Something More Sinister

My current employment, my desires to go to Spain, and all my friends got all fucking mixed up into a strange fucking dream last night. I had a lover in Spain. I was a student in this beautiful land of mountains and lakes and coastal cliffs. Whether I committed the ultimate crime or not I cannot recollect. I do, however, know that at a certain point I remember my name and face on TV; of course those goddamn gachupines couldn't pronounce my name to save their lives, but I got the point that the news anchor was trying to convey. I was wanted for murder.

Shortly after finding out that I was a fugitive I looked onto the floor of the passenger side of my car. There was a bloody bag stashed there, and I didn't know where it came from. "Did I commit the act?" I thought to myself. Then recollections came back to me. Memories of lying with my female companion near a lake, and the realization that she had a boyfriend. It was the boyfriend, I realized, that had been murdered. Now I had a motive and bloody articles in my possession. I had flashbacks to a body lying on the ground and me standing over it.

If I were caught they would have all the evidence they needed. More importantly, I came had to face the fact that I could have committed a murder and forgotten about it. Maybe I blacked out the gruesome details. I felt sympathy for our client back in the states, the one who is on trial for murder. She heard voices that told her to pick up a gun and pull the trigger. Can someone who is guilty really be a victim themselves?




I remember fleeing through an ancient coastal village, through alleyways perched high above sea cliffs. Eventually I was caught and brought to trial. The proceedings were in Spanish and I feared that I would not be able to properly speak for myself in Spanish. I got my boss to come out and represent me, except she didn't know the Spanish justice system.

The last thing I remember is the inevitable doom I faced. And then I looked up in the courtroom and saw the faces of all my friends, there to support me. They knew that I was innocent. I however, did not.

I woke up on a boat, and breathed in a breath of morning air as I joyfully realized that I wasn't a murderer.

East Oakland

Brett and I are driving down an industrial street in East Oakland, when we pass a used bookstore. Upon closer inspection, there was a book reading going on. When we approached the reader, it turned out to be no other than the eternal Roberto Verde (may he rest in peace). Roberto seemed intent on keeping his presence here a secret until he could spring the surprise (Why this was necessary when we had already seen him remains a mystery of the Verde Clan).

Flash forward: I am being held captive by General Guy-in-Trench-coat. He threatens me with my own six-shot revolver, while at the same time being extremely careless. To prove his control of the situation, he shows how he can point it at himself with no threat to his persona. BAM I smash my head forward into the hammer of the pistol, discharging it into the upper orbit of his right eye. Somehow this bullet leaves him more or less cognoscente, stunned and extremely angry. I rip free of my bindings and proceed to run through the industrial wasteland, uninhabited at this early hour of the morning.

As I am running, ducking amongst the piping and silos, someone calls me on my cell phone. Angie, (you may know her from Yo Soy Coyote), proceeds to tell me that Robbie is here and "that must be so exciting for you." I basically tell her, "Listen lady I'm kind of in the middle of something right now, being chased by a psychopath with my own pistol." Then I hang up on her. I think I smiled in the dream.

As I duck down one alleyway, the Trench-coat travels another in an attempt to cut me off. I go up a pipeline, and onto a rooftop where I wait out his frustration.

and SCENE

Post Script: The evening before this was preceded with Grand Theft Auto IV and Blood Meridian. I think that pretty much explains it.