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Action Movie Dream/  /October 17, 2002

Dreamt last night that Jeff Bezos was plotting to kill my father. We were sitting around happily on a Christmas Eve and a well-dressed stranger came in and started pulling the wool over our eyes. After a while, Jeff Bezos appeared through a secret passageway into our living room, with an entourage that included a haughty international lawyer and a prissy secretary. He saw that the operation wasn't complete, I guess, and turned back. We were left to sit there with the well-dressed guy, who eventually pulled out a little revolver, the kind you see in Poirot movies. I ducked against the couch and he slowly fired at me, missing intentionally, I think (the whizzing past my ear was deep, loud and slow). I counted six shots and then jumped up and knocked the gun out of his hand. Only in retrospect did I realize this was far too easy.

I held the man hostage for a while (he must have forgotten the clip was empty), until Bezos, lawyer, and secretary returned. I decided to hold them hostage too. They were appalled. At one point I pointed the gun directly at Bezos, and I looked in his appalled face, thinking, "How did this come to pass? I always respected him so much. . . and now, to protect my family. . ."

It must have been the haughty international lawyer who somehow cooled the situation. I remember him giving some drawn out, complicated arguments about what would happen to me for holding up this international figure and so on. I remained stubbornly resolute. The lawyer and the prissy secretary kept complaining about the accomodations (my living room) and saying they were going to check into this or that luxury hotel as soon as they got out of there. I'm happy to note that Bezos was too cool for that line of reasoning.

Once the gun had been despatched (maybe somebody noticed it wasn't loaded), there was a lengthy standoff because there was the question of whether I'd get in trouble for taking hostage these respected figures, or whether they'd get in trouble for plotting to kill my dad. My dad, by the way, didn't seem to appear at any point in the dream, but it was somehow obvious that it was he they were trying to kill. During this standoff, my mom and I were looking furtively around the room at the vital clues—this or that christmas present, for example—and trying to signal each other, or to preserve these items without tipping off the bad guys that they were good clues.

At around this time, John Richards woke me up with some beautiful music: The Frames.

It all made sense at the time. Roommate Juraj says he's had intense dreams three days in a row, wonders if there's a gas leak somewhere?

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