At Antero's place on Asilomar Boulevard just accross from the Gober's. Not a place per se - we're just standing on the side of the road. Who's we? Andy Herndon and I, of course. The light is just beyond crepuscular and there is a restlessness in the air like a storm is going to come in off the water. There are more tall trees, the way it was when I was a child before the pitch canker thinned things out. Antero is going to perform a ritual for me - something profoundly significant and powerful. I'm excited and can't wait to get started but first I have to go back to my parents' house and get some seemingly arbitrary items for him to use.

Back around the corner at my parents' place I try to explain to my father what I need and, although he doesn't say anything, I can feel his skepticism. He's not cynical, it's just that he doesn't connect with these ideas.

Suddenly the ritual begins. Antero is seated at a table surrounded by five or six autistic children - similar to the way that Ray used to set up his class. There is some kind of pedal device underneath the table that he uses to lift up the children's feet and create a sense of levitation. The problem is that it's clearly visible under the table. A curtain or long tablecloth seems necessary for this kind of legerdepied. The kids don't seem to notice though. He sits accross from Naim who, as usual, is as restless as a little monkey. Antero begins intoning in a loud musical voice. A forgotten angelic language. Grinning sardonically. My demon father.

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Patrick recently explained to me that origin of the military salute was a symbolic shielding of yourself from another's magnificence. Aaron's dream - as the men in hazmat suits saluted him they said: "Buffer. Buffer."