me pregunto a veces

I've been having extraordinarily vivid dreams lately. I haven't been recording them except insofar as to run them by Erica each morning, which is enough that I'm able to clearly remember them afterward. Caveat: many people don't like to hear others' dreams. If such is the case for you, read no further. I've been entertained by my dreams of late, so decided to record them here.

1. Last night I dreamt that I was part of an undercover team of documentarians who were following a team of highly sophisticated bank robbers in their regular capers. Their gimmick: the entire team was comprised of actual convicts, who would break out of prison at night, rob a bank, and then break back into prison before morning. Additionally odd were these facts: each of the bank robbers moved as though he were encased in a giant marble or hamster ball, so that their nightly descents resembled one of those "marble rallies." Imagine fifteen human-sized marbles careening through a six-story parking garage. We shot such great footage. Also, Samuel L. Jackson was one of the bank robbers.

I've been reading The Brother Karamazov, which I believe is a lodestone pulling my subconscious toward the topics of crime and the flouting of systemic punishment in favor of the punishment of one's own shame, remorse and self-degradation.

2. Two nights ago I dreamed that Erica and I were walking home from a costume party in the city. I was dressed as a bag of french fries wearing a basketball jersey, but it was hot that night, so I had pulled most of the costume off. It was hanging out of my sarong as though I were a frat boy at frisbee golf. We walked along the side of a famous church south of downtown Buenos Aires, through a parking lot which was overhung by the same cable and plastic tarping as every other parking lot in the city. It was more or less an enclosed space.

When we reached the exit of the parking lot, two security guards rounded the corner and stopped us, saying "You can't be here with those!", presumably referring to the costumes. We tried to ignore them and to continue walking out onto the sidewalk, but they suddenly grabbed me and I yelled "No me tocas!" until, in typical dream fashion, we had time-leapt past them and were in a swirling crowd in front of the church.

I remembered just then that it was at this same church that a certain high-ranking public official was being publicly excommunicated from the Catholic church, and that it was to be televised to the entire country. Indeed, the front doors of the church were opened wide, and I could see the flash bulbs popping. I turned to my right, and there was my friend Leslie, from Chicago, dressed as a carrot.

"Wait a second," I said, "are you really in Buenos Aires, or am I actually in Chicago?"

I don't remember her answer, but it must have been Chicago because when I leaned in to kiss her cheek (as is the customary greeting here) she withdrew abruptly and said, "Jesus, can't you see that Zeke is right there?" Indeed, Zeke, whose hair was well-oiled and who was wearing what the Israelis dance in when they visit Buenos Aires (a costume?) was just over her shoulder. He, however, seemed not to have noticed the near-scandal.

I wanted to leave then, but I looked back to see that Erica had walked into the church and was headed down the central aisle, the headstock of her banjo poking out of her backpack, bobbing up and down as she made her way toward the altar. The flashbulbs suddenly went like firecrackers.

But I was tired so I went home.

3. I could recount a third concerning a certain drink which left me unable to communicate or descend a set of stairs at a party held by my Californian uncle, and which left me with a terribly stiff neck upon waking up, but I think this shall suffice for now, as the latter is enough for me to recall those more ineffable bits later.