Posts about Dreams
July 24, 2007
Dream gig
I don't get to talk much music with my corporate crowd, but that doesn't mean I don't always think about it, even subconsciously when I'm asleep.
Last night I dreamt I had my soprano with me at some banker gathering, and someone urged me to play something, so I started playing the bass line to a mambo, and build from there. Before I knew it I had a nice arrangement worked up, and the bass player in the band at the gathering caught the changes, picked it up and let me deal with the melody.
I didn't know it while this was all happening, but I was actually playing "It's Only a Paper Moon," which was so disguised that I had no idea I was even playing it. I've never played that song as a mambo, or even heard it played as a mambo, but it worked out beautifully, and I woke up humming a nice mambo groove to get me moving in the morning.
July 10, 2007
Hoop dreams
I was playing guard for a college basketball team, and was the only white guy on the court. Besides that, I was 20 years older than everyone else, and the shortest guy by at least 6 inches. We had no fans, and the coach didn't seem to have any problem with a huffing puffing old guy struggling up and down the court. Actually no one seemed to notice. When I got the ball, I either shot or passed. When someone came barrelling towards me, I got in the way. Those were my basic survival skills in the NCAA.
Given this sudden new predicament in life, I realized that there was no way to run with the pack, so I did strange things that made the fans laugh. I'd pass to the refs. I'd trip over the bench spilling Gatorade all over the other team. I'd fall crotch first into the TV cameras.
People started coming out. Just to see the show. And the team started playing better. Best of all I could even touch the rim.
January 17, 2007
Jazz Festival
I was the only person at an obscure little downtown jazz club where they were having an avante garde jazz festival. I stood at the back of the club, and realized it was only like 8 feet wide, and 30 or so feet deep, about the size of a shipping container, except with wood floors, brick walls, a bar, and a stage at one end.
There was a black guy in a Sears Roebuck suit playing a pretty mean blues guitar. Or at least I thought it was a blues guitar. I walked up a bit closer and realized it was half of a bicycle frame wrapped over his shoulder like a tuba, and he was strumming the spokes, and using the cranks as a whammy bar. To change keys he would shift gears.
I'd never seen anything like that before, and when he finished his set, he clicked the rest of his bike together and got ready to ride off. I had to talk to this guy to figure out how he just what he did, so I caught him on the sidewalk.
"Hey man, that was some bizzare shit you just played. Where'd you come up with the idea of playing a bicycle like a blues guitar? How'd you get it to make any sound?"
"You know, I used to play the sax, but it was a drag carrying it to gigs across town on my bike, so I figured I'd just find a way to play my ride. Two in one sort of thing."
"That sort of makes sense I guess. So what's in that black briefcase sitting on the stage with you?"
He eyed me suspiciously. "You a cop?"
"Nope."
"You playing the festival?"
"Nope."
"Ok, I guess it doesn't matter then. I'll tell you since you look like an honest enough cat. It's a DAT player and some speakers."
"You mean you use that as your backup band, right?"
"Dude, you think I could actually play that shit on a bicycle wheel? I need that tape to cover for me, and make people think I'm really playing that shit. That's how I get paid. I record it all from a CD, then act like I'm playing it. This is avante garde, man, you think anyone pays for avante garde unless you got a gimmick?"
Then he got on his instrument and rode off.
January 11, 2007
74 mph backwards
I woke up all pissed off because I got a ticket in my sleep.
I was driving a mini van filled with friends into a big parking lot with a malfunctioning traffic light in the middle. It was apparent we'd be stuck forever, so I put the van in reverse, and was backing out of the parking lot back to the street. Suddenly a cop car pulls in behind me, and I slam on the brakes, just missing it by an inch. I hop out of the van yelling, "Hey! What are you doing? We're trying to get out of here."
The cop, a pretty blonde with short hair, hands me a radar print out. "My gun says you were travelling 74mph."
"Yeah right, in reverse in a parking lot. Your gun is wrong."
I take the print out from her hand and examine it like a Chinese person looking at a food bill. It's all in Chinese. "So where's the license number? How do I know this is even my car?"
"I saw you. The gun never lies. That was some fancy driving."
"Oh come on. You must be kidding. How could I possibly go 74mph backwards in this van? I've travelled less than 100 meters. You're telling me that this mini van is faster than a Porsche off the line, in reverse, filled with people, in a parking lot?"
"74 mph."
I then go into the physics of the impossibility of getting this van moving that fast in 100 meters. She is not interested at all. She writes out the rest of the ticket and hands it to me.
My first dream ticket.
December 18, 2006
The cigarette and the hand
I was awakened by the smell of cigarettes. This was unsettling to my subconscious since my flatmate was in Shanghai, and neither of us smoked. So I jerked wide awake and looked around. At the foot of my bed next to my foot was a hand sticking out of my mattress, with a burning cigarette in it. Holy shit!
I leaped out of bed, heart racing, wondering what to do. So I batted the cig out of the hand and yanked as hard as I could. First came an arm, then a shoulder, then an entire body. The thing I pulled out was ghastly. Completely white and plasticky with no features except two eyes and a nose, covered in little droplets of blood. No discernable mouth at all. Cold deep blue eyes. Kind of like looking into the eyes of a rabbit.
I ran out of the room and noticed hands sticking up all over the living room. So I ran and pulled all of them out of the floor like large human-esque weeds. Some were larger, some smaller, and you could discern that some were children, some women. Damn! I pulled up a whole family of ghostly things. Now there were all standing there in my apartment looking at me.
The one I pulled up first slides over and bites me in the arm. Suddenly I see a flash of all sorts of terrible unsettling visions, and I somehow understand. He's communicating with me. What I saw was his life.
I open the door, light a candle, and wish them on their way, saying "I'm sorry for what happened, but you can't stay here. You have to go." They leave, and I wake up.
April 09, 2006
The Bikini Club
I had this funny dream last night that I think would make a good B-movie comedy. Someday when I get around to it, I'll try to write a treatment of it.
Two freshmen girls meet in their dorm. They're roommates. The room is a small cramped horrible place to live. Noisy, bunk beds, tiny desks, flourescent light, right next to the bathrooms, with a great view of the parking lot trash dumpster next to the Science building.
They try everything they can to spruce the place up, from Tiki motifs to Laura Ashley. They realize it's impossible, and become despondent and depressed until one day the girls walk by a vacant apartment in the perfect location, just steps away from the main street where all the cool restaurants are. It's cheap, so they move in. It's a small studio on the second floor of an old building overlooking a traffic intersection. For them, it feels like Soho, life in the big city, but the Walk/Stop sign brightens up their entire room 24 hrs a day, driving them crazy. Still they are happy because they have their first place. That is until one day, they realize why the apartment was available. Anyone walking at the right spot past their place can look directly in on them. In their underwear after a shower, they discover a long line of peepers outside. They begin wearing trench coats and sunglasses so no one on campus recognizes them.
