I awakened in a severely bleary and disoriented state this morning from a dream in which I was tooling around a major, but unnamed city with my lovely wife, Lee Meriwether (not as Catwoman, but from the 1960s), David Tennant (in his 10th Doctor outfit, but as himself), and a crazy person in a cowboy hat and straitjacket who kept telling us that he was a Duke of Hell and that we would all "perish in flames!" We were driving a huge, 1950's vintage Chevy of indeterminate kind, and I was wearing an itchy pink and blue Christmas sweater. There are all kinds of things wrong with this fashion choice. I don't wear colors, preferring black now since about 2004, I don't like sweaters, as I find them restrictively hot and hard to move around in, and I don't typically wear Christmas clothing, outside of the occasional whimsical Santa hat, and usually that only for photos or 15 minutes.
We started out at the 1100 House, this massive raw wooden structure like a multi-level Lincoln-era cabin, where after a labyrinthine journey down countless hallways filled with memory doors (You open them and events from the the past - your own and the general variety - play out. So, like the time I knocked a fruit punch over on Kim Whitworth during a school party in the 4th grade, the time I punched a WBC protester, and my son's birth were alongside the Battle of Waterloo, the Kent State shootings and Columbus landing in the Bahamas. Very confusing.) we finally located a room with inexplicable trees and a hammock indoors where my brother-in-law was tending a small fire and roasting some lightly salted fish and drinking out of a half-shellfish. We chatted for awhile we he put on coffee, and played this intricate boardgame using frozen waffles as game pieces. Eventually, we left as we were supposed to see someone else, and he stayed behind, playing a dobro in his hammock.
Back to the car, which we drove past what everyone was calling a park, but looked to me like this untamed crevasse of trees and animals and forest on two hills between 1100 and 2620, which is where we for some reason got in the car and went. We drove, like a block and change. Getting in and out of the damn car took longer than the drive there.
At 2620, my friends Erin and Joel (sans their kids) were hanging out in an enormous glass and concrete minimalist room watching a documentary-style film about an alien race who had been robbed of their free will and yoked en masse to this giant blue power generator dynamoesque thing which was connected directly to their planet's molten core and which they had to push for miles in circles in order to harness the energy produced by the core. For whom this was being done was never entirely clear. Joel seemed a little more into the film than Erin, but I eventually felt uncomfortable trying to distract either of them from it with real conversations, and so I woke up and wrote this.