*Lying, I might add* -- 22 Apr 2000


   Several dreams, the first three of which were sent in a memo on 
13 September 1998 --

   Recalling, the President performed his video on 17 Aug 98 
(shown 21 Sep 1998) explaining that whether he lied depended on 
“what the meaning of the word is, is,” and saying whatever it was 
he said about not feeling like they were ever alone -- in 
explaining how he could testify under oath that he was never alone 
with Ms. Whatever.


Saturday, 15 Aug 1998,
	Drm:  Seeing the front yard of my parents’ house, viewpoint 
from the front of the house (the house faces north, the viewpoint 
was from the west end of the front of the house).  The lawn is 
divided into quadrants by the east/west sidewalk along the block 
and a north/south walk from the front steps to the street.  I’m 
looking down at President Clinton lying on the quadrant directly 
in front of me (the southwest quadrant).  He is in the middle of 
the quadrant, lying on his back, attired in a dark suit.  However, 
there is no grass in that quadrant -- it is fine beige and light 
brown fine sand.  (Actually, the top two or three feet of soil is 
very dark; below that is the sand, uniformly beige and coarser 
than what I was seeing.)  President Clinton is lying on a flat 
plateau at the level of where grass actually is, but all around 
him is like geological erosion on a model scale -- about 6 to 8 
inches deep, configured in a few separate irregular dished-out 
patterns, each with steep boundaries and flat on the bottom.  (It 
was reminiscent of a scene from high above the Grand Canyon.)   
	President Clinton, his head turned to his left side toward 
the direction of the viewpoint, holds in his right hand a large 
like hand-rolled cigar, unlit and uncut, which he fumbles with 
feebly around his mouth.  Turning weakly just a little more onto 
his left side, his right hand (with cigar) slips away down from 
his face, this seeming to be in a final loss of strength.  
	Right then, I see on the east/west sidewalk bordering the 
north edge of the sand quadrant, a gathering of about eight men in 
dark suits as a group along the sidewalk, along the middle of the 
north edge.  They are quiet and reverent, and from the east end of 
this small group a relatively young man emerges -- in the manner 
like he has just been called, just informed it is his turn.  He 
quickly rounds the corner proceeding up the sidewalk leading 
toward the front steps, moving smartly in an upbeat manner.  He 
was shorter than the others, attired in a medium brown -- perhaps 
even tweed -- dress jacket, behaving in a manner suggesting 
inexperience by way of age -- for he was the Vice-President, and 
he was thinking, upbeat, like, “Oh, it’s my turn now to be 
President.”  [awoke]

   Thoughts I get characterizing the Vice-President are that 
although he was inexperienced, he seemed somewhat virtuous.  His 
wearing a brown jacket looked odd compared to all the dark suits.

   The contexts I wrote down contemporaneously, within two or 
three days:
      Anti-tobacco political movement.
      Addiction.
      He didn’t inhale.
      He is lying.  Lying the whole time, to the very end.
      He didn’t go anywhere.
      “. . . surely the people are grass.”



Friday, 14 Aug 1998,
	Drm:  I am driving my dad’s Ford Explorer clockwise around 
the block of his house at night.  The windows are all fogged up 
and won’t clear as if the weather is cold and damp, even though it 
seems to be a summer night.  I reach my left arm out the window, 
while driving, trying to wipe an area on the windshield to see 
through, fearful I could easily hit something and I don’t want to.  
I am constrained to keep driving, anyway, feeling disorientation 
of reason.  Rounding the southwest corner of the block turning 
onto Monroe Street, many persons are mingling about in yard, in 
the street, and near the cars parked alongside the street.  (It’s 
never really like that.)  This is a scene like you would see in 
front of a house where there is a party inside, although here I’m 
just observing the odd activity and kind of wondering about it.  
My subtle thinking is that people are going out to the cars from 
the corner house, like leaving at the same time.
	Now, continuing north, I approach the middle of the west 
side of the block, seeing up ahead the block corner, with 
expectation of then turning east, to arrive back in front of the 
house (which is the second house on the right after making the 
turn).  Still, I’m hardly able to see what’s in the road.  But 
then . . , from the middle of the west side of the block . . . 
   (scene shift) I am stopping, as if in front of my parents’ 
house, but that’s not where I am.  I am at a spot, two blocks 
south and two blocks east in front of what remains of where I was 
born.  It is a building (facing north) converted into apartments 
called, “Francis Villa” on the double block between Adams and 
Madison.  (Where the St. Francis Hospital itself used to be, on 
the east half of the double block, for a long time was a vacant 
lot.  So it was at the time of the dream.  Today, duplexes are 
being built.)  Pulling up along the side of the street to a stop, 
I feel relieved; all the truck windows are cleared.  Now, I’m all 
in control of the vehicle feeling no disorientation or stress.  
Observing the ground outside, I notice, singularly, the coating 
everywhere of a light layer of fine white snow -- although it is 
an ordinary still summer night.  And while there, looking at the 
upward slope of the fine snow-layered semi-circular driveway to 
the Francis Villa, for just a moment considering it, a god speaks, 
saying, “Alone, I might add. . .  It’s the past before terror.”  
[awoke]