The girls hear that if they join a sorority, they can get a room in a nice big house near campus. They join the sorority, move in. the room is small but life is a lot nicer, except for the sorority sisters.
One day, the handsome guy on campus happens to walk by, and one of the girls is smitten. She schemes for a way to ask him out on a date. He apparently is a big deal Heisman trophy winning football player, who never says a word. The roommate (more adventurous) spots him on campus, walks up to him, says "My roommate is totally in love with you and wants to ask you out for lunch. Can you come to our sorority house to meet her?" He nods "Sure. When?" The sorority house is buzzing with activity over the famous visitor, while the smitten one makes her favorite lunch - a cold Japanese noodle salad.
Handsome guy arrives with two other people, His manager, an obnoxious NY suit-bitch, and his agent, a doting fumbling sweater-geek. He forgot to mention that they follow him wherever he goes in case Nike or Adidas try to catch him without their involvement.
After some uncomfortable small talk (life on campus, dorms, football) lunch is finally served. Handsome guy can't use chopsticks, the managers don't want his to spill on his outfit (photo session later), he doesn't want to disappoint his blind date, and he slops through his noodles, making a huge mess.
On the way out after the disasterous meeting, handsome guy mentions that he he has a job on the local animal refuge, and they should stop by sometime.
The next week, the girls go out to the animal refuge, which they though would be like a dog pound, but turns out to be a huge ranch housing all the local wildlife (cougars, horses, eagles, skunks, racoons, ground hogs, porcupines, deer, etc) from the nearby mountains. Handsome guy is driving a Universal Studios type go cart, leading a group of Chinese tourists around the ranch. He speaks in an Australian accent, eloquently describing all the local animals and foliage.
The girls are shocked. He speaks! Where did he get that accent? Handsome guy drives over after the tour, and explains that Chinese like to think that he's like the Croc Guy on TV, so he uses his fake Australian accent to lead the tour. He turns out the be an awesome cool guy. The girls find out that he hated living with all the stupid jocks in the dorm, and how back home, he lived on a farm, so when he heard about this job, he took it and moved out on the ranch. The reason he never talks on campus is because he talks 4 hours a day leading tour groups and is exhausted.
As they walk around the ranch, they pass some small houses, and Handsome guy says that they are short staffed, and if they wanted a job taking care of the animals, they could also live out on the ranch in their own ranch bungaloo.
The next day they move, and life gets better. Ranch life turns out to be a huge party. Cute guys, great view, bad grades. The Dean has warned them about academic suspension, but the girls have become very good at other things - fixing things up around the ranch, fences, doors, windows, roofs, flooring, and this catches the eye of a local contractor. He asks the girls would they like to have a better paying job, and live in a bigger place - for free. All they have to do is fix up the house for him. The girls look at each other. Sure.
Over the next couple of years, the girls have fixed up one place after another for the contractor. They have saved up over $200,000. They invest this into a run down house, fix it up, and turn it over. They double their money. They begin to do this over and over, making a fortune in the real estate market, while barely making their grades.
Their wild parties and bad grades eventually gets them called into the Dean's office. While being reprimanded, one of the girls spots a photo of a beautiful mansion, and remarks how the house would be worth at least $4.5 million on the current market. The Dean is shocked, and asks why she would say that. This is his house, he points out, and if anyone knew the value of it, he would. He grew up in that house, and now it was on the market for $2.3 million. She was out of her mind. Ha, $4.5 million! No wonder her grades were so bad, she was terrible with math.
She convinces him that the house would be worth $4.5 million if he would let them make some property improvements. He thinks she's crazy. Just then his secretary walks in and whispers to him, "They more than doubled the value of the house I just sold. I think they know what they're talking about..."
A deal is stuck. They make the improvements, and if the house sells, they graduate summa cum laude. If not, goodbye college career.
The girls get into action, materials are delivered, the workman arrive (the football team including Handsome guy). They begin to tear the place apart, install a pool, a jacuzzi, redo the windows, the roof, the landscaping...The Dean stops by occasionally to witness the progress. A disaster. Loud music. Wild parties. Bikinis. Chaos.
Right before graduation, the house is finally finished, and yes, sold for $4.5 million. The Dean is surprised, but ecstatic. He happily pockets the check, and moves into a smaller place next door. He signs the paperwork, and the girls graduate top of their class to the astonishment of everyone, and the new owners of the house move in.
Epilogue: The Dean is tossing and turning in bed because of the loud music coming from the new neighbors. He goes over to investigate. It's a club, run by the girls. They were the buyers! They turned the property into the hottest club in town. The Bikini Club. It's making a fortune, and was recently put on market for $8.5 million.
February 09, 2006
First band in space
Our whole band was selected for the first "band in space" progam sponsored by NASA. Essentially what we had to do was give up a few years of our lives while living in a spaceborn mobile home on it's way to some far corner of the solar system. The concept was to monitor the effects of space on our musical works and lives.
It essentially turned into a two year party with instruments and weird gravitational forces. The biggest issue we had was that the gravity machine in our "mobile home" was incorrectly set up. Instead of having gravity on the floor, which would be normal, and we could do normal things like brush our teeth, shower, cook, walk around on the carpet, etc., the gravity was set up the be one of the four walls. So we essentially did the two year progam living sideways.
Being jazz musicians, we found this mildly amusing, and adjusted accordingly, setting up the entire mobile home sideways, so we were walking on the windows, and pissing sideways into the toilet hanging on the wall. Cooking was an entirely new experience as the stove was now jutting out of the wall, and the burners facing us. Showers were hilarious, as you had to jump up into the shower sideways.
Anyways, after two years in space, we finished the program, recorded a couple of great "spacy" albums, and wrapped up back on the ground with extensive physical and pychological testing.
Then they let us go.
Unfortunately, the sideways gravity thing never went away, and now our internal gravity was skewed, so that we couldn't walk on the ground anymore. Our ground was off 90 degrees. The weirder thing was that the our gravity was now based on the visual proximity of the horizon. For some reason, the visible sky always had to be the the right, not above.
January 30, 2006
Wonder what this means?
I'm standing at the bus stop, trying to get somewhere, but all the busses keep driving past. Nothing works. Finally another larger bus approaches, but no one makes an effort to wave it down, so I run out into the street and wave my hands frantically. Amazing, it pulls over. I hop on, look around and realize it's a bus filled with retards. They are all wearing multi colored striped polo shirts. (I'm also wearing a multi colored striped polo shirt.) I wonder if I should get off, but the bus has already sped up. Oh well. What the hell. At least it's going somewhere... I ask the driver, "Are you going to Taipei Main Station?" "Yup, we sure are mister!" he replies. Well at least I can get there, and transfer. I reach into my pocket for my wallet. Gone. Damn. I dig into my pants pocket and try to fish out some coins. My hand comes up filled with foreign nickels and quarters. Damn. I'm never going to get off this bus. I realize I have to improvise quick, so I put a Canadian quarter and a Cayman Island nickle into the fare machine, and...wake up.
