Dream Combinatorics 3

1
We take a trip south toward San Francisco or is it London? Dermal contact with the substance enhances inter-dimensional dreaming. It rips the roof off my banquet hall, all of my dinner guests run screaming, and then reaches into the hall for me. By this token it makes sense our camp is at the bottom of the valley. Droves of people jog together under blaring sun toward the top of the mountain. In the bag I find not my books or my lap top but instead only a small glass cylinder, perfectly dry. He scales the tower to commit suicide every ten years apparently.

2
So we decide to relocate to a costal town  – is it Sandycove, Howth, or is it something on the west coast of the United States? It glows neon opaque. I must flee with the precious substance. About to take action against him, a beautifully plumaged bird flies from a nearby tree and perches on a branch right next to me. Something glitters beneath a shrub. I pick it up. It’s a tiny ruby shaped like a strawberry. The higher we climb, the more gems collect beneath our feet, mounds of perfect sapphires like grapes, and golden pineapples. I open one. Inside are scrolled up parchment documents. I unroll them and find a series of diagrams with measurements written in my hand, and then he looks at me. Where have I seen this clock tower before?

3
I return from my travels abroad with the glass cylinder full of viscous red ooze, then drop everything and dive into the group tent in search of my camera. Several more glitters in the grass indicate more of the unusual gem accumulations. I stand back up, and see that in fact they’ve accumulated all around the wicker dome. They all move together in one smooth combination of traditions, performing the dance with perfect accuracy. Disgusted by the display of degraded promiscuity around the campfire I retreat from the orange light, through the branches and trees, into moon light before an open clearing.

4
I’m not sure what the function of this ooze is, but I know it’s precious. Everyone around me wants to take it. At my first banquet in our new area of influence, the deity manifests as a five-story clock tower/windmill. Besides, the bird has already flown away. Our thoughts become more grounded. Down slope I see crowds of people making their way our direction. He drives us to the water front, then out onto the pier, and before I know it, we plunge over the edge into the water. At the other end of the clearing is a clock tower. There were others in the tub, or so I told her corpse, and defending my awkward approach I remind her, it’s my dream: polluted, violet midnight, starless landscapes.