BUT WHAT DOES THIS DREAM MEAN?

It ended with me accompanying my brother as he bought a banana healthfood smoothie at the friendly hippie supermarket on Washington between Taylor and Jones at the top of Nob Hill. Somehow, the spelling difference between 'there' and they're' figured in. And it was daylight.

It started in the middle of the night before the deserted intersection of Montgomery and Washington, just past Redwood Park.

All of Chinatown lies in between. Kearny, Grant, Stockton, Powell, and Mason Streets.


EPISODE OF UNREALITY

In dreams, the mind takes random stimuli and invents occurrences that reinterpret these in a way that, for the moment, makes sense and allows for a flow that provides a semblance of continuity. Frequently the first part of the dream flows effortlessly into the next, but if all events in that dream are examined there is no narrative cohesion or logic.

This should always be a tip-off.
What comes next is a dream.
Not objective reality.

I took a running leap and landed on the long concrete berm outside the Chinatown Campus of City College, underneath the trees, which separated under the impact and rocketed away at inordinate speed, sliding (flying) uphill on the rain-slick cobblestones. Across Grant -- past a few startled pedestrians patiently waiting for the light to cross -- and leaping over Stockton Street. Across Powell, across Mason, and approaching Taylor. Realizing that if it continued at that angle and such a velocity over the crest of the hill I would be airborne, I guided it to the curb by angling my feet, as if it were a skateboard -- precisely like I had scooted between obstructions for the previous four blocks -- and the friction against the pedestrian pavement slowed it down, till just before the friendly hippie supermarket at Jones it finally came to a halt. My brother met me inside.

While it happened, I realized the unreality. Meeting my brother, who passed away years ago, confirmed that, though within the framework it made perfect sense.
Of course he would be at the top of the hill.
In between chess games.


OBJECTION!

The sequence of events shows several flaws.

The banana smoothie loaded with healthfood-type ingredients is something which Tobias would have spurned.

There is no 'friendly hippie supermarket' at Jones and Washington where the hill levels out. The cablecar tracks there descend a very steep slope, the intersection is anchored by a tall apartment building filled with elderly types who would indeed benefit from something yoghurty with banana and high-fibre, but I cannot picture them wishing to consume such, especially if bought from a friendly hippie supermarket.

It was daylight up there. The transition from deepest midnight to brightest morning takes several hours, even if there is no fog to slow things down.
And there had been no fog from Montgomery to Taylor.

There were far too many trees and shrubs along the route.

There had been too many pedestrians for that hour in Chinatown.

Portsmouth Square was missing, and the streets were paved with reddish cobblestones instead of blacktop.

No one seemed surprised at my remarkable upwardly mobile skateboard, although when I got to the deserted stretch of Washington between Taylor and Jones, where all the green leafy trees and shrubs are (not in the real world), I was worrying that flying a fifty foot concrete slab up hill would get me in some kind of trouble. Surely the municipal bureaucracy would object to someone taking off with their concrete item?
How long before they would miss it?
And review security film?

At that point, I realized that the trip it could only have been possible if that section of concrete had been made out of styrofoam, because of the weight, but with the tensile strength of wood. And that surfboarding uphill is, altogether, not possible. Certainly not at that great speed.
And not without panicking.



I ascribe all of this to what I had for dinner six hours ago.

Very juicy Italian meatballs with summer squash in a spicy red curry sauce, over white wheat noodles (關廟拉麵 'kwan-miu la-mien').

I may have overspiced it somewhat; it was SOOO good.

Probably shouldn't have had a cup of coffee afterwards.

It made me sleepy so I took a bit of a lie-down.

And at present I feel a twinge of gout.

I probably need a cigar.



You know, I rather wish there was a friendly hippie supermarket in an old brick firestation at Jones and California. I would put up with the enormous number of bananas, to which I'm allergic, if my brother did shop there.
It seemed altogether very pleasant and civilized, and the noise was subdued, so even my distaste for crowds did not kick in.

The only explanation for the 'there' or 'they're' issue is that there would have been a need for conversation. But I must doubt that he would have understood the intense ire I felt at the error I encountered earlier.
In that regard I am more of a noodge than he ever was.


I miss my brother. There was a kindness to Tobias, as well as a gentle quality. He was easily hurt, though he hid it well.




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