Dream Journal 04.26-04.27
“Full Archer Jacket”
I paratroop onto a Chatsworth, CA, warehouse rooftop w/ another soldier. We recon with a tiny drone to find rebel militant locations in the building. They have dug an ICBM silo under the warehouse. We are here to shut it down.
We spelunk into the building through a busted skylight, pass all sorts of people, none of whom concern themselves with us. Find the rebel headquarters on the 1st floor. They think I’m one of them, bringing them my partner as a prisoner. Treat me like a hero, giving me a foot-long croissant and a huge gun with a Victrola Victor Talking Machine phonograph speaker-horn for a barrel.
“It shoots death frequencies,” the rebel leader tells me in Spanish. “Don’t fire it at the sky or use it at a zoo.”
The militants, who look like they’ve stepped out of the Archer Vice San Marcos jungle, keep giving me equipment (walkie-talkies, a Nespresso, etc). Over and over I escape out a basement door via a secret elevator with an apartment front door as its door. The rebels mistake me for one of them every time, and never figure me out. My partner never escapes.
The final time I escape across the street, the sun has just set, and the rebel commander appears on the warehouse roof. He shoots the Victrola phonograph horn gun into the sky as my commander yells “Goddamn!” in Gunnery Sergeant Hartman fashion.
A few seconds later a small yacht floats down from the sky, nose first. It appears about to crash into the grassy area of a public pool complex next door, but then does a loop-de-loop and drifts slowly, though clearly out of control, over the pool filled w/ raucous kids, between diving boards, into large hedge, hurting no one.
The rebel leader points the Victrola horn gun right at us across the street and yells something we can’t understand. A rush of wind picks up intensity and blows seagulls backwards by us, struggling to fly.
“Hold on, boys,” my commander says.