The final scene of the dream

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My main recurring dream

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I had my main recurring dream again last night. I call it my “Curious George” dream, after the mischievous monkey character in the children’s books. And, like in the books, I start out trying to reach some goal, only to, step-by-step, be pushed farther and farther away from my goal. It’s like moving backwards.

The dream starts out with me riding on a BART train trying to get to some place. But I fall asleep and miss my stop and end up at the end of the line. The train is completely deserted except for one person who is sitting in the seat right next to mine. I’m annoyed by this violation of my space, and get up to push him away from me. But I realize it’s not actually a person, but a big bundled sleeping bag that someone had left for me. I guess they saw me sleeping there, realized I was homeless, and left it out of pity.

I get off the BART train, and get into another train that is headed back in the other direction. Then a big group of boisterous, obnoxious high school kids get on the train. I’m hoping they don’t come back to where I’m sitting. But that’s exactly what they do. They surround the area where I’m at. This one young guy — who’s face is peeling from being in the sun too long — gets in my face and starts acting derisive and mocking. He makes fun of my face, which, apparently is very red. Then he tries to stick his hand into my pocket to steal what I got in there. I want to smack the guy, but I have to treat him gingerly because I’m afraid if I get heavy with him, the whole pack of kids will turn on me.

Then the BART train transmogrifies into a Greyhound bus (you know how dreams are) that is barreling down the highway. I start packing up all my bags of stuff to prepare myself for when I reach my destination. Two of my feral cats — Blondie and Mini Scaredy — have also been accompanying me for this whole misadventure. The bus stops at a red light. And, for some reason, I decide to get out of the bus for a moment to take care of some business. But before I can get back on the bus, the bus takes off down the road. I’m chasing after the bus, hollering at the bus driver to stop. But it’s no use. And pretty soon the bus is gone.

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So now I’ve got to figure out some way to contact the bus station, to get all my stuff and my feral cats before they get rid of them. Even worse, I realize I have no clothes on. I’m standing there on the side of the road completely naked. So now I’m really in a jam.

I wander down to the beach by the ocean. A large group of people are hanging out there in their bathing suits. So at least I won’t be too conspicuous in my nakedness — maybe I can pass for a nude beach-goer. I ask one of the men where I am, and he tells me I’m in some town I’ve never heard of. And I’m at least 70 miles away from Berkeley, my destination. He, too, is mocking and derisive towards me, makes fun of my red face. I realize these people will be no help. So I head off down the road trying to figure some way out of my predicament.

I come across a big house and sneak in the back door. Nobody seems to be home, so I steal a shirt and pants and head back towards the highway. I suddenly realize I have my cellphone — so for the first time I start to feel hopeful. I can contact help on my cellphone. And I got clothes on. So things are finally looking up. I get to the freeway — I’m thinking of hitching a ride to the next town so I can figure out where I am. But there’s a barrier that separates me from the freeway. So I’m running alongside the freeway, trying to somehow get on it.

And then I woke up.

As I usually do when I have a bad dream, I went right back to sleep. I like to keep dreaming until I finally get a good dream. I ended up sleeping until 2 in the afternoon, when I finally got a good dream. I’m hanging out with Hate Man and the Hate crew down by his garage, eating slices of apple pie. THE END

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The Good Old Days

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I’ve concluded that THESE are the Good Old Days. And that today — March 19, 2018 — is a Good Old Day.

In fact, verily as I speak, I’m feeling wistfully nostalgic about some of the things I experienced and felt earlier in the afternoon.

Those were the Good Old Hours!!

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Well, this is a tricky issue, theologically speaking. The guy was praying to God to intervene. But what if the lion was praying to God for some supper?

 

DAILYMAIL.CO.UK
Alec Ndiwane, a Zion Christian Church prophet, was attacked on a safari while trying to show that God would save him in front of fellow church members in South Africa’s Kruger National Park..
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Feral Cat Crime Blotter

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At approximately 7 AM, February 26, 2018, the suspect was first spotted lurking in the vincinity of the Backwords Campsite in the Berkeley Hills.  The suspect was described as a gray, male raccoon, approximately 7 years old, and weighing about 25 pounds, with a distinctive black mask covering his eyes.  According to eye witness reports, the raccoon stole a considerable amount of cat food from two different cat food dishes. According to police records, this raccoon is a repeat offender and should be considered armed and dangerous.

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