(10/12/04) stones and pumpkins; the wrong mexican restaurant

(No time/place info given.)

Dream 1

It was night. I stood on some patio-like, concrete square that was in bad condition at the edge of a backyard. Smallish, weedy vegetation grew all around it. There were electric lights like stadium lights from somewhere.

I stood with my "cousin PS" (who may have looked like Mick Jagger) and "another kid," who looked like Keith Richards. We were trying to write a song. I kept poking "Keith" in the sternum with the fingertips of my right hand.

"Keith" or somebody (we all had guitars and there seemed to be four or five of us) began playing chords to which I thought out, somewhat by trial and error, a riff for a song. All I remember of it now is that it had five notes, which all sounded the same except one that bent upward.

I now stood at the other end of the concrete square, a much more wrecked end. "My cousin PS" was now much more like my cousin PS. He and his friends had a jack-o-lantern, which they were preparing to kick into the next yard. I told them not to, as they might get in trouble. Then I myself (?) did it, watching the pumpkin loose an orange trail after itself as it rose sharply then descended sharply into the other yard. It might possibly have been ready to explode.

Dream 2

Can't remember beginning. Now I, my grandma J, and my brother were at a place that was supposed to be Pancho's Mexican Buffet in Albuquerque. We were all waiting for my grandpa. The fact that he hadn't showed up yet meant he was in physical trouble.

We sat at a table the seating of which was booth-seating on one side and chairs on the other. My grandma sat opposite me, in the booth. My brother sat in the chair to my right. The buffet was off some vague but close distance to my left. We all had somewhat large plates of food. I fumbled around with mine, discovering some rice under an enchilada or tamale.

We spoke vaguely about my grandpa, becoming increasingly worried about him, until he suddenly showed up. And now it was as if he had been there all along, in my grandma's spot, and my grandma in the spot to the left of my grandpa.

We were all drinking beers. My grandpa was trying to tell us of another Mexican restaurant he'd been to in Albuquerque that had better food than this one, but was lit dimly.

My brother said, "Oh, it was Chihuahua's." But my grandpa said no. There was a slight argument and a slight rise in tension, during which time I felt a little sick. Then somehow my grandpa became a lot more conciliatory, though now apparently neither of them knew which restaurant my grandpa was referring to.