Dream of August 11
As I approach the door of the house with Art (the Gude Ave. house), I see that the lock has been removed. We enter the house and the TV and stereo are missing. In the bedroom there’s also a TV missing. I am anxious because I think the burglar may still be here or come back, and I say that I don’t want to stay in the house tonight. Suddenly a short young guy appears right in front of me, trying to run for the door. He’s small and slight; it’s easy to catch him. He begs me not to call the police, but his reasons are ridiculous, and I’m going to. But then anther guy dashes across the room and I’m distracted and the first guy gets away. The second guy runs downstairs. At the head of the stairs I can see that the basement is dark and I’m nervous, but as I descend I see that there are young people who are like squatters down there; they seem like anarchist hippie types that I actually would think are pretty cool. Some are gathered around a fire and I see that they are “tribal”—that is, they think of themselves as a tribe—and they’re not at all concerned that I’m there, as if they were my hosts and not squatters. I look at the back door, at the laundry room and bathroom, and at a grid in the ceiling that leads outdoors, and each time I look back there are more of these people, and it occurs to me that it’s like the gathering of the crows in The Birds. Then I find that they are discussing Hitchcock and how great his movies are.