Many Dreams from Many Nights after Many Different Meals: Part Two

The Modern Yo-Yo
I am a patriot. It is night-time and I am on a beach. My secret mission is to stay on this beach and observe: the land, the surf, the sky, anything and everything. A submarine breaks without turning its clearance lights on about ten yards from shore. Physically, this would be impossible, but my thoughts are not concerned with that. The enemy has breached our barriers and I must report this to my superiors. While making my concealed retreat, I am discovered by two enemy reckon spies. They are clad in better armor than I, and armed, so I put up no struggle. I am taken aboard the submarine and ordered about roughly in a language I cannot understand. Everyone is wearing a terrain mask so far, so I cannot even wager a guess as to who's hostage I am. I am taken into a small room and tied to a chair. There is another man in the room as well, also tied to a chair but badly beaten.
"Sir," he says respectfully through blackened eyes.
I am a lieutenant, or something. Before I can answer, a few of our captors enter the room brandishing four-foot switches. One of them immediately smacks my compatriot across the face, shouting something at me as if he were contesting it was my fault. I get a better look at the enemy now and deduce that I am fighting fascists. They are Korean, or Chinese, or something. They are thin and smell like cigarettes. As they grow increasingly fed up with beating my comrade, our hosts raise their voices from shouts to bellows. Another voice comes roaring out of the hallway, one not as shrill as the two in the room but in the same language nonetheless. Through the door comes their superior, assistant Home Depot manager Branden Koonce. He is upset about something they've been shouting about, pointing at me and scolding them in Korean, or Chinese, or something. After he himself whips my cohort across the face with a switch, Branden pulls up a chair to me and speaks in English. He is sitting with the rear of the chair facing me. He commences 'rapping':
"Listen, dude," he says, "you really need to cooperate with us. All we're trying to do is help you out. The government doesn't want to, but we do. So be a help and gives us what we want."
I don't know what it is they want. I don't know where I was stationed in the first place, or even what branch of the government/military I work for. I laugh in his face.


This Painting of Bemusement
I park at the furthest end of a large, gravel parking lot. There is no scenary--no trees, no clouds, nothing. I get out of my car and start walking the quarter mile to the Home Depot. Someone tackles me from behind and I go head first into the loose pavement. My attacker pulls my head back and slices my throat. I don't feel any pain, but I feel myself open up.

Does the Pope Shit In the Woods?
I am onstage at Lollapalooza playing guitar with the Red Hot Chili Peppers. The set has been going well so far, but my mind goes blank when I become conscious of my surroundings. Like Samuel Beckett, I am a clean slate in an alien situation. Chad Smith calls for "Give It Away" but I don't know how to play it. No one is upset except Anthony Kiedis, who storms off stage. I see Henry Rollins watching from stage left. I scamper over to him, as I notice he is trying to get my attention. He says this:
"Fuck him," gesturing to Kiedis as he performs a wanking moition, "tear it up."