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.