I dreamed I was on one of those package dream tours--an hour here, two there...

And all I have to show from the whole night's travels were a few carvings on a temple-ruin in Patagonia--the Cult of the Sexy Duck.

ART NOTE: this crumbly, gritty texture was made on a primitive computer (an Amiga) by sharply limiting the number of colors, then pouring gradient fills inside other fills, at 90° or 180° angles. The narrow, labyrinthine color bands each become gradients of their own.

2022 FOLLOW-UP

Recently I finished transcribing my old journals fully, and was surprised. That night's "dream-tour" wasn't fully lost--telegraphic & nearly illegible, but I'd scrawled several scenes. Three seemed predictive.

1: WHITES STOLE OUR HEIRLOOMS

I drive along the California coast to our village. I'm Ohlone. The Anglos stole our sacred objects--sealed them in glass cases in museums. They assume we won’t even mind; don't even recall it was theft. Long quiet period, years. They assume we've given in peacefully...

Mind you, I don't like all that old art. Especially dislike the skullish inlaid masks--maybe real skulls, decorated like the Maya did... one more death cult.

2023 FOOTNOTE: Death-cult imagery crept up from Mexico to dominate the Mississippi Valley a while (Cahokia, c.1000 years ago), but hierarchy, priests and sacrifices never caught on in California at all. I knew this in 1987 when I dreamed it, so it felt extra strange when I woke, like my dream was making me live some lie whites liked to tell. Not by chance; that's the theme of Dream 2!

Next Day

My mom shows me her new French art book. One page shows just such a Mayan inlaid skull.
Then, at my dad's retirement party, he teases his anthropologist colleague Eldon with a song claiming Eldon digs up bones to sell!

2: OBEY THE STEREOTYPE--DRINK!

A woman I know says "I'm afraid I'm becoming an alcoholic." I get mad, and say angrily “You only drink because you believe us Indians drink, because you believe white people’s picture of Indians...”

Next Day

At my dad’s retirement banquet, a waiter replaces my water with champagne without asking. I don't like champagne, but apparently it's either booze or nothing...

3: MORE PATAGONIAN WALLS

In Patagonia, I see a strange, ancient wall. Bricks? No, a painted-on bricklike grid. I exclaim in shock when I suddenly through the brick-disguise to the bas-relief beneath--weird wobbly women in bikinis! My first thought: "How can they be comfortable in bikinis in Patagonia? Thin sun, constant wind..."

My friend Belle is here too, but can't see the women under the bricks. Now, neither can I! But we do find veins or dikes running down walls. Inspect closer. Bounded by friezes of dark stone carved in bas-relief faces--jaguars and humans. Between these vertical frieze-strips are oval stones, red & bluish, big & small. Carved? I think not, think they're real stones inlaid. What do they mean?

Next Day

My parents give me a box of old stuff. Open it to find old Heavy Metal comics, including Awaken by