Dream 9/7/2009

There is a guy that lives in our backyard on Sir Philip. (I actually used to live on Sir Philip street. It is in San Antonio. The "dream" backyard looks as did the "real" backyard.) I know that the man is some sort of "tribal man." For some reason, I keep thinking the word "tribal" describes the man. His forehead is quite massive. His features make me think of the word, "neanderthal."

My mom and I watch the man scale 100 meters up a tree, without use of ropes. It is impressive.

He meets me and my mom at the garage. He wants to say hello to her. He thinks that to do so he must kiss her on the lips. He is confused by customs. Mom calmly says, "No, like this," and offers her hand to shake.

I am walking along Joe Ben`s funeral. (Joe Ben is a character in Ken Kesey`s novel, Sometimes A Great Notion. In the book, Joe Ben dies drowning while stuck under a log. He and his family, the Stampers, are loggers in Oregon. Great book.)

At the funeral are hundreds of people. They are mostly chatting. I am meeting all of the characters from the aforementioned novel. I don`t, at the time, know exactly who they are. I just know they are from the novel.

I am walking along a row of restaurants. I want papas fritas. Papas fritas are french fries in a different language. None of the restaurants are offering papas fritas, or french fries.

Enter the US Embassy in Quito. (I have actually, in "real life," entered the US Embassy in Quito.) I tell the people that I`m to stay there until I receive my passport. The clerk tells me something has come up in the report. I know the report, although there was no such thing in "real life." He says it`s come up that for a time years back, I was drinking a lot of beers. He also says it looks like I didn`t have a job for about a year and a half. I tell him this: "No shit, it`s called college, and I was teaching full time."

A female clerk send me upstairs. I`m to have surgery to complete my eligibility for a new passport. The surgery will be on my leg.

I am with my big brother Sterling. (I actaully have a big brother Sterling.) We are, in total, a group of 15 to 20. The majority of the group is made of soccer and hockey teammates of his, that is, Sterling`s. The group plays ultimate frisbee at some sort of sports park.

I head to the parking lot to toss the ball with one fella. It is shaped and colored like a baseball. It bounces in the following pattern: first bounce, high-arched, thin parabola, gliding slowly. Second bounce, very low-arched, long stride, zooming past. Repeat. There is a little kid with his sister there. The little snot is 8 years old. His little snotty sister is 5. They are getting in our business. The little snot is telling me that we are doing it wrong. "You`re not supposed to use your hands," the little shit says. He thinks we want to be playing fùtbol.

"Go to hell," I finally tell the little shit. "Get the fuck out of here if you don`t wanna play baseball."

The little snotty shit`s mom goes bananas. She says she is gonna get me booted from the place. I tell her I don`t believe in hell, so the statements don`t really mean anything grave. This doesn`t appease the bananas mom.

She, indeed, kicks me out. On the way out, I pass a large beer hall. I look for my brother, Sterling, or any of his friends. I see a long, lanky friend of Sterling`s. He tells me that most of the fellas have already gone home.