The fighter, the writer, and fireworks
Oct. 10th, 2023 07:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
boccaderlupoI dreamed I was refereeing a mixed-martial arts fight in a small VFW on the border of Pennsylvania. The place was packed. My son's best friend and a training partner, D., from my old gym were the combatants, a mismatch given that my son's friend is 12 and D. is roughly 40-something. The were both to dress up in costumes that seemed like ancient thunderbirds: long beaked masks and resplendent feathers, one in all blue, the other all red.
My son's friend came bolting out of the blue corner with a bizarre strategy. No fighter, he would throw a single jab and then run away around the perimeter of the cage, turn, and throw another jab, and repeat. The crowd began to boo. D. gave chase, and of course finally caught him, sending him to the mat with a flying suplex and pinning him. I knelt down by the combatants. My son's friend, in his droll, quiet way, was enumerating all the reasons he would not give up. This was a qualifying round, he explained patiently, and he had to get through it. The crowd continued its rain of boos. I snuck up alongside him and, blatantly illegal, administered an "Americana" lock, forcing the lad to tap out and ending the match.
The two weary warriors stood up and left the cage.
*
I dreamed we were living on my wife's old street. I was to introduce a writer I knew to another fellow, an accomplished writer who often offered peons to the Baltimore Orioles. The latter was tall, wan, and very white, with thinning blonde hair, a Saint Anthony's mane. The man was strange. He wouldn't reply to every query of mine, and instead climbed atop a freestanding mailbox and began crowing.
Then we were by my mother's home. It had snowed, and the landscape was encased in ice. My daughter and I were cross-country skiing. I have no idea how to ski in the waking world, but we went fast, and it seemed fun.
*
I dreamed I was with my brother's former fiancee's wife on a ferry, somewhere in Mexico City. I have never been to Mexico City in the waking world. Off the port side, fireworks lit up the night sky.
My son's friend came bolting out of the blue corner with a bizarre strategy. No fighter, he would throw a single jab and then run away around the perimeter of the cage, turn, and throw another jab, and repeat. The crowd began to boo. D. gave chase, and of course finally caught him, sending him to the mat with a flying suplex and pinning him. I knelt down by the combatants. My son's friend, in his droll, quiet way, was enumerating all the reasons he would not give up. This was a qualifying round, he explained patiently, and he had to get through it. The crowd continued its rain of boos. I snuck up alongside him and, blatantly illegal, administered an "Americana" lock, forcing the lad to tap out and ending the match.
The two weary warriors stood up and left the cage.
*
I dreamed we were living on my wife's old street. I was to introduce a writer I knew to another fellow, an accomplished writer who often offered peons to the Baltimore Orioles. The latter was tall, wan, and very white, with thinning blonde hair, a Saint Anthony's mane. The man was strange. He wouldn't reply to every query of mine, and instead climbed atop a freestanding mailbox and began crowing.
Then we were by my mother's home. It had snowed, and the landscape was encased in ice. My daughter and I were cross-country skiing. I have no idea how to ski in the waking world, but we went fast, and it seemed fun.
*
I dreamed I was with my brother's former fiancee's wife on a ferry, somewhere in Mexico City. I have never been to Mexico City in the waking world. Off the port side, fireworks lit up the night sky.
