuador. None of the key players are there. This has me somewhat bummed.