Posted by: normanlgreen | November 24, 2011

Dream, November 24, 2011 tainted cereal, impossible bid, & Lithgow’s revelations


Dream, Chimayo. 7;10 am

A village of hippie crafts people. I find myself in a little cafe with counter seating. One man behind the counter speaks in low tones with four customers. Something has gotten into the delivery of breakfast cereal – all four men have sampled it and are feeling the effects. They have not decided if it is a negative or positive influence.

I leave through a side door to the left and walk down some stairs, looking for a back exit. Along my path, various vendors have stalls. Custom kites hang from the ceiling. Blown glass is carefully arranged on shelves. At the base of the stairs, the floor widens out into a room, but the crafts are stored so close, that I have trouble passing through. I see a glass door that would open onto a broad boardwalk by the sea. I cannot get to the door, due to the accumulation, so I turn around and climb back tp the cafe, where the men carefully pack the last of the tainted cereal – saving it for later.

Outside, night falls, and I ramble up a narrow alley that has residences on both sides. From open doors and windows, I hear families ending their day, sending children to bed, settling into last, quiet conversations. My bed and breakfast is on the left. A hand sewn flag hangs outside the door. Inside a man with long, thinning hair wears gold-rimmed glasses and an easy smile.

 

Earlier: I am asked to complete for a job with another printer, a woman I don’t recognize. We are each presented with a giant sheet of paper which is spread out on the ground. The scale is one foot for every inch, so both white sheets are 8.5 feet across and eleven feet long. We are given folding instructions as well as quantities for printing. As we fold – first lengthwise then across – we are to make head calculations as to costs. Not only are we asked to bid on paper, print and bindery, but we are to distribute the finished pieces to ten thousand children who are each to decorate the exposed panel of their printed piece, so they will want glue and little strips of paper for collages. As a tease, we are told the dollar figure of a third competitor’s bid. By my calculations, the other bid comes to 1.4 cents per finished piece. Forget it.

John Lithgow, or someone looking just like him, is being administered a verbal, psychological test. As he works his way through the word associations, he has a disturbing revelation. Phobia after phobia is revealed. He stands silently staring into the distance, running his hands through his messy hair and reviewing a painfully long list of fears.

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