Phish Tickets

  • We arrive at the Phish concert, quite a bit early so we can buy tickets and check out some of the parking lot action. It's me and my SO, and we come upon a jacuzzi place with demos of various models. We hop in and try out each of them along with two ladies. When we get to the end of the line, the manager offers us a free coupon for their spa resort. He says, "step right through the teleportation device and you'll be there." We walk through a Stargate-type portal and arrive. I immediately fall into the large pool-sized spa. I notice there are a lot of kids here. I get hit in the head with a ball. I get out to explore and see my SO brutally scolding some tiny kid. I wince and walk on to the swing set where I meet my next dream companion. He is about 12 years old and he's a complete brat. But he amuses me for some reason and I like him. I tell him I'm going to the Phish concert and he asks to come along. I say sure just as a small explosion sounds in the distance.

    Someone blew up the teleportation machine and the portal is collapsing. Oh no, my Phish tickets! I could be a thousand miles away right now... The kid and I run to the shrinking wormhole and dive through in the nick of time. We appear two hundred feet in the air above the parking lot (which greatly resembles the wilderness property of my friend, August). We fly down easily to the ground. All the dread locks turn to wonder at us, then go back to smoking herb. We walk to the ticket counter where I offer my VISA card. She says they only take cash, then offers me her own ATM card (with a Grateful Dead skull on it) and PIN number to get the cash. OK. We go to an ATM and I hand the card to the kid. He proceeds to empty her account and returns to me with $4800. I'm a little flabbergasted and resolve to just return the money to her and explain that the kid didn't know what he was doing. I want to see Phish, goddamnit! As we walk back I look at the $1000 bill and see it has a pegasus drawn on it sideways. At the ticket booth, I hand her the ATM card and fifty bucks for the tickets. She hands me the neon green slips. Dream ends.

  • We're driving at ludicrous speeds down a narrow, tree-lined highway. Like a flock of birds in flight we suddenly change direction and drive a little bit down a path off the side of the road. We stop and get out of our cars - we can see 3 state police cars sitting about a quarter mile ahead, just waiting to nab us. Bill knew they were there. He could smell the fear in the air from the other drivers.

  • My old neighborhood has changed. Where the dead end was, there is a large, sunny field with a couple bright yellow houses in it. My old neighbors have really cute cats. I pet them and they purr for a bit before scampering away.

  • Back on the highway, alone this time. I can smell fear from the other drivers now. In fact, I can see it: a watery green cloud up ahead, over a hill. I slow to 65mph. As I go over the hill, I see the statie. He follows me for a while, then disappears.

    I am playing the piano (I don't play the piano), it's a big, imposing glossy black grand piano in the sunken living room of my Grandparent's old house in Sacramento (they haven't lived there in several years, and they didn't own a piano). The music is exquisite and dark, sort of like Beethoven's Appassioniata Sonata, but slightly different in texture.

    He is watching me, this beautiful, androgynous man sitting in the shadows. He approaches as I play, his eyes are the color of rosewood, but glint gold in the light. His skin looks very smooth and his lips are full. He smiles at me, and his canines seem longer than they should be. Without pausing in my song one bit, I gasp, "Who are you". He smiles at me and says in a mellifluous voice, "Alain-Michel Du Chance, although you have sometimes named me Alan Michaels".

    I stare blankly at him. Alan Michaels (Alain-Michel) is my old Vampire:The Masquerade character from LARP and Tabletop, the evil, manipulative free person of color. I am still playing the piano, but I yell, "that's impossible!". He just smiles, and says, "Did you really think you made me up?"

    He smiles again, and advances towards me, I want to run but I continue to play. He opens his mouth and almost gently tilts my neck, he bites me. I wake up.

    "We knew it was you. No one else uses that toothpaste. Come with us."

    In my dream I was 16, and I had a baby. I had to get two jobs in order to support myself and my child. 6 months down the line, I went to work and I left my child in the care of my older sister, who was on drugs, and who also happened to be a prostitute. That night when I got home, I saw a man called Tanny, who came around to our place once a week to get his 'share' of my sister's earnings. His car was parked outside, and I kept thinking to myself how much I despise seeing this man. As I got closer, I saw the car pull off in a hurry, and I felt rather relieved. I walked into our little apartment, and found my sister had been beaten up, and she was lying on the floor crying. I immediately ran to see if she was okay, and I knew that it was Tanny who had done this to her. She was crying, and could not get her words out properly as her lip was swolen. She kept saying 'Danna, Danna' (the name of my child). I didn't understand what she was trying to say; she looked worried. I went over to the little crib i had bought for my child, and as I looked into the crib, I fell to the ground crying; Danna had been taken.

    My sister had said that Tanny told her that he could get a good price on babies, and that he was going to sell her. I ran through the streets of New York screaming, trying to find someone, anyone, help. I was alone.

    It was 20 years later, I was walking down the street, to the office block that I worked at, and this little girl, couldn't have been more than 14, was holding a 6 month old baby. She told me she was trying to find this little baby's mother; it was my child. I was finally re-united with my baby.

    I then woke up, still in my dream, and I was with my baby. I had been dreaming about it all, and then, I woke up from that. It was very puzzling, and all jumbled up.

    I was touring a juice factory.

    A factory representative was waving toward a large pond full of children and strange colors. He told me his company only employed clean kids to stomp the berries in the pond. The aim was to create a perfect blend of flavor and innocence.

    As if I was watching a documentary, there was a voice over and the scene moved to a young boy. Disembodied-voice-over-man said, “Watch as we gauge the reaction of our juicers."
    The young boy mixed some berries together and sipped the liquid they made from a compartmentalized-wooden-juice-tester on a long stick.

    He made a gross out face, but when the voice over man asked if the juice was good the boy said yes, the voice over rewound back to the yuck face the boy had made and said, “See that face. We know better. Make it good for the people, now.” The taste test boy grinned, aw shucks, they caught me trying to be agreeable.

    I noticed that there was a little girl, maybe four years old, sitting in the pond, dumping juice from teacups and splashing around.

    Rubber duckies floated on the surface.

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