Riding a stolen motorcycle through narrow market streets in Jerusalem - packed with people and bulky nonspecific objects. I feel confident, mobile. I don't recognize the neighborhood but turn a corner and am looking down on the Old City which, instead of its streets being covered individually, is beneath one huge warehouse roof. Cruising down into an avenue that feels like a small canyon. I pull up along side a few other parked motorcycles and find one, a dirt bike, that I switch onto. There is a helmet on top of it and picking it up to put it on I find that it is stuffed with a styrofoam mannequin's head, a pair of goggles, a boxer's mouthguard, and a pair of gloves that are too small. I throw away the head, lose track of the goggles and gloves, and put in the mouthguard and bite down on it - it feels like it's made of hard plastic. I get to the hotel although it maybe feels like an airport or train station. It occurs to me that I don't have my guitar with me. Panic... I'm on tour. Then a smiling young man who works at the hotel comes up to me carrying the Oscar Schmidt in it's brown case. They went and got it for me. Mossad.

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It's hard to say where we are, perhaps the country, but I'm hanging out with two girls both of whom have short hair. The darker one I can tell is ready for me although not willing to go deep. The other one has hair that is lighter and curly - I can tell she has more substance. I go to visit the dark one where she lives. It's a tower, like a forest fire watch station. I climb up the stairs and at the top I expect to find some place where she sleeps but there is nothing. It's a flat circular platform with a thin iron railing surrounding it. In the center is a cylinder built of two by fours but there is no opening. The place feels like it serves some ceremonial purpose but that's all over now. I'm alone and whatever meaning this place has is unavailable to me. Then I see the lighter haired one down below and she looks at me with an expression of sadness and concern on her face. Immediately I feel shame for trying to visit this other girl. I decide to go back down. At the top of the stairs the entire structure starts to oscillate strongly from side to side and I'm struck that it wasn't safe to have gone up here. When I get to the ground the lighter one is gone and I'm alone again.

Now I'm at a festival in Big Sur. It's packed with strange people that I don't recognize and I'm not sure where the stage is. I don't know if I have to play a set or not. Wandering, I turn a bend and there is a woman in a booth who is shouting at the festivalgoers: "Go home! Once you've spent the day and had your fun, then go home!" This seems strange since I know that the festival goes all weekend and there is no need for anyone to leave. When she sees me she acts with assumed familiarity as if to say, "but you're fine. Hang out as long as you want." A friend of hers comes up to me and says, "yeah we're gonna be here for a couple weeks." What's the deal? Is it a day hang or a longer thing? There are secret agendas in play. Sitting down a ways off I start to put my boots on. Next to me are two working class white guys who are talking about how they are upset to have discovered that there are faggots at this festival. These men are dangerous, I have to get away from them. Lacing up my boots I find that one of them has been switched out for a smaller size. I put them both on anyway and limp off trying to find out where the match is. Desert blonde suede.