Yuk Bon

i am part of a manhunt for a killer; fragments of me walking through VG and springs before this; then there’s the manhunt and he’s spying on us so we try to fake him out (hands raised in a circle?) and then we get paired up and go out searching for pieces of clues or whatever. i am paired up with Bee and we are arguing in the way that we did where every trivial thing seemed leaden with Import and i grab her ass as a joke and she takes it too seriously and is all silently fuck you about it when we run across this guy and then I am dead, and apparently the afterlife is a fucking hike through traintracks and an abandoned building full of pipes that leads into a bank lobby without a floor (nothing but water). Everyone marches across this long track and on the left people get separated into tented off areas, and behind them there’s boats and water and stuff. but if you keep going to the ‘bank teller’ area, to get to the ‘tellers’ you have to sort of cross this stone floor that disappears and so you have to imagine it being there (or pretend that it’s not not-there). Taylor (WTF) helps me get across when the floor disappears, he grabs my shirtneck and just fucking hauls ass across. There’s a teller i recognise but she avoids me and i learn to ignore the floor so i can walk on the air above the water OK and she stops ignoring me then, i leave the bank area and Cookie’s there and we’re both ‘assigned’ to this guy, short skinny mustache, and cook wants to write a letter to the living he left behind and this gets me thinking about my wife & son and I want to write them a letter too. cook and i bullshit our way into the real world with mustacheguy, a breakfast joint next to a real bank with post office. cookie distracts and i mail the letters and just as we’re getting found out i wake

in a big megamart warehouse, like a costco or super walmart and i am running around trying to find and get my guitar from Los but it’s still being fixed so i just wind up taking his Jackson (with a dinky neck) or maybe custom Ibanez instead

i am in kentucky, driving in a fucking van, heading to a folk gig just me and my acoustic guitar which is not my current acoustic which is a cutaway but rather a dreadnought and i run into Little Trouble Girl who tells me she blew her boss, telling me “i guess those lap dance lessons paid off” and a coquetish look which is totally unlike her (because she has strong moral objections to boss/employee hanky panky) and then i run into the twins (i think shawn? i don’t remember) who offer me a guitarist gig in their metal band and i tell them i’ll sit in but i still live in miami dudes so i can stop by but regular gigs here are bit of a bitch and the alarm goes off and i wake

there’s a house, concrete and a bit of grass i am outside between the house and the fence of the next house and there’s a bike chase and a car chase through what feels like the old church on westward or maybe the police station in VG and then there’s a diff house or diff aspect of same house feels dark dry kind of shack-like with rickety stairs etc and i leave and things happen i don’t remember now but walking down sidewalk on westward and suddenly b is there or mentioned and suddenly part pf the group we’re in? and she’s married or marrying this guy whose name is john buttersbtu (even in the dream i’m like “wtf is up with that name is it an anagram?” and i am fucking racking my brain going “what’s wrong with that name dammit”) and at some point with very minimal speaking i communicate w/ her that she’s not actually on my shit list anymore and we’re not buddy-buddy but at least the mood lightens in the dream and we all walk into a restaurant (or it could be Scoops the icecream joint) — doesn’t matter, we don’t order or eat or anything, all these places are just scenery mostly — and she tells me she’s been sick and i say yes i heard about the heart she says no no like throwing up and upset stomach sick all day and i say well shit maybe you have morning pregnancy i mean morning sickness (even in the dream i am a clutz and prone to spoonerisms) and cut to i am back at the shack but outside and leading to a different adjoining house whose interior feels japanese in it’s sparseness, but american in deisgn if that makes sense and there’s like an art show but filled to the brim with weapons and this feels coincidental until midgets (they look like children, but they are so not children) start a takeover coup thing and we’re just fucking running and it’s me, vij and two other dudes and we’re on foot and then acquire an suv and they drop me in my neighborhood and i’m walking the three blocks to my place when i notice i am by b’s house (i am standing by mailbox, letters say ‘john buttersbtu’ and ‘elizabeth buttersbtu’) and i am kinda weirded out that they live like 2 blocks from me and i think of our kids playing together AND THEN CUT straight back to the shop and she steps out and comes back w/ an ept and shaking her head ‘no’ and i say ‘well it usually takes like 6 weeks to even be able to tell on one of those, but they are like 99.999 accurate’ and she is both sad and relieved and i am a blank slate nothing showing and cut back to chase scene and i am sneaking into the shack so the evil pigmy midget kids don’t know i’m on to them or clue in to me being armed to the teeth and intent on fucking up their day and i am halfway up the shack house stairs (the whole house is basically room and then stairs-to-next-room, structurally unsound but securitywise easy to defend) and their plot can be unravelled by basically going to the last room and knocking out this transmitter thing and i am halfway through when they catch on and i’m in a room with just a couple of old people and i know the rest of the way is clear i just want to keep the position from being taken and i am by the door keeping them out and the old woman is offering me sweets from a bag and all i have to do is keep the door closed and those dudes are fucked no way in and i wake up

