Dream #146: Onzu Ontemele is Concho
05.27.2010 § Leave a comment
I’m kissing a girl on her neck at a party. She’s in a separate room.
Then I’m walking another girl home from the subway. She’s drinking a beer. Some strange guy tries to intervene.
Then I’m in bed with Michelle. I know I shouldn’t say that I really love her, but I do anyway.
Then I’m in charge of the music at some dance club. There’s all these different Latin styles that I can DJ, and I’ve learned all the dances too; the problem is that I can’t remember which is which! So I’m too scared to go up on stage when Carmen and her two friends invite me up. Some gay guy bums me a cigarette. This other guy who the gay guy finally recognizes as annoying leans in from behind.
I end up fighting this 51 year old Japanese martial arts film director’s assistant. I pull some cheap trick in the third round to get ahead. Then in the penultimate round it’s pretty clear that he’s going to knock me out or at least get two points in a row since I’m so exhausted. But I get one last big blow in, eliciting a “Whoa” from him. He dies.
Somehow I pass it off as if I’d fought a real guy, though, because there’s a ceremony, and I start in a box with all these sticks under my clothes. I pick them out one by one in a hurry as they could call my name at any moment.
When I do emerge, I find myself in a huge bizarre stadium with dog races and other assorted recreational crap but the primary focus is indeed on me. I’ve managed to miss one stick and it’s protruding from a weird position under my right armpit. So I’m struggling to get it the fuck out without breaking appearances, waving and half-smiling. I saunter over to the judges table, where I find four of my buds and I ask them what’s going on tonight. Two babes lean in from the stands and alluringly say they know where we can find a party tonight.
Not everyone was there, because of all the fucking people running around, so I had to look it up on imdb.com while on the plane, just to tell them it was Onzu Ontemele. On the come down I almost crashed but narrowly saved myself.
Jude and a few of the others on the school grounds are winding through a maze. Elsewhere, nearer the swarm of people, something really colorful and fuzzy happens. I fly away. Of course I can’t fly, so I crash a few times, collecting blackenings-up of the screen.
Finally, I crash, but I don’t die. So I quickly collect as much evidence as I can, credit cards and such all strewn around the place, at least a few items right there and one more way over there. Clearly there is no way I am going to get away with this; nonetheless, I’m quite concerned. It’s evening now and I’m somewhere in the middle of the woods. Well, actually, upon looking to one side, the street is right there, so I run towards it. There’s a garage, very 1950’s style. I’m apparently in Grandparents’ Land.
Throwing caution to the wind, I hitch a ride in an off-yellow retro pickup. The driver is an even blonder and bronzer Patrick Swayze out of Red Dawn in an old-school collared shirt and khakis. The sky is huge and widescreen like a 50’s blockbuster. It even goes letterboxed, and the title of the movie scrolls up in big yellow letters: Concho. So I guess I have been some sort of Clint Eastwood or Sly Stone dark hero. Roll credits.