a familiar dream structure, but some new twists. I was on an upper level of a government building, with other members of the resistance. we had just been captured, and some had been led away already. one soldier had been left watching me and a few of the others. he was bored and had left his AR-15 lying on one of the pieces of free-form concrete furniture. another captive told him that spot was for his coffee-cup, so the soldier moved the weapon. apparently he didn't consider us a threat. I was walking back and forth in the immediate area, trying to come up with a plan, and eventually I didn't see the soldier any more, but the rifle remained. I watched it to make sure someone didn't grab it and do anything stupid, and eventually another soldier had charge of it. nobody I could see was paying any attention to me, so I decided to make a break for it. stripped down to my swim trunks and went to the water elevator; not exactly sure how it worked, but you went through water down one level at a time. a young lady hitched a ride holding onto my swim trunks, and a few floors down I was surrounded by young people; I asked if any of them had read Edward Abbey. none had, but some seemed interested, so I mentioned Desert Solitaire, then told them my escape plan as if it had been in one of Abbey's stories: enter a fast-flowing river, and just before the dam, the hero would be saved by getting close to the bank and getting sucked into an eddy where he could climb out.
eventually I was on the riverbank, and about to put on the upper part of my neoprene Batman wetsuit, when Robocop showed up. thinking it was Soundman, I went to give him a hug but he avoided it and then I knew it was an enemy. he pointed to a rectangle bulging partway out of the ground, indicating the fate of his previous opponent; then he walked away. then smaller but more dangerous people showed up, one resembling Castaneda's Don Juan, another looking like Mahatma Gandhi. finally I was in the kitchen of a cafeteria, and a black lady was eating a hamburger and saying I should buy her some more food. I remember saying something to the effect that I was poorer then she, and she countered that I should be working harder. then I found myself explaining to her and other statists that a free person works as hard as he wants to satisfy his own needs, and no harder; and one older black gentleman agreed, restating it in his own words. another black guy directly across from me was looking angrily at me, but the agreeable one said something to the effect that he and I were friends, so I was off the hook. woke up though, and never made it down the river this go-round.
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