   Contexts drawn contemporaneously:
   In a dream years ago, I was running around the block, which 
represented passage of time.
   I’m a Pyramidist.  The side-length of the Pyramid is 365.242 S-
cubits -- one year.
   Around the block is four side-lengths.
   The sand-quadrant in its dream was also the southwest of the 
four front yard quadrants.
   In the context of square side-lengths representing years, the 
placement of where the group of men was standing in the sand-
quadrant dream corresponds to the four-year starting point of the 
whole block, the block’s north midpoint.


   I recalled that in September 1991, I was in St. Francisville, 
LA, interviewing at the Gulf States Utilities River Bend nuclear 
power facility for the position “Senior Nuclear Safety Engineer.”  
The job focused on probability-scenario-risk analysis. 
    (The day included the psycho-analysis True or False test to 
see if you’re nuts.  “Dreams can tell the future.”  “There are 
certain persons who are ‘out to get you.’”)


Wednesday, 26 Aug 1998 (0400 hrs),
	Drm:  In the front yard of the house, there is a little 
practice football game being played (where we played as kids).  It 
is as if there are a few actually significant players here just 
having a little game, like kids do.  I see one player in 
particular as the play took him across the driveway, along the 
west side of the lot, into the yard of the west corner house.
	Then, I’m going up the front steps to the porch of our 
house, and as I open the door, I  stop and look back over at the 
southwest lawn square.  Now, the weather is cooler and breezy, and 
overcast.  The grass is beige, in the manner of late fall, after 
the leaves have fallen and been raked, and it has been frozen into 
dormancy.  I see a miniature scene on the lawn just inside the 
driveway, at about the midpoint of the lawn west edge.  In an area 
about 18 to 20 inches square, rows of gray folding chairs are set 
up -- like 8 rows of about 12 chairs, with University of  Miami 
students mingling around them (I see orange they are wearing and I 
know its UM).  Right away after seeing that, I observe its Navy 
and Air Force personnel -- they’ve appeared where before the 
students were.  I wonder where Army is, . . then I see them, in 
the back half of the arrangement of chairs, they -- looking like 
cadets -- are standing, wearing West Point gray class jackets.




   Contemporaneous contexts, 
      It’s commencement.
      Cadets graduate (usually).
      The southwest quadrant of lawn is the only one that actually 
looks square -- the others are rectangles of sorts.  The assembly 
at the midpoint of the west edge has correspondence to the 
midpoint of the west edge of the whole block.  That is where, in 
the 14 August dream, upon driving by the alley, I would have begun 
to be alongside of the west corner house lot -- only then I was 
dream-transported.


   Engaging in cryptic word analysis, “alone” would be a keyword 
relating (by way of a dream) in a certain way to my favorite 
cousin René, a girl my age, who was killed with her family, the 
last week of March 1996, on a southwest Nebraska highway in a 
sudden winter snowstorm, between two tractor-trailer rigs.  From 
there a few other relation paths can be drawn, such as,
  
   Wednesday 10 Sep 1997, after-dinner nap,
   Drm: The scene: beside a swimming pool seen from on the pool 
deck.  The day is mild and cloudy.  My cousin René is there.  But 
attention turns to the pool, where I observe a pool patio chair 
falling into, and residing submerged in, about four feet of clear 
pool water (not topaz-blue, that I could recall).  [end]

    That dream quickly reminded me of the time I went to swim at 
the North Palm Beach Country Club on US 1, the day before Labor 
Day 1979.  The clouds were swirling low, but the hurricane was not 
due quite yet.  When I got there the pool was closed, and the 
patio furniture was all in the pool (shallower end).  I swam for 
about a half hour, laps across the deep end; but the wind was 
getting weirder.  So I quit my swim workout.  Yet, that’s where 
the patio stuff goes when a hurricane is coming.  I spent the 
night with a friend in Jupiter, Hurricane David then coming ashore 
at the Jupiter Inlet on Labor Day morning.

   So, recall the song *Come Monday*, that I’ve had with several 
dreams, one fondly remembered in which I was singing it around a 
girl -- the girl about whom I also dreamt when we were being shown 
the high-rise condo south of San Francisco, before we met.


   *    *    *    *    *    *

Reply to: angel_marvelzombie@yahoo.com