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

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Don Pedro Dream


Sitting alone next to the plexi-guard-railing in some industrial Portland taste-testing some oddly sticky risotto with lemon slivers, diced ham, and what the hell is this, okra?---can't discern any citrus, but butter yes. Eyeballing me from an adjacent table are 3 migrant farm workers from maybe Mexico. Guatemala? El jefe among them now gingerly scoots his chair out, stands, turns and slowly approaches. He's holding a folded-up newspaper humble hat-in-hand suppliant,--- now standing directly beside me and magician-like and from around my back, unfurls an ancient mariner's map---cloth---right over the bowl of risotto and wine and water glasses. All is happening slo-mo; I'm tuned into frame-by-frame nuances---cash register, people talking---his buddies looking on; anticipating something. Fan rotors revolving overhead fluttering the map; a pre-Columbian 'America' but geographically 'distended' from Europe---Maine being given birth by Portugal. The guy introduces himself with 'Me llamo Dom Pedro'. I say: 'Tu nombre es Portuguese---¿De donde es usted?' In educated Español he proceeds in a rapid-paced point-and-describe tracing of crypto-historical deeds and misdeeds allthewhile popping his mud-caked index finger on dirt-clogged ragmap exactly where Main and Algarve are one. This isthmus must be something crucial. Is Dom Pedro giving away a secret clue to something I shouldn't know? And why? Flash fantasies about possible riches and I don't want to betray myself so I ask '¿Donde es la Arista Atlántica Media?' Throw him off. Dom smirks and instantly the air has a palpable menace, like ether before the knife---I can't follow his educated rap anymore---he's too loud, shabbydressed and restaurant crowd is gawking. He suddenly yanks the map off the table, ripping pirate-treasure-location along the deteriorated faultline where the map lay over the stickyrice. I excuse myself by faking "I gotta go to the toilet!" gutcramps, and he's now suspicious. Watching me. As I start towards the basement my bowels really do rush. I'm changing mental channels and decide to bolt; taking manysteps at once and leap into a leg-pedalling float down the last long stairwell. A long corridor. Which door? Running to the end of what seemed a cul-de-sac (but is instead a 'T') with only left or right and so I go left---now new halls opening up and I continue weaving. I'm exhilarated by all this action, but something's suffocating.... "is it all a setup---a chamber of horrors? Thoughts of hissing gas, closingwalls and imminent collapse---and where's Dom Pedro? As I say his name I spy the shadow of a man, frozen. Waiting. It's him. I wait an eternity while my bowels are on high alert. Gas building up. Why now?! "Only way out is to get past his shadow". I slowly untie and snake out my shoelaces; doubling them up as a choke holder. I barefoot over to the wraithlike form and hold my breath. I jump backwards as I turn the corner (figuring that a leaping D.P. will hit the linoleum) and my torniquet...but it's a street lamp-and-post shadowcasting of a phoney el jefe. Multiple surrogate Dom Pedros along the corridor, picket-fenced to infinity. I look out dusty windows onto what now is long-ago L.A. That bleached and lonesome City Hall standing high against the Santa Ana furnace heat---BIG tube-amped radios tuned into Vin Scully "A pleasant evening to you wherever you may be" All cop sirens like in Dragnet, and I know I'm safe.

14 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Finnegan, Another good 'Dream Noir.' I Enjoy the prose.

12:20 AM  
Blogger finnegan said...

You know, I wish my mom had named me Anonymous. Sounds sort of spooky actually. If my last name were 'Sex', imagine the possibilities.

6:15 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous Sex said...

Oh, and I meant to thank you for your nice comment.

6:16 AM  
Anonymous Dr. Pants said...

Nice Dream...

Next time you see that Don Pedro tell him "The Pants" says "Jello-Mold". Don't worry, he'll know what I mean.

5:17 PM  
Blogger Jennynyc said...

I love all the details in your dreams. Here is another dream in which something appears good and ends up not. Keep up the good work, Finnegan ;-)

9:04 PM  
Blogger karma said...

ooo glad you got out of that one :))

5:22 AM  
Blogger RuKsaK said...

I should come here more often, for when I do I always enjoy the read. Consider yerself linked.

8:20 AM  
Blogger transience said...

i love the way the words here just spilled out, like milk on a tile floor--where the white just spreads and spreads and you can't staunch the flow.

8:28 AM  
Blogger finnegan said...

Ruksak said: "I should come here more often, for when I do I always enjoy the read. Consider yerself linked."

Hey Ruksak, I consider myself honored; your blog is one of the best ones out there imho.

Thanks

5:51 PM  
Blogger finnegan said...

Dr. Pants said...

Nice Dream...

Next time you see that Don Pedro tell him "The Pants" says "Jello-Mold". Don't worry, he'll know what I mean.

Hey Pants, I'm stumped on that one. But I'll relay the message in any case.

5:53 PM  
Blogger finnegan said...

Jennynyc said...

I love all the details in your dreams. Here is another dream in which something appears good and ends up not. Keep up the good work, Finnegan ;-)

Finnegan says: Well yes and no. I woke up feeling pretty ok after this one.

5:55 PM  
Blogger finnegan said...

transience said...
i love the way the words here just spilled out, like milk on a tile floor--where the white just spreads and spreads and you can't staunch the flow.

Finnegan said...
Call the neighborhood cats. A nice image of white fluid followed by black cats slurping.

6:00 PM  
Blogger Jennynyc said...

Good point....And the end is all that really matters, or the feelings at the end of dreams are rather meaningful, don't you think?

5:33 AM  
Blogger finnegan said...

Jennynyc said: "the end of dreams are rather meaningful, don't you think?"

FInnegan said: Yes the end means it's time for breakfast and coffee; the best antidote for body-mind dislocation.

As a priest once told me: "Eat and you will know why the Buddha was once so corpulent." Well, not really, but, you get the idea Jenny.

7:54 AM  

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