night of 11/01/09

sometimes this is a movie that i am in, or am watching, and sometimes it is real. i am stuck in a south american country. on leaving the airport after arrival, the people i am with are saying that it is worrying having my passport taken. we see someone taking pictures with a polaroid and my they say i should have my picture taken to prove that i was here. i beg him to take my pictuer and finally he relents. it turns out that he has already taken on where i am in the corner, and i am given both. as i examine the pictures, i am worried that not enough detail appears for the location to be identifiable.
almost immediately i try to find my way back home, accosting anyone who appears to speak english (mostly other white travelers) to ask them how they are getting home. it turns out that their passports were taken too, but most of them are offered them back the night before leaving. i am on a shuttle at the airport where everyone else has their passport. i must remain on the shuttle when they get off to board the plane, and sneak back into the airport without appearing suspicious.
back in the terminal, i see out the giant windows that the wind is coming up, making it hard for the planes to depart. a pack of twenty or so of the small planes are all trying to take off at once. each plane needs to bounce its wheels off of a runway a couple of times in little hops in order to achieve lift. the pack of planes takes turns doing so, the successful ones veering up and off to allow for others, but the effort is desperate; one plane veers off into a building. the plane i had wanted to board isn't going to make it, and releases a giant inflated structure, like a multi-story moon bounce, into the air. the passengers are strapped to it. two young women fall out of it together. a zoom of the camera shows their faces, and they are scared, but don't appear to be assured of death. we see that they are strapped to a separate couch-like inflatable, and they land safely. the larger structure lands as well, but is sliding into the water, as the passengers desparately try to remove the complicated straps and belts. the ones toward the water are being dunked repeatedly; some are not going to survive.
back in the airport i am begging an airline worker for a way out of the country. she mentions a bus to a southwestern american town. she asks if i have money. i have a lot; i say i have 'some.' she says that's good, i can pay a 'gas tax,' by which she means a bribe, to the right official, and be on the bus. this is wonderful news. (she is played by an actress i recognize from independent films.)
she recommends i be careful about my possessions. as i empty out my pockets, she is horrified. among other things for which i would be arrested, there is a highly subversive libertarian book. i say i don't know why i have these things, but in fact i have them because i have been told they would be useful in getting away from the country, possibly by someone underground. i manage to throw the things away.
as we have been speaking, four men in kilts have filed in to the large hall and have now dropped to their knees, in a line, before a group of people. this is worrying, as the scottish of this country are a minority with a nationalist movement, and some are terrorists. as i back away they lift their shirts, and they have bombs strapped to them.
i run desperately around a corner, dive into another, and cover my head. i hear someone just getting out of an elevator to my left. there is a massive blast, and shattered glass falls over me. soon there is a group of the survivors in a circle together. several of us ask: 'why are our mouths so dry?' i have a bottle with a little water in it. i take a tiny sip and then pass it on, saying: 'take a tiny sip, and pass it on, and pass these words on.' as i walk away, i hear the next person begin to repeat this.

night of 10/31/09

someone has been taking my poems and making them into popular songs, without permission or royalty, and this angers me. i am trying to collect all of my poems, which are slim hardcover books that keep spilling out of my hands. some fall through a doorway with a deep darkness inside, like an elevator shaft. i fly through and manage to catch the poem-books but can't ascend again to the lit doorway, and am sinking, unable to fly back up. janine is in the doorway, and i beg her, desperately: "help me!"