Dream 23/6/2009

I am in a shopping mall. I´m there with another person. I don´t remember that person. It doesn´t matter. The store which has caught our interest we have yet to enter. It has a white picket fence around it. The inside carpeting is some sort of golf green material, synthetic. There are large yellow flowers made of felt that adorn the ground. Also on the ground are large irregular, circular pieces of bright blue felt. These are supposed to represent water, as in lakes.

The store sells horses. The horses are full size, adult, living and breathing. I am somewhat disgusted by the fact that horses are on sale in such a manner. Yuck. My companion seems to think as I do about the ordeal.

There is a motto or a hymn of a product, store, something that I´m looking at. It´s on the back of a canister that is similar to the one that carries curry powder. A rectangular prism, "with soft rounded edges," (see The Mountaingoats). The motto is a modified version of the classic patriotic ditty, "This Land is Your Land, This Land is My Land." Instead of naming regions and places in the United States, however, it is referring to a Banana Republic and the resources thereof. I know it is talking about Ecuador. Evidently, it´s up for grabs. News to me.

I am working as an assistant to Rick Barnes. He is a homicide detective. We are questioning a kid in a case. The case is called "The Gabriel Case." The kid is shaggy-haired. He has a brown neck, either from sun or dirt. He is 19 years old. He could be a Tausch.

He is describing to Detective Barnes, hereafter DB, how he murdered the kid, whose name was Gabriel. I come into the room at the time he explains, very matter-of-factly, what he did with the body. "I squeezed it to get all the blood out, you know." I seem to know. It seems reasonable. He cut up the body into pieces. Rick wants to make some sort of measurement of length after hearing this piece of information. He requests a ruler from his desk outside the questioning room. The questioning room, incidentally, is a hallway about 20 feet long. Along the walls, facing the walls, are desks with walls on either side. The room is cramped.

I leave the room and find a ruler on DB´s desk. It is a meter stick or a yard stick. The thing comes apart in two pieces to make it more wieldy. It connects back together with long teeth that fit perfectly to make the thing whole. A cop sits at the corner of DB´s desk. He wears a blue cop shirt and dark blue pants. His uniform is complete with a reddish brown moustache.

The pig is clearly jealous of my involvement with DB. The pig should be investigating. Instead he sits and bes jealous of me, right there at the corner of DB´s homicide desk. "What does he need that for?" pig. "To measure the body," yours. I wink to show that I¨m having a real blast working with DB.

I come back into the room to deliver the ruler. As DB toys with the thing, presumably putting it back together, I notice the title of an editorial. The newspaper on which the title exists looks like a tabloid. It is really colorful. The fonts are large, imposing, and dynamic. The title says something about remembering Gabriel. "That´s yours," I ask. "Yep," says the Homicidal Tausch, hereafter HT.

I know without explanation that HT wrote the editorial. It was about how special Gabriel was. HT got it published either the day after the murder, or else two days following. Below the headline of the editorial is a line of three pictures. They´re arranged horizontally. On the left is HT, taken around the time of the murder. The middle photo is Gabriel. The photo on the right is another young man of similar age. Inconsequential.

As Rick and I leave the room, he says, "What a shame? Smart kid." I tell him that it is no big surprise that a smart kid might be capable, even more capable, of such a murder.

What interests me about this dream was my attitude towards HT. He didn´t seem to show much remorse, about as little anger as he displayed. If anything, he came off as confused, immature, and lost in all of this, as if the magnitude of his actions as well as the pending consequences (whatever they might turn out to be) hadn´t been duly understood as of yet.

I didn´t hate the kid, although I was disgusted by what he did. The two seemed mutually exclusive to me somehow. I felt empathy for HT. I wanted him to feel comfortable in his interview with DB. As I have seen and heard in interviews, Rick Barnes is a fairly calm person. This followed him into the dream. I wanted HT to know that we weren´t "out to get him," rather just to gather information.

Finally, I knew the kid was smart, and that this intelligence had probably cost him a great deal of suffering. For having dealt with this burden, I loved the kid.