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I was in a bullfighting ring, sitting on a bench just below the stands. I had to cross a river to get there, so my clothes were wet. I realized I had a dry change of clothes, so I put a blanket over me and started changing. A group of people sat next to me, and a woman eased her way into the blanket and started giving me a handy. I was of two minds- this is wildly inappropriate, and this is quite amazing. She was sitting next to an older gentleman, who was either her husband or father. Either way, I decided it wasn’t the time or place, and politely asked her to stop.

I left the bullring, realizing I had a 12 mile walk home. I was carrying a heavy bag, and when I opened it to figure out what I should jettison, I saw a lot of things that had no business being there, but I knew I shouldn’t throw away- reams of paper, rolls of receipts, and such. Much of it was waterlogged from crossing the river. I put the bag over my shoulder and began the long walk home, realizing I had another long walk to work the next day.

Edit: I just remembered the part where I had my head on a ratty old pillow. It broke open and hundreds of daddy longlegs were crawling all over me in the dark. I kept swatting them away, but wasn’t terribly concerned because they don’t bite. I just kept swatting and tried to rest. Then I felt a bite. That’s when I woke up.

I went to Howe Gelb’s house. It wasn’t his actual house in Tucson’s Barrio district (I know what this house looks like because my friend used to be his neighbor), but a ramshackle house that resembled a two-story version of the house that I lived in with FM Tonyballzee in Flagstaff. The goal of my visit to Gelb was to deliver some arrowheads that he needed for an exhibition he was curating. There were a few people in the house who were clearly stoned out of their mind, and Gelb said “I wish they’d put as much emphasis on cleaning up after themselves as they do on getting high.” He asked if I’d like to hear some music he was working on for a movie soundtrack, and I listened to the piece on his stereo while digging around in my bag for the arrowheads. I had only brought a few bivalve sea fossils from the Cretaceous, and I apologized. He said it was ok to bring the arrowheads over next time I was out that way, and cut me a check for $200. I left and couldn’t cross the street because there was a massive flood in progress.

Lately I am dreaming a lot about planes crashing. Dunno, probably my brain telling me that it will crash and burn if I don't change my ways into the health. I am interpreting it like that.

I had such a great dream last night, I remember every fucking thing and detail from it, it was so awesome to be present in it completely. I rarely dream as I've been frying my brain with bad calories and alcoholic sugar for the past two years, more on than off.

This plane was flying really low and circling around my house, back in not Zagreb where I grew up. It was sooooo loud and frightening. And on the last pass it just goes down near my old house. Dust and fire everywhere, but my neighborhood gets out of it without a scratch. Next thing I know, my parent (which are both alive and well in this dream) are starting to pack us up to flee the hood as soon as possible. People are everywhere, and nowhere in the same time. My childhood friend is trying to put out the fire that has engulfed his whole house, but that's kerosene fire, there is no putting out of that with a bucket of water. And he's soooooo close to the fire and without a scratch or a burn. Fucking weird.

Next thing I know, we are at our grandmothers house with everyone alive that previously died (my grandmother and my aunt), looking out the window and seeing a lot of people with guns running the streets. Now there's an US Army convoy that has been deployed and there are a shit ton of trucks and tanks going somewhere in the opposite direction of that mentioned mob.

Now, I'm near the plane site and I am helping the firefighters put out the fire, with a half working hose and not really succeeding.

I wake up.

Fucking hell.