Dream Four:

I need to stop drinking before going to sleep.

Act ONE: The Piece.

This dream seems to pick up from where the Candy Shop Dream left off. It is the first time in nearly three years that I have revisited this motif; its first and last occurrence must have been in very early March of 2015.

I had left off on a cliffhanger worthy of David Lynch, even if it was two and a half years in stead of twenty-five. Here I was: someone from behind it had pushed a gumball vending machine onto me from its position on the third or second (Probably second, given the nature of the chakra) ledger (no musical puns intended, albeit probably implied) of the Convenient Store shelves. It had landed on me perfectly, and I was trapped within the Candy Machine as I lost my balance, toppled, and rolled over.

Rob finally came up to help me out. As he extracted me, he was surprised to discover that I had grown a three-year-old beard. He asked me how I had survived this entire time. I told him that I ate the gum. He asked: what gum?

I looked again upon the gumball machine. But it had transformed. It was now a pale and fractured chess piece. I had been but a pawn for three years. And I was taken by a pawn to begin with.

I gazed up in bewilderment upon the shelves. They were no longer lined with random multi-coloured cheap toys. Now they were like the factory full of Jesus figures. Some of the wax dolls were all so of other figures, such as previous Avatars and video game characters. Rob informed me that the store had been bought out by a criminal corporation as I lay in my shell.

ACT TWO: The Line.

Rob and I still had a chance, apparently, to win a game of Chess. Rob told me that the Black Queen had been taken, but that the White King was in a precarious posture. One of his Knights was in the Land of Enchantment (I’m guessing this is some sort of reference to the King’s Quest games by Sierra, or perhaps the Desert where I met the Green Glowing Lady) and Rob had all ready successfully trapped his Rooks. The White Queen was still alive, but she was stuck behind three pawns. I think that maybe the Black Queen lured her away by threatening the King. I don’t remember the logistics. But I guess that’s what you get for haunting Chess.com up until 6 in the morning for a month straight in WINTER.

We headed back to Encinitas. Rob tore down a no longer relevant Lost Dog poster from an electric pole at the top of which hung a bearded man who looked Lost. A line was forming just around the corner. Rob and I strolled over, arguing about Nietzsche and homeless people, and then took our place in Line.

A man without a face came up to us. He “looked” at me, withdrew a marker, and wrote something on my forehead. I felt it to be an “L”. I turned to Rob. Rob was furious. He told me that I did not deserve that. After all: I hadn’t even known that there was a Game Going On until just today, and it was all of three years ago that I was first dragged into it. I told Rob that it was my choice to enter the Convenience Store. I wanted things to be convenient. But the longer I spoke the more the line moved. Rob told me that the man who pushed the Pawn onto me was a thief and that it was probably he that ended up buying out the convenience store. Then I remembered why I’d been there: to buy a ukulele for my sister, as in Actual Life. But by the time that I realized this we were all ready being ushered rushedly into the Theatre.

ACT THREE: Lincoln.

Rob had tickets to the Sixth Floor of the Seven-Story Theatre. As we sat watching the opening act, which was Anthony naked with a chocolate chip cookie for a fig leaf, I had to turn away. I then noticed that Rob had a letter written on HIS forehead as well: an “F”, in red. I wondered what it might have meant. Did he fail a test? Was he a Loser, just like me? I did not dare to speak up in order to ask him. I turned back to watch the show, but then I noticed that a woman with a clipboard had sat down beside me. I looked up at her for a moment. The college girl, attractive but sad and intent, was scrawling intently. I sneaked a peak at her clipboard. She was writing in very good cursive. She was using a four-colour pen, and she had chosen the least likely of the four colours: Green. I felt bad for peaking at her homework, until I realized that it was mine; she was listing words that started with the letter “F”.

Fucker.

Friend.

Fake.

Fiat.

Failure.

Fumble.

Fork(ing).

Et cetera. I asked her, in a whisper, why she did not use the red ink instead. She looked at me with soft, probing eyes and told me that she was red-green colour blind. I think of A.J. Peacox. Then I turned back to face the Theatre. The production was about Abraham Lincoln. A chill crept over me. I turned to Rob. The faceless man had crept in behind him in a suit jacket that looked heavy for his body size. I yelled at Rob to Duck. At that moment, the sprinklers came on. The theatre was flooded.

ACT FOUR: Ascent to the Crown.

Having grabbed a floatation device (I am guessing from LeChuck’s treasure hold?) I floated to the top of the Theatre, which opened up into the Sky like an aorta. Hanging to it was the woman who had been sitting at my left hand. I helped her onto the floater, and the both of us were just sleek enough to keep it from going under long enough to creep onto the Theatre.

I asked her why the sprinklers went off. She told me that out here to shout “Duck” in a crowded theatre was a capital offense punishable by flooding. I asked how it was possible that a totally landlocked state could afford the water. She simply replied that no one ever saw a duck in the Enchanted Desert.

We perused the caldera of the watery volcano for other survivors. A woman dressed in the fashion of a Japanese Empress approached us. I instinctively addressed her in Japanese, but my friend told me to hold my tongue. So I did. The woman introduced herself as the White Queen. She thanked us for saving Abraham. Then she began to speak in a tongue unknown to me. My friend nodded along as I stared.

As the White Queen departed, my friend told me I was free to speak again. I asked her what just happened. She explained to me that the Queen had decided to throw the game. She was arranging a ladder to be brought up to help us back down to the Ground Floor.

As my friend and I descended the rope ladder, myself below and her above, I asked her why I was forbidden to speak to the Queen. My friend replied that I was not forbidden, but that I had addressed her in the improper tongue. The White Queen was not Japanese, apparently. But any one would have made the mistake. There was no question of that.

ACT FIVE: The Concert.

The White Queen invited me to play a concert with the White Knight. He played guitar. I played keyboards. I tried to sing, but I was still terrified of opening my mouth. I was assured that, had I not spoken up about the Duck, none of this would have ended as well as it did. But I still wept inwardly over the casualties who were drowned to save Abraham Lincoln. I bit my lip and tried my best to lose myself in the music as the White Knight and I played to entertain the Enchanted Audience. The music was just sad enough to ease my Aching Soul.

Dm.A.A.