Waking Finnegan

“We are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our whole life is rounded with a sleep” ~ Shakespeare

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Location: zurich, Switzerland

Saturday, December 11, 2004

December 11, 2004

Trick-or-treating not as a kid but as I am now but with kids--somewhere in Ventura, California with the long pier in view and most of the city lights very bright; much too bright for such a small city. The neighborhood is on a sloped promontory paralleling the pier and looking more like Cape Hatteras or Cape Horn than anywhere in California. I can see the steely grey silhouette of a bridge connected to an island--as though I had a telescopic view to the Bay Bridge up north. The light is day-for-night hyperreal, so the bridge looks lit, stage set.

The rain is coming down--smells funny--onion-spiked. I wonder if this is how acid rain smells. I have an old Swiss Army field bag and open it to pull out a bile-colored poncho. Can't get it on. Arms stuck. Twisted. Can't get it off. 'I'm in a straight jacket', I think, and panic washes over me--I squirm and want to scream. I stop, remembering that I also have a Swiss Army knive tucked into my field bag and fish it out. I can't open it because my two hands can't come together. I realize I'm standing right near the cliff edge and the ocean is an immense cauldron below--black and roaring like the sound of fighter jets. The poncho rips and I see it's been melting from the rain. My hands and arms look reddish, but around me still cool and indigo. I sit down and try operating my cell phone, but no signal. Just the time. It reads 10:08 p.m.

I'm arranging furniture. Red fabric over office chairs and itchy to touch. I'm wondering to myself who the hell would upholster chairs with red burlap except someone retarded or insane. Then I realize I was the one who did the job. I vaguely remember being held in a jail cell with a doctor speaking in hushed tones to the warden about my sanity and shaking his head. Next door to me is Anthony Hopkins but he's really a nice and not Hannibal Lecter. Gives me his special cat's eye marble set in a cherry-colored chamois bag. The marbles are smaller than what I remember as a child and I mention it to him. He says to 'just play'. The bag rips and all the marbles are bouncing everywhere and I run around in a panic trying to recover them because I'm not sure if he's Hannibal or not. I pick one up and it's not round--looks more like an jelly bean. There's no cat's eye. I try shooting it into a small hole under my prison bed and it takes off as though having been shot from a gun barrel. His voice is low and he says: 'I told you they were special...wait until the right moment'.


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