327 Market

Dream Journal Entry

I was in Capetown, at a party, hanging out with the colonials. Some authorities showed up and announced that the "natives were getting restless" and for our safety we would have to evacuate to an Irish pub. So we moved the party to the pub (it had green shag carpet and the requisite wood panelling). NY was there and he started to organize party games. I could hear yelling and shots in the distance. He directed the Germans to one wall, and the French to another wall, then he paused dramatically, and announced that New York was going to be in the middle.

cut to

the outside the city. its night time, I was hanging out with the Zulus. They were really tall and beautiful and they had 15 foot long spears and shields. I felt sick about it, because I knew the Europeans had guns. They charged amid high pitched keening and loud crashings. A blowgun dart hit my arm and it hurt like a wasps sting. I fell down in the mud and watched the Zulus run over me. My arm started to tingle and burn.

cut to

the next morning. the sun is bright. I am in the desert (with classic So Cal rocks and joshua trees). I am laying on the ground. My arm is a swollen, bloody mess. Two Zulus approach me and help me to my feet. They have the most amazing, sculpted hair doos. one of them pulls the dart out of my arm, and spreads a soothing poultice on the wound. Its cool and nice. Its time to leave, they say. So I follow them into the desert. We stop at a rock. Roaches start crawling on my legs, and one of them pulls them off of me. I marvel about how nice they are.
"you think we look funny, don't you," they mock-accuse me.
"of course not," I say.
One of them asks me if he can do my hair. Sure. He sits behind me and starts braiding my hair. His fingers are gentle and soothing. I tell them about how in Flip Flop the white people have the ugliest dreds. They laugh and say, "Sheesh, that is So Old School"