Laura and Chessy and I are in an expansive park, sitting on a bench inside of a portico. A cemetery maybe. Suddenly I realize that we are covered in stinging insect bites and the pain is intense. We are crawling with them. I begin to run and looking down at my arms they have turned red. Then I can see them - parasitic maggots all over my skin. I start brushing them off and when I find the girls again I begin to explain what they are.

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Sayard is sleeping underneath a sideboard in my parent's living room. My grandfather walks near her and she covers herself in blankets to hide. When everybody is gone I kneel down and she asks me to bring her her special blanket. The one that plays Carpenters songs.

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Looking into the water at Partington Cove. Huge leviathan shapes moving beneath the surface and I hear a child's voice saying, "there are no more fish down there." I want to go in with a spear and goggles. I put my head under but I can't see anything. I keep trying but end up sitting on a rock wiping the saltwater out of my eyes.

Then I'm moving down a hallway to a mirror where I begin to look at my face. The eyes are luminous and the irises rotating in an impossible way. I appear to be in a miasma of confusing light. The expression on my face is amused in a way that reminds me of Fred Dolan. My hair is unrecognizable, a flat mat of dreadlock lying close to my scalp with finger waves in it. I touch it and it's thinner than it seems.

Something is happening outside the window. There is a large ancient car parked in the sideyard - a hearse containing Adolf Hitler's corpse. There are men moving thru the yard to the lower entrance and I run down the steps to meet them. When I get there they have already gotten in the door. Nazi Stormtroopers. I sit down behind a chair hoping they won't find me and then I feel their hands on my shoulders.

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Pictures of the roofs of the houses next to my grandma's place on 17th Street. They are weathered and perhaps it was raining when they were taken. From a helicopter? Other photos of huge aluminum extension ladders strapped to one another at impossible heights and my dad is walking on them like a tight rope walker.

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A wretched indigenous guy with a tonsure being taken into custody. There is a ritual where new inmates are hit twice in the middle of their forehead with the sharp part of a shovel blade. Marking them somehow. When it's his turn they keep bashing him over and over. Eventually they stop but I can't see him anymore and I think he must be dead. Something about colonialism.

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Hypnagogic constipated Bill Clinton. Connecting to radio host's dream the next morning.

William Buckley is coming to my parent's house for an interview. I race over there. Am I supposed to be interviewing him? There are children's toys scattered everywhere.

A huge chunk of architecture glides away and separates from the facade of a building in London. It's a double decker bus and I'm driving it from the way back of the top floor. Almost identical to a dream my mother described to me 20 years ago.

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Laura and I are making our way thru a series of vignettes, like rooms but not necessarily enclosed. It's hard to be certain of anything because it's so dark. In the second one I notice a miraculous white moth on the ground and go to pick it up. It ends up perched over my wrist, right where the dial of a wristwatch would be. It is elegantly shaped, with four wings that are perfectly white and luminous. I try to get Laura to come over and look at it but she is distracted with something. This infuriates me. Then the moth disappears and I am finally able to get her attention. I start to tell her about it and I have a sense of gratitude that she is listening to me. Then I realize that we are in the middle of a fantastic garden all of whose plants are perfectly white and shining from within with an intense white light. There is a feeling of miraculousness in the air. We walk around slowly and marvel at the strange foliage. Then we hurry into the third and fourth vignettes and all I remember about them is that they are both dark. As we move I realize that the vignettes are phases of life broken up into a quartet.

Steven is smoking a joint in the countryside.  "It's mostly sand," Larry had said before. "Bakersfield lizard weed." He's been here before and now he's bringing the whole family.

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I'm sitting on a couch at Eliot's in Chicago. I am loading shells from a paper bag into a bolt action Mosin Nagant. There is an older woman sitting near me working on some knitting. I take the weapon and aim it at a nearby window. The gun goes off but afterward I can't see any damage to the window or the house. I take aim again, this time at the metal awning near the edge of the roof. When I shoot the metal deforms in a very clean uniform way, like it's been industrially molded in the shape of a cylinder with a hole at the center. 

The woman is suddenly in my face saying that she can't believe I just did that. She's called the cops. I go into the other room and Eliot is standing at the sink. He is distracted, not making eye contact. I throw the bag of shells into an adjoining room and he says, "wait, I don't like the look of that."

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Riding in a school bus and I can see a nuclear weapon explode in the distance. The ball of fire expands until it engulfs us. I crouch down, want to make sure that the dust isn't coming in thru cracks in the windows.

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I'm looking down on a beach from a great height in the air and I notice that the waves have an beautiful iridescent sheen on them. I wish I knew how to surf. Then I'm swooping down thru the air and into the breakers. Skidding along the wet sand like a skim boarder a wave breaks over me and I get pushed under. I'm trying to body surf and I get the sense that somewhere there is a man who travels the world to surf. He is living exactly as he wants to even though it seems unconventional. I feel inspired.

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Instrumental hip hop beats.

I am setting up to busk outside of a venue in a junk yard. There is derelict, broken technology strewn across the ground. I have a sense of irritation with my pedal board. Or is that just the way I feel now?

Torrential rains in the city at night.

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We are at the top of Patterson. I look out to the bay and my eyes are like zoom lenses - there are two Great White sharks tearing each other to pieces in the breakers and there is blood in the water although I can't see it. Next, I'm in the flatbed of Taylor's truck and he starts to reverse down the hill. It has a camper shell that is somehow large enough for me to stand up with my face against the glass of the rear cab. He isn't looking as he backs up and starts to go faster and faster. I try to warn him. Then the street drops off suddenly and we are airborne like the Dukes of Hazzard. We land gently and Taylor is looking smug as usual.

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Some kind of supervision group or meeting. Julian bursts into song like in musical theater. His phrases are strong at first but when he sustains a note for any length of time it begins to sound funny and nasal.

Hanging with the beneficiaries. Shades of the prison yard. Andrew Jenkins is there but he's degenerated badly. He's become kind of retarded and is dressed like a Co Co boy. Grinning, he tells me that he has had gastric bypass surgery.