My father called me up last week, to tell me about a dream he’d had. My father and I have never spoken of dreams. There were french doors and they opened and Abuelo was there, with his big grin — we’ve all got it really it’s the mark of my family name really — and holding a little boy’s hand, he turned to my father and says “mira que se parece a ti cabezon”. My father was too shocked to say anything. Yesterday was all hectic and doctors and driving but in the end, everything was OK, and we got to hear the heartbeat again. tuntun-tuntun-tunun

apt. complex, i have been here before, in dreams, it feels like the one where that blonde curly haired chick eden dated for like 2 weeks (the one with the gay best friend) lived, with a shadow that was shaped like null set symbols [␀] and eden is there and we’re going somwhere else and there are other people, a group, we’re going to a party or just to have fun at the beach or something and then the complex is his folks’ place but they don’t live there anymore, just ed and he finally got all his stuff from V and the group i’m with stays outside and i walk in and ed always hates that but fuck there’s my fucking flanger pedal! and i look for the distortion pedal but cannot find it and i’m cold and cold and wake up uncovered.

1st dream, 630am: house flooding.

2nd dream, 1130am: first lucid dream in like, 13 years. First I was going down coral way in an office chair, kicking my way down coral way and each kick pushed me waaaaaay farther than it should have, and then on 12th but not really I hang a left and I realize it’s Valentine’s Day and I don’t give a fuck and am laughing and rolling down the street and then the sidewalk and then young punks in love and they are laughing and mocking me and I realize the chair thing is fucking stupid but wait that means this is a dream so I stop kicking and just will myself forward and then when that works just consciously tumble out of the chair forward and fly, but very slow, like flying through molasses and only a foot off the ground. finally I get traction and can kick it fast and hard and I realize I could be getting laid right here and now in my lucid dream, the phone rings and wakes me. cockblocked!

apartment bldg, behind brysons and over one, but not really – it feels like the apts in little havana, – overcast but not rainy, i am walking through the hallway and i am walking to get a tricycle (the huge adult ones like old people use like abuela gypsy used to have before she got frail before she died) so that i can get shit done because there’s a timetable and i need to go home and get stuff and then elsewhere and do stuff and do not want to be here because b is here and there she is in front of me back turned and smoking or trying to light a smoke fucking dammit like when you don’t want something to happen and there is happens and all of a sudden it’s fucking forgiveness dream wherein she is too proud and bitter and pissed and i am indifferent and this is getting her even more upset and i have fucking shit to do lady i need to go and you are making me sad — not sorrow, not grief, not even upset, just…hey, bummer man, — and there’s tony, indifferent or didn’t notice me or whatever but steadfastly Not My Concern and I am leaving and i suddenly have the fucking tricycle except now it’s a bike? and it’s that hot stillness before a storm and as i bike down the street the rain starts and i wake

trapaising house to house, 2nd story apt., bathroom flooding, bucket the water out, argue w/ her about the why, see Anonymous (with Guy Fawkes masks!) through kitchen/bathroom window and i place my hand against the window and say sorry i can’t go guys but never forget, landlord/lady comes to fix the now drained bathroom and i think they’re just going through my shit i dunno and i wake because the storm is scaring my dog.

If you see below, you’ll see the last two days I have had bizarre and unusual dreams. (Bizarre: STD? wtfbbqaolnet. unusual: a sadness dream). and so the last two days I have had cheese about an hour before sleep; brie and some french thing on the 17th and feta on the 18th.

So it turns out that different cheeses give you different dreams.

85% of females who ate Stilton had some of the most unusual dreams of the whole study. 65% of people eating Cheddar dreamt about celebrities, over 65% of participants eating Red Leicester revisited their schooldays, all female participants who ate British Brie had nice relaxing dreams whereas male participants had cryptic dreams, two thirds of all those who ate Lancashire had a dream about work and over half of Cheshire eaters had a dreamless sleep.

I think I’m going to try the brie and manchego tonight.

Speaking of food, I have fixed my tzatziki recipe for non-suckyness.

To wit, you will need:
1 container of greek yogurt*
1 container of sour cream
1 cucumber, large, seeded and chopped (or grated) however you like it. peeling optional.
4 cloves of garlic, minced (or chopped)
6 leaves of mint, rolled into a tube and chopped into tiny shreds
a sprig of dill, chopped into nothingness as well
1/2 teaspoon of lemon juice
pepper to taste

*regular plain yogurt strained in a cloth will work if you can’t get the greek stuff. strain for at least an hour, you want the consistency of the sour cream, so a fair amount of liquid needs to leave the yogurt.

mix all the non-cream stuff, mix the yogurt and cream, then mix the two mixes together. store and chill while you toast some flatbread (or pita) in the oven (or on the grill).

works well with falafel (quick and dirty: 1 can garbanzos, an onion and spices you like — grind together in a blender with a slice of white bread (or flour if you’ve got) until it’s a paste. add a bit of olive oil if you need to moisten it a bit. form into balls with two spoons and then fry. et viola.)