July 30, 2005
The Cream
I was visiting friends back in the US, when one of their teenage kids yells out, "Hey Uncle Corbs, check this out!" He'd been surfing around Google on his wall-sized monitor. Google now had search rights to 100s of different sectors in the solar system, so you can imagine the amount of information (and junk) which was now available.
"This is cool! It's some ancient formula for making carbon atoms reverse date!"
I thought about that for a second. Sounded like a possible business plan. "Where's that from?" I asked.
"Says here, some where in Sector 31, Gamma District, Planet Vesuvius."
"Where the hell is that?"
"Not too far, about 80 years away by light craft."
"So that must mean no copyrights..." I said. I cracked my knuckles, sat down at the keyboard, and started digging deeper.
"Colin, I knew you were a smart kid."
Colin was my old friend Christopher's son, and for him there was no delineation between digital and anything else. His generation lived Star Trek, while we just watched it on TV. I told him to always keep a look out for cool stuff that we could make some money off of. There were too many ideas out there, I told him. We just needed one to score it big.
Somewhere in the vaults of a patent library on Vesuvius, hundreds of years ago, someone had engineered a formula that reversed aged carbon molecules.
People and animals were made of carbon, so theoretically, applying some of this formula on a living being would make them younger... The thought of this had me up for weeks, trying to dig through the weird Vesuvius patent library to get the actual equations. Vesuviun math and chemical mapping were also different than our's so I had to use endless combinations of language convertors, math filters, and periodic table convertors to generate a readable and usable Earth-like formula. The Bablefish Translator did a pretty good job.
Finally I had it. It looked like this:
Molecular Formula: C11H12O
Molecular Weight: 160.215
IUPAC Name: 2-Ethylindan-1-one
CAS Number: 22351-56-0
NMRShiftDB: 20292
Spectrometer: Vesuvian Mercury 200 MHz
Solvent: CDCl3
Sample Concentration: Unknown
After weeks in a lab, we finally ended up with a kind of white lotion which we tried rubbing on practically everything. It worked on auto dents, restoring them to pre-dent perfection. It worked on restoring any type of leather, fabric, window, or wall. Some adventurous men rubbed it on their penises. Just a little, and the penis was again full of teen aged urgency. A little too much, and some guys missed the mark, restoring their penises to tiny little baby penises. They'd have to wait 15+ years for a usable penis again. Women all wanted to rub a bit of cream on their neck lines and around their eyes. Some tried it on their breasts and bottoms. It worked amazingly. Our middle aged friend's circle were suddenly filled with women who were 40+ but looked like they were nineteen. It was sometimes very unsettling. People loved it.
We rubbed the lotion on a variety of animals as well. Dogs were transformed into pups, birds into chicks, rabbits into bunnies.
I was about to go public with this incredible new "Anti-aging cream," when I received a disturbing cease and desist letter via email. It was addressed to my Earth IP, and written in binary. Someone/thing on Vesuvius had found out about our patent library raiding, tracked my IP, and followed up with a cryptic letter:
010001010110000101110010011101000110100000100000010101000110100001
101001011001010110011000111010000011010000101000001101000010100101
100101101111011101010010000001100001011100100110010100100000011001
100110111101110010011001010111011101100001011100100110111001100101
011001000010000001101110011011110111010000100000011101000110111100
100000011101010111001101100101001000000110110101111001001000000111
000001100001011101000110010101101110011101000110010101100100001000
000110100101101110011101100110010101101110011101000110100101101111
011011100010111000100000010000110110111101101110011100110110010101
110001011101010110010101101110011000110110010101110011001000000111
011101101001011011000110110000100000011000100110010100100000011100
110110010101110110011001010111001001100101001011100000110100001010
000011010000101001000010011011000110000101110100011010000110111101
101110001000000101011001110010011010010110010001101011011001010111
00100110110101101001011000110000110100001010
Binary Translation:
Earth Thief:
You are forewarned not to use my patented invention. Consequences will be severe.
Blathon Vridkermic
This was a shocker. "How far away did you say Vesuvius was?" I asked Colin. Of course I hadn't mentioned this to his parents yet.
"About 80 years by light craft," he said.
"Is there anything faster than that," I asked.
"Not on Earth."
"But could there be, somewhere?"
"I dunno, maybe, but how could we possibly know?"
This was not a good thing. I'd apparently pissed off someone on Vesuvius, who knew where I was, and the last thing I wanted was a pissed off Vesuvian, whatever they looked like, to knock on my front door. I could make billions with this new cream, and now I was a bit scared.
Next step was of course to Google "Blathon Vridkermic." What I dug up was not pretty. Blathon Vridkermic had just been released after 300 years on a Vesuvian penal colony.
And he looked like this.
A little more research on "Vesuvius" and "Blathon Vridkermic" revealed some scary facts. First, Vesuvians were an advanced scientific and farming race which survived on the enzymes in blood products. They were essentially what we called vampires. Vegetation could no longer grow on their planet due to some solar flares, therefore they couldn't farm animals any longer. In order to survive, they were forced to create synthetic food sources.
Second, Blathon Vridkermic was apparently a pretty smart guy, and he didn't like eating fake food chips. He wanted good old blood, and an obvious leap was to look around the galaxy for cheap blood sources. Earth was only 80 years away. Since Vesuvians lived a long time 80 years wasn't a problem. So he apparently started coming to Earth to gather up hundreds of hapless humans to ship back to Vesuvius so they farm us and feed off of our blood. His first trip didn't work out too well since Blathon Vridkermic didn't know that humans only lived about 80 years. They all died. His second trip involved cryogenics, which was complicated and costly, and it turned out that humans didn't thaw out very well. They all died too.
Blathon Vridkermic apparently was getting very tired of making wasted 160 year long trips to the supermarket, so he sat in his lab and thought the problem through, and deduced that since humans were essentially carbon byproducts which had a shelf life of about 80 years, he needed to find a way to reverse the aging of carbon so that a load of humans could keep fresh for 80 years while shipped to Vesuvius. Apparenly Blathon Vridkermic's plan was to come to Earth, pick up a load of humans, rub them down with the cream, turn them into little babies, then pack them off for the 80 year trip back. I'm sure along the way he would keep rubbing them down with reverse carbon cream every 20 years or so to keep them fresh.
It turned out that trafficking humans on Vesuvius is illegal, and Blathon Vridkermic was arrested and sentenced to 300 years in a penal colony. He never actually got a chance to use his formula. This was the same formula Colin had found in the Vesuvian patent library, the formula I had produced and was about to make billions off of.
The problem now was, in 300 years, the Vesuvians probably figured out a lot faster way to travel around the galaxy, and it was my guess that Blathon Vridkermic was probably on his way back to Earth to herd up some humans. And now he had my email address.
Then I woke up.
June 21, 2005
Avril goes to college
Last night for some reason record company execs called and asked me to pick up Avril Lavigne and escort her around a small college town. Apparently she was thinking of going back to school, and it was my job to help her find a suitable apartment.
So here we were rambling around this town, looking at "For Rent" signs while she told me all the problems with her band, and her issues with her boyfriend(s).
She didn't want some lavish rock star hut, but was hoping to dye her hair brown and blend into coed life unnoticed in a standard issue college pad.
It started snowing, we had a couple of arguments, saw a few places, and ended up the evening laughing and eating hot pretzels from a pretzel vendor on the street.
November 08, 2004
The dentist
Not a sweet dream night.
I went to the dentist because of my toothache. He gives me the long needle shot, and in my drugged daze, under the little reflective mirror, I see him take out a small circular saw. I cringe and pass out.
When I wake up, I realize that he has cut off my left hand, neatly bandaging the stub where my wrist used to be.
I was more bummed that I wouldn't be playing the sax again, then the fact I had lost a hand.
September 01, 2004
Not exactly Spiderman
I try to sleep, but this is what happens...
It was night and I was driving a Land Rover through the city. What the hell was that? I slammed into something and careened off onto a different unfamiliar road. The road was in a section of town I hadn't been to before, and was run down, with burnt out cars littering the streets. It came out of nowhere again and spun the car around. I couldn't believe it. It was a giant 3-story tall spider. I gunned the engine, and thought I could out maneuver it. The speed finally got the best of me and I rolled my Land Rover over. A few moments later, I see the hulk of the spider looming over the car. At least I'm safe inside the car I tell myself.
Wrong. The spider slams one it's fangs through the window and sprays me with some horrible poisonous gook. I pass out...
...and awaken in a mechanized and sterile people food processing plant, guarded by armed guards. I'm paralyzed, and dangling 15 feet above the floor from a magnetic disk 12 inches round connected to my ass. It's some sci-fi horror movie come true. People are being processed like a modern meat packing plant. My hands and feet are bound with giant plastic garbage bag style closers, and I'm unable to move. I am very flexible though, and can touch my toes easily. Apparently the poison tenderized me. A long look around and I see hundreds of balls of processed people, bound, and wrapped in some sort of embryonic shrink wrap, stacked up on giant stainless steel trays. A giant modern refrigerator for a giant spider.
The guards speak. "Put him over there. Section C3-7, up there next to Annie." I am hoisted towards a section of people unwrapped, and sitting cross-legged in rows on a giant stainless steel rack. Annie turns out to be a fairly attractive woman about 30, athletic, smart, with dark hair.
She's wearing shorts and a pair of sneakers, and other than the fact that we're all about to be spider food, looks like someone from San Francisco, who can drive a stick shift VW.
They hoist me down, and one of the guards yells up at Annie. "Hey baby, can you wear cut-offs next time? I really like you in cut-offs."
"Oh fuck off," yells Annie.
The guards laugh, and I fall limply to the stainless steel shelf.
"What is this place?" I ask.
"Welcome to hell," Annie says. "We're new arrivals. Fresh meat. Unlike those guys over there." She points towards the shrinked wrapped people. You can vaguely see their features and the clothes they wear under the translucent wrap. They do not move. They look puffy.
"They keep us here until they have more space on that rack. We just sit here. I've been here for 3 months. Ralph, under us here, has been here for a year."
She bangs on the steel flooring, "Hey Ralph, we have a newbie."
"Cool. What's his name?" Ralph yells back.
"Corbett." I tell them. "I was attacked in my car, crashed it, and now am here."
"Weren't we all," sighs Annie. "I used to have a little kid and a husband. Ralph was a doctor. Now we just sit on this fucking steel plate day afer day, waiting to get eaten."
May 27, 2004
I couldn't stop...
I was at a dinner party with a bunch of well dressed fashionable 30 somethings. A good mix of Chinese and foreigners. It was a nice place, all white, with about 20 people sitting around a big white table. The hostess had done a great job, but when one guest bit into the salad, she started be-bopping like Dizzy Gillespie, which I thought was way cool. Each dish apparently had some musical connotation. The other guests looked a little stunned. I guess they had no musical juice in their bodies, so they didn't bop. They just ate. I bit into a tangy Cuban shrimp dish, and immediately snapped to my feet like a marionette, and started shashaying around the table. I couldn't stop. A funky rhumba was creeping out of my bones. Some woman was coming from the kitchen, so I grabbed her, and started dancing with her very Desi Arnaz like, and spun and dipped and shook all the way to the kitchen, where I said, "Damn, that was some good shrimp," and gulped down two Vodka Tonics to cool the steaming latino inside. My impromptu dance partner looked a bit flustered, and the guests thought I was nuts, but the be-bopper and I had a moment of eye contact which said "I can't wait to try the next dish."
January 14, 2004
Spiritual mafia
I was in somewhere in Queens and was busy rolling up a dead body in a big Persian rug. The guy was pretty heavy, and I was sweating a lot trying to hold him all together with black garbage bags and duct tape.
I threw the rolled up dead guy over my shoulder and took him down the elevator to the dumpsters while Irene held the door. His head kept flopping back and forth, and banging against the elevator wall. When we got out of the elevator, I rolled him down the stairs, and sort of cringed as he made mushing sounds each time he cracked his head or broke an arm. Then I managed to get him up into the dumpster.
I looked over at Irene, and said "Why don't we do this at night like they do in the movies?" She said, "That'd be too obvious. This way it looks like we're throwing away an old rug. Who would be crazy enough to dispose of a body in broad daylight?"
This seemed to make a lot of sense.
Over the next few weeks, I got pretty good wrapping, rolling, and tossing these dead guys into the dumpster. One day I got a bit worried because we didn't have a carpet to roll the new guy up in, so I just rolled him up in duct tape and stuck him in the black bags. This wasn't the best solution because you could sort of see the shape of his head, where his eyes and nose were, the shape of his shoulders, and also his knees would buckle a lot. I had him sort of leaning against the elevator wall, while I propped my back against him, when several old ladies got in. They looked at me strangely, but I just politely smiled and nodded. Meanwhile, the guy's head starts flopping around. I say, "This damned carpet is so old. Can't wait to get a new one. I give Irene a worried look, and the ladies get off at the lobby. We continue down to the dumpster level.
"Irene, I've been meaning to ask you this for a long time now. Why the hell are we killing these people and dumping their bodies into dumpsters all over the city? This can't be right. What if we get caught?"
She says to me matter of factly, "Well, you know the mafia right? They whack you if you screw them. Fenced goods, money, drugs, diamonds. It's their way of dealing with the people who commit some kind of material offence against them. Those people have taken something away from the mafia, so they wind up dead. What we're doing is similar, but for much different reasons. We're the spiritual mafia. The people we whack deserve it because they've done some awful spiritual injustice to us. They've tried to take away a part of our spiritual well being and decency. These are people who are unkind, dishonest, cheap, and rude. They don't care about anything but themselves. They lie, they use people around them, and they are always out for their own personal gain at the expense of others. Don't you feel better knowing you'll never have to see these people again? They're out of everyone's lives for good now."
This seemed to make a lot of sense too, I realized, as I walked back to the apartment for my next load.
January 02, 2004
The switch
Exhaustion makes for interesting dreams...
I was dating this nice blonde co-ed, a Kappa-Southern-California-yellow-VW-Beetle-convertable-type of girl, who looked pretty much like most cute blonde co-eds do. I think she was going to USC and studying Psychology. The relationship consisted of concerts, parties, making out, and discussions about her issues. That was all pretty OK. I was something like 27. She was 21.
There was another guy, Mitch, who was dating her twin sister. Twin sister was cute too, but into different things. She had a couple of tattoos, died her hair black, studied pagan religions, and followed indie bands around LA.
They lived in this huge 70's style white ranch home overlooking Hollywood Hills, and every once in a while, I'd run into Mitch watching TV or getting something from the fridge. So we talked, hung out a couple of times, and eventually became friends. The sisters never talked to each other, and communicated by leaving small stick-up messages next to the phone.
One day Mitch calls me, and asks me to pick up his girl [indie twin] after work, so she could get a ride home. Apparently he had promised to pick her up, but was still out somewhere with friends, and wasn't going to make it. So I wait until like 2am in front of some LA bar to pick her up, then drove her home. We talk a bit on the 30 minute ride to her house. This is the first time I've really talked to her. She's actually very cool and interesting. I drop her off, go in to say hi to her sister, who's not there, we chat some more waiting for Mitch, and to make a long story short, we end up hooking up. I spend the night rockin' indie twin.
The next morning, I'm heading out early when I run into Mitch in the kitchen. He looks a little surprised, and I realize that he'd been out with my girl [sorority twin] all night. He seems pretty embarassed and sheepish until he realizes that I had been sleeping with his girlfriend. There's a moment of tension, and then we laugh. We had just done a switch.
We know the girls would never go for this arrangement, so we decide on the spot to just keep this little mix up between us. He continues dating indie twin and I continue dating sorority twin, but we both still maintain illicit relationships with each other's girlfriend. This way, everyone is happy, we're both in heaven, and each sister is happy thinking she's duping the other.
This is all fine until one day mom comes back from some extended work/holiday. Mom is a high powered CEO for a Fortune 500 company, divorced, and figures the girls can take care of themselves. Mom asks the girls to put together a dinner for their current boyfriends. So Mitch and I are invited to a homestyle meet the parent kind of dinner. Dinner is conservative, the girls glare at each other, and mom seems happy to be back home.
After dinner Mitch and indie twin head out to a concert, sorority twin says she has some important sorority meeting and takes off, leaving me helping mom clean up the dinner. Mom is called Rachel I find out. She asks me about the girls, what I do [I'm some sort of financially independent writer apparently], and I ask her about her company, and how she deals with the presure of having twins and running a huge business. I help finish cleaning up, thank her for her hospitality, and head back to my apartment.
The dream ends a few months later with me picking up Rachel from the airport. We are obviously a close couple now. I kiss her deeply and she wraps her arms around me. I ask her about her trip, she tells me she's exhausted and wants to go home. We get into a car and I drive away.
November 29, 2003
Ex-male lover?!
I had this disturbing and dark dream which I hope doesn't represent my inner psyche. Maybe it was something I ate...
For some reason, I was travelling in Europe..Amsterdam I think, because all the houses were skewed, and I was visiting my ex lover, who happened to be an aging older man in his late 50's. Over coffee he was telling me about his new love, a woman, who was the "real thing" in his life, his freedom, etc. I was somehow happy for this old guy, and was trying to figure out when and where in my life I had ever had this unusual relationship, when we suddenly appear at his lady's front door: a white three-story brick house. Knock knock, who's there, she answers. Oh my gawd....She's a mutant cross between Homer Simpson and an Oompa Loompa [midget Willy Wonka people for those of you wondering]. I gasp, look back at my ex, then back at the Oompa. All the facial and body hair...and lipstick, and a hairdo...and an apron...it's grotesque, but I manage a simple "Hi there, nice place," and am invited in. In the foyer, I notice that they are remarkably alike, and have the sneaking suspicion that she is not a she, but rather a he. So there I am, stuck in this uncomfortable dream, in this big house with these two aging male lovers, one of whom is a hairy Homer Simpson housewife. We climb up the stairs to the sitting room and the ex says, "Isn't she great? I'm so happy now." Before we get to the top of the stairs, I switch the channel into another dream where I'm at a business party and the host calls up a prostitute who turns into a music teacher who undresses and gives me a lesson on advanced jazz theory before turning into a Victoria Secret model and giving me a lesson on other things.
November 23, 2003
The drop
Irene and I got into JFK on the last flight from Taiwan, which meant arriving at like 2am. We got a taxi, gave our address, and promply passed out. The driver yells at us that we're there, we pay, and drag our roll along bag out of the trunk. Then the taxi screeches away down the street. We are sort of awake by now, look around, and that's when we realize we're not home, but dumped off in some deserted section of Brooklyn. There are no cars on the street, only a few houses, most boarded up, and just a few steetlights. We realize at the same exact time that we're really in a dangerous situation, and without a word start hauling ass to the nearest big intersection which feels like it would be about half a mile away. While we're pulling along our bag, frantically looking around to see when the crack heads would appear, thoughts are flying through my head. "Can I remember how to hotwire a car?" "What if we ran to one of these houses and just started pounding on the door and screaming?" "What happens when we get to the street?" "Should I try to break into on of these cars and hide on the floor until morning?" "How much money do I have on me?" I say something to Irene in Chinese, and she gives me that we-are-so-fucked-don't-say-a-goddamned-word look, and I know that she is just trying to hold it together too. Just then, we see another few people also dragging bags along, apparently screwed by the same scam. There's a Japanese guy in a tux. He'll be the first to go. Then an Indian couple, and some people from Latin America. We all sort of group together in the middle of the street, walking as fast as possible, nobody uttering a word. A few minutes later there are 2-3 guys following us at a leisurely pace. Then a few more. Eventually there are about 8 scary looking guys walking on all sides of us. The guy closest to me reaches into his back pocket pulls out a brass buck knife and seconds later has me backed up to a car with the knife point digging into my appendix. I'm wondering if this will be quick, or will there be some drama involved. If I try to grab the knife, will it create more trouble? I look right into his grey glassy eyes. He's a white guy about 34, and has the look of a chained dog about to attack. He'll cut me open just because he can. I'm wondering if I can remember how to make some little aikido move, break his wrist, and gouge his eye out. Would these other guys run away, or would I be ensuring my immediate death. I say in a whisper, "Hold on just a sec, man. We can figure this out. We just got off the plane, there's not much on us..." Then I see three guys cornering Irene, and I'm thinking this is very very bad. I can't run, I can't protect Irene, and there is no bargaining in this kind of situation. We just have to see where it will lead...then I wake up.
August 04, 2003
George and Mary
[Prelude]
There's this really stupid bank commercial here from Cosmos Bank featuring two cartoon characters, George & Mary. Cosmos was the first bank to come out with a cash card about 3 years ago, and you always see George and Mary cut outs at the front door, or on billboards, or worse yet, the George and Mary musical theme song TV commercial. It's like Cats meets Jetsons kind of music.
[Dream]
The bank president calls me up. "My god, what do we do?"
"I don't know, what do you normally do?" I reply.
"George has died!"
"Oh that's terrible."
"Now Mary is all alone."
"My condolences. She'll manage."
He sounds panicked. For good reason. How do you explain the death of a cartoon character to the millions of people using their cash cards?
"But how do you promote 'George & Mary' cards when there is no George?" the bank president asks.
"Maybe your marketing people can do a campaign where Mary gets a boyfriend," I offer. "Jack & Mary. Bob & Mary. Steven & Mary. Take your pick."
"But people will be confused. We all could identify with George. He was why people focused on Mary."
"Dude, he's a dead cartoon figure. People will get over it."
Then I hung up and went back to sleep.
June 29, 2003
The Steely Dan CD
I heard that there was a new Steely Dan CD out, so Irene and I stopped by a nice little Marin County record store to pick it up. I picked up a copy from the new arrivals rack, and went over to the cashier to pay. A cute girl in a flower dress behind the counter asked me if I wanted the special edition package, and showed me a nice recycled paper gift wrapped box set with a wax heart on the outside. I thought that would be different for a change so I told her ok, and waited while she folded out a little paper box, then lit a candle, and dripped hot wax over it to create a little drawing on the outside. "Wow, you guys are pretty crafty," I told her as she finished up the final touches.
"Yes, we believe in store participation to help a record sell," she smiled back.
"That's a great idea," I said taking the CD-in-recycled-paper-box-with-wax-drippings. "How much in all?"
"That'll be $900."
"Uh, what? $900?"
"Yes, it's the special edition package."
"$900? You have to out of your mind!"
"Excuse me sir?" she looked like I had just slapped her.
Then Irene whispered into my ear, "Honey, if you want it, just hurry up and buy it. People are waiting."
"But Jesus Christ, it's $900!" I explained.
"So only buy one," she said, not getting the point.
I looked back at the counter girl, then at her associates who were now all giving me the evil bad-customer-from-hell eye.
The seconds passed.
"No way! This is some bizarre scam. I'm not buying into this. This is wrong!"
"But the profits go to help Steely Dan," the girl said, her face reddening. She couldn't understand what was wrong. "Piracy is a tremendous issue these days. How can artists survive without a profit? Besides, I've already boxed it for you. You have to buy it."
"You're insane. There's no way I'm paying $900 for a CD in recycled paper with wax drippings. Forget it!"
Then a tough looking gay guy in a black turtle neck with sideburns and Elvis Costello glasses next to her says, "Man, you better just buy this CD now. She put all that hard work into the custom work. Don't fuck with us."
I looked around at all the grumpy people lined up behind me, each holding their $900 CDs in their hands.
This was wrong. All wrong.
Then I woke up.
May 15, 2003
Being Faye Wong
Full concert stage with about 10,000 people at HK stadium. It was a nice white wrap-around stage with the band in the middle, and a large monitor screen hanging from the domed ceiling. A sound tech handed me a mic, and I stepped out into the glaring lights.
But I was Faye Wong, meaning I was the top female Chinese singer, and my mic wasn't on. "Can you hear me?" I asked the crowd in Japanese for some unknown reason. "If you can hear me, show me one finger, if not, show me four!" Since no one could hear me, and if they could, they wouldn't understand Japanese, so I was wondering why I even asked that question. Then I pointed to the mixing console and gave him a penetrating I-am-a-top-female-superstar-and-you-better-get-this-damned-thing-working-now-asshole look, and eventually some sound came on. The band immediately started our first number, but since I was not really Faye Wong, I didn't know the song, and I was curious if I could even sing, let alone speak in Chinese. "Thanks for coming tonight!" I beamed at the crowd in perfect Faye Wong Beijing Chinese. "You all mean so much to me. Tonight will be something special...I promise!"
Then I just started singing in her beautiful clear perfect voice, making up a melody to a song I didn't know. And I sang in English, which completely shocked the audience, and freaked out the band, who had no idea what to expect, so I kept making up lyrics, and a new melody, and kept going because I could. I was Faye Wong. This was my dream, and I was making some awesome music in front of 10,000 people.
April 15, 2003
Acrobatic Chinese salsa dancing
I'm the worst dancer, but it doesn't matter when you're dreaming. I was at this hot salsa club with my buddy Chris Ingoldsby in San Francisco. The place was packed like a Tokyo disco, and it was their last night before turning into a gay bar. We were trying to teach the overworked bartender how to mix our tequila drinks correctly, but eventually we just jumped over the bar and started mixing them ourselves. I was in that drunken dream state of complete coordination and fluidity when this awesome salsa track comes on and sucks all of us onto the dance floor. I try to blend in by copying the good salsa dancers, but after a while have to drop that idea, and decide to start twirling around like an ice skater or a Whirling Dervish. Eventually I'm twirling so fast that I start floating above the dance floor. People are really into this, and try to copy, but it doesn't work for them. Suddenly my salsa levitation spinning is interrupted by some Chinese gangsters who bust into the club and start shooting people. Everyone rushes out, but I'm still floating there, and the main boss guy seems pretty amused by this and we start talking. He takes me outside, takes off his white linen jacket, and shows me his best kung-fu moves, doing a bunch of cool flips and jumping around. Then he motions for me to follow up with something. I don't know any moves, but I'm still in that weird state of fluidity, so I do my best imitation of Jet Li, adding a couple of flips. He seems satisfied, and then shows me some more complicated moves. He's good. It's like we are doing some sort of weird breakdance contest. Finally he wants me to do like this triple flip thing mixed with a pike and a half spin off of the loading dock onto the concrete below, but I start to sober up during mid-jump and totally wipe out like a MX racer, and wake up.
April 01, 2003
Madonna and the hampster tube
Life was deteriorating in the current world dimension where we lived, and I spoke to a few insiders who told me of a way out to a better dimension. There was a large white concrete tower where a lot of people were lined up. They were crouched over, looking into a small hole just wide enough for a smallish child or a slippery desparate convict to crawl through. What we had to do to get to the other side was crawl through this mile long ribbed hampster tube. It was horrible and dark, but it promised a better life for those who slipped through. I dwelt on this as the line got shorter. Pretty soon it was my turn, and I started to panic. Finally, the woman in front of me turns around and says, "It's our turn, I'm going for it! You coming or not? They're about to close it down." It was Madonna. I thought about claustrophobia for a second, and the horrible consequenses of getting stuck in a tube with Madonna's butt ahead of me, but she was already going through, so I just got in. I wanted to bring my saxophone with me, but I had to either push it ahead with my face or tie it to my leg and drag it along. I opted for the latter, and started squeezing through. After about an hour of this, I could see the light at the end of the hampster tube, but there was a bend in the tube, and once I passed it, my sax case got stuck in the bend. I couldn't move forward. I couldn't move backwards. I couldn't reach back to untie the case stuck behind me. All I could do was wait there for someone else to hopefully come through the tube and unlodge me so I could crawl out...that is, if the tube hadn't closed up already, meaning I would be there forever.
January 20, 2003
The killer whale
It's cold and quiet. I'm scuba diving in a wet suit somewhere in the ocean. Alone. I feel the water closing in around me. Out of the dark a killer whale suddenly appears then is gone. A flash. I panic. Do they eat people? It circles around again, in a pack with others. Beautiful. Silent. Deadly. One of the pack passes near me, and I reach out and touch it's sleek side. Suddenly I feel the water moving against my skin. It's no longer cold, and I'm swimming much faster, keeping pace with the pack. I feel stronger, lighter, more aggressive. I am very calm now, no longer afraid. I realize I've turned into a killer whale! There is a moment of uncontrolled panic, but then I realize that nothing is important as long as I keep moving, willing to learn what it takes to be one of them.
June 02, 1998
Elevator #3
I’m staying at a nice hotel. Like a Sheraton or Hyatt. Lots of patterned carpets, bellboys, brassy lobby, and chandeliers. I ordered a tuna fish sandwich, and was heading back towards my room with the sandwich in my hand. We were on the top floor. Several of us are waiting forever for the elevators. Finally one comes, and about 8 or 10 Chinese people and I get in. We press our floors, and wait like you always do in the elevator. The elevator slowly passes each floor without stopping. As it passes the floors, it gains speed, zipping by each floor faster and faster. People start pressing the buttons furiously, trying to make it stop. Someone starts to panic, and I press the emergency buttons. No use. The lady next to me, grabs hold of me, and wraps her arms and legs around me. We are really moving fast now. It looks like we are going to die in a very nasty way. I think about when I should jump up in the air in order to counteract the crash at the bottom. Then it occurs to me to try to open up the top like in the movies. The elevator keeps dropping. A child begins to cry, but the rest of us are deathly silent. Morosely watching the lights representing each floor zip past. I jump up and down furiously, banging my head against the top until the emergency hatch opens. I can see the cables and shaft above. I wonder if I jump out and grab hold of a cable will I destroy my hands and fall to my death. Does it really matter. I should at least give it a try. Then I look around the elevator, and try to think about how all these poor people will be able to jump out with me. Doesn’t seem likely. Too many women and children. By now we are at like B27 or something, picking up speed, then as we are about to hit bottom, the elevator swooshes to a halt, making us all lurch to our stomachs.
We stumble out into the cosmetics section of a department store, and people start to spread out, having ran out of the elevator. I’m laughing and angry at the same time. Furious with the hotel management for having such an elevator, and tell everyone that we must go to the hotel management together and demand an explanation and compensation for nearly being killed. I say that if we go together it will be more forceful.
We go to the boss’s office, and I explain the matter. We were all nearly killed. He looks very concerned, and takes out a piece of paper with several names on it. One name is circled. “This is a list of maintenance chiefs. I’ll find out who was on duty, and we’ll go talk to him.” I notice that one name is circled. He points to the list and says “I bet Schneider was on duty.” He gets on the phone and speaks to someone. “Yes, we’ll be right down.”
We all go to some elaborate technical control room with flashing lights and video monitors, and panels representing the movement of elevators throughout the hotel. There is a red headed woman in a blue dress and an overweight balding man in a wrinkled white shirt. They ask me very professionally to explain what happened, and I explain how we had all got on the elevator, and where, and how it started passing floors picking up speed until it nearly hit the bottom before stooping. The woman asked me, “Why didn’t you use the emergency button.”
“I did,” I said dryly.
“Then why didn’t you push the off button.”
“We did that too. Don’t you think we tried everything we could to save out lives?”
“Well I guess you would,” she said embarrassed.
They started scrolling through all the elevator still shots on the video camera, and looking down all the shafts. Elevators were coming and going everywhere. The asked me if I knew which one it was. I told them that it was number 3. The middle one.
They punch a bunch of buttons on the computer, and a computer representation of the elevator comes on the screen. We’re going to run it through a test and see what happens. They make the elevator begin moving, and stopping at each floor. It works perfectly.
I say, “Now put 11 people in it. About 800kg and see what happens.”
They press some more buttons, and little circles appear representing people. They press go, and the elevator begins moving slowly, passing each floor, gaining speed and dropping like crazy.
“You see.” I say smugly.
“”Oh my god, it must’ve been a nightmare,” says the red haired lady. “I’ll go right away and check on it.” She leaves, and the balding man looks concerned. The boss invites us back to his office.
While we are discussing this matter, a manager comes in, wearing a corporate Nazi like dark blue bell captain’s suit. He is completely shiny headed, and looks like an asshole. Hew come s to the boss, whispers something into his ear and hands me a bill for the tuna fish sandwich. He says that I didn’t pay for the sandwich yet.
I say, “Excuse me,” to the Chinese people sitting with me, and get up and walk to the door with the man. When we are out of reach of hearing, I grab him by his lapels and say in a harsh whisper, “You fucking idiot. If you think I’m going to pay for this sandwich after your hotel almost got me killed, then you’re out of your mind.” I rattled him to and fro like a doll. “Now get the fuck out of my face before I beat you to a pulp,” and I pushed him out the door with the bill in his hand. “Good bye.” And I shut the door and walked back to the people in the room.
Later that night. There is a party on the top floor held by an exclusive corporation. I want to meet the boss, so decide to go. I need to find clothes, so I go shopping with Chris Ingoldsby in all sorts of shops looking for a nice shirt and a tie. We try every store only to be disappointed. Finally we find a good shirt and tie, and I go to the dinner. I see John VanDursen, Danny, and Tom Shorthouse, sitting together at a faraway table. Tom is playing the trumpet drunkenly. I walk over and say hello, but he doesn’t recognize me, until I say “It’s me, Corbett.” And extend my hand. He shakes it meaninglessly, and says “Oh, yeah, good to see you to,” and return to his conversation. That kind of puts me out, so I walk back over to the group I’m with where I don’t know anyone at all and pick at the buffet. It is a very high class rich party, and I am at the very high class rich table, but don’t know a soul. I nod at people I don’t have the faintest idea who they are, and leave the party disgusted. When I get to the lobby, I have to take an elevator, and there are several of them, and I don’t really want to go through the same experience as the afternoon, and I wake up.
May 28, 1998
Absolution
Irene, Ben and I had taken a long long trip. We had traveled by boat, by plane, by ferry, by bus, and hiked into this beautiful dusty South Pacific hideaway. It had taken several weeks of travelling, and we were exhausted but happy to have arrived.
The reason: Thomas J Williams.
When we arrived, we were shown to our rooms. The day’s events: The beach, the tour of the island, a walk along the towering cliffs which over looked the ocean and the small resort carved out of the base of the cliffs. Our rooms were at the top, and we stayed in adjacent quarters with Williams.
We had been at the beach snorkeling, and Williams was entertaining a young red bikini clad girl with his conversation. He had somehow managed with words to convince the girl (who was striking) to remove her bikini top, as he explained that nature was meant to be unclothed, and that she was only doing herself an injustice by being clothed. She sat in the water next to us half naked, listening to his stories, when we saw a magnificent blue fish glide into the bay. It was nearly 12 feet long, and no one noticed it except myself, Thomas, and a Japanese snorkeler who was out in the middle of the bay. I was appalled when Thomas told me it was a mother shark, swimming so close to the beach in water that was only waist deep. It slipped closer and closer, growing in size, and we watched this magnificent creature glide between the unaware legs of swimmers and tourists wading in the water. Then I noticed that the Japanese snorkeler was swimming towards it with a harpoon gun, and I jumped up along with Williams to shout “Stop! Stop! Don’t shoot! It won’t hurt anyone!!” The fish swam into shore unaware of the pursuer, and finally, the Japanese snorkeler stuck his head out of the water, and noticed us waving and shouting, “No! NO! STOP!” and he realized he was being watched, and stopped.
The fish came to the edge near us, and one pale skinned German boy reached out and touched it’s blue skin. We all watched terrified, but the fish just swam back towards deeper water, and the German boy started to shiver and passed out. He became stiff as a board, and started having a seizure. People hovered around, and I noticed he was foaming at his mouth. Someone took his pulse which they said was normal, cradled his head. I asked why no one had called a doctor. Then I went and called the resort doctor who said he would rush over, that it was only a topical reaction, not to worry.
I was certain the boy was dying, and when I returned to the group, I saw that he was slowly turning blue, from his fingertips to his mouth.
When we returned to the hotel, Williams explained that sharks carried poison in their skin, and the boy had undergone a severe reaction. He was lucky to be alive. Certainly he would remember the incident all his life as the time he touched a shark.
After a cozy light dinner together, the four of us sat together sipping drinks and relating our travel stories. Williams had been everywhere. He had been in overthrown countries, he had lived in paradise, and he hadn’t seen his wife and child in over 8 years. He was now more of a hermit or a monk, living quietly in his hilltop bungalow overlooking the resort. We talked of Sartre, of Thomas Merton, of faith, and belief in God, and I knew he had found his god whatever it was, and was satisfied with his life.
After dinner, we returned to our cottages, and I was showering and cleaning up with Ben, when Ben told me he really worshiped this man who had traveled so much, had been to so many places, was so well read, and so modest. He wanted to stay around after our trip and learn something from him.
We had developed a nightly ritual during our two weeks there which consisted of a relaxing day, fine conversation, and a short prayer before bed. I had never really prayed before, and it stuck me as awkward that I would begin now. Williams explained that I was not praying to a thing, but to everything. At the same time I was also praying to myself to understand it all. This seemed like a good resolution, and I followed in his modest prayer ritual. He had a beautiful carved jade statuette consisting of several icons in interspersing layers. Seven in all. Like a box within a box within a box, until the final layer in the center was a ____________ .
It began with a Siva, then an elephant, then a Saint, then a tree, then a fish, and the rest I couldn’t decipher. It looked like a man reading a book holding a ball. The whole unit was about 10” square, and occupied a divine place on his bare bookcase.
My prayer piece was a ornately carved plastic sculpture with several buttons which I was to press to bring me to a new layer of understand. When pressed the buttons would utter a pre-recorded parable or words of wisdom from important religious figures and philosophers throughout history. It was all his own voice, and I found that each time I pressed, it was as if I begin to think about something deeper and deeper. Thomas had made the contraption, and explained that that was how he distilled his belief into this final 7 layers of understanding which he described to a stonesmith who had carved them into one square block of pure jade.
So I washed up, and began to pray.
Meanwhile Williams was outside on his very tiny stone patio, overlooking the swimming pool and resort below. That was where he had his nightly prayers. It was at least 150 feet down and the pool looked like a piece of light blue fruit. It was a magnificent view at sunset, but tonight it was stormy, and there was occasional lightening.
I could hear him going through his prayers, one profound reasoning after another, and his voice grew louder and more resolute, increasing in volume as he reached the center. At that moment I heard him yell, “Absolution!” and he stepped backwards off of the patio.
The next morning, we were all very somber and quiet. The hotel’s owner, a small middle aged woman, told us how wonderful a man Thomas was. He often helped around the hotel, and people in the village respected him because he respected them.
I tried to imagine where he had hit the pool deck, but they had cleaned it all up before we arrived. Ben was especially morose. He hadn’t gotten dressed yet, still sitting in his room in his underwear. I told him, ”Don’t you see. It was time for him. He had been searching for something all his life. He traveled the world wondering, learning, trying to find whatever it was. And last night, he found it. One perfect moment of peace and resolution. I figure he didn’t want to let it get away, so he took it with him to his death. It’s beautiful don’t you think?”
As we were packing up and waiting for our car to take us to the boat, the woman who ran the hotel came over and asked if there was anything of his that we would like. I said thanks but no, please donate it all to the villagers. We tool a quick look through his room though, and it felt strange, like he had been dead for years. I didn’t feel comfortable going through his belongings, his clothes, his personal effect, his razor still sitting in the spot next to his statue, ready to shave his face. We half heartedly looked through his meager belongings when I found a stack of books which caught my attention.
I drew one up, and started leafing through it. It was filled with postcards and clipping and letters from around the world. “Look Irene, I said, pointing out postcards from myself. We met at this place in Tokyo years ago. See here’s the card, and here’s a letter I wrote to him on the stationary from a hotel in London, and here’s a card from Homare.”
“So how did you become friends?” she asked.
“Well I was in Tokyo, and Kevin took Homare and I to this chic Japanese restaurant. Sitting next to us was a man who was with two women and a child. He explained to us over beers that one was his wife and child while the other was his girlfriend. He was having a terrible time, but insisted that they all travel together. We started a conversation, and over the years, I would receive postcards from him from various places around the world, and of course I would send him letters. We became friends through our words, and this book sort of wraps everything up about my own wanderings during the last ten years. I’m surprised he took the time to collect them all.”
“Why don’t you keep the book?” she asked, and I did, and we left.
I've never figured out whether it's pronounced "Moe's (like owned by one of three stooges) or Moss (like that guy out of Bonanza), but the one down the hill from me is open until 2am most days, which means that if I get out of the club early enough, I can catch the best burger in town, the muo si la bao or the Spicy Mos Burger. They have lots of jalapenos and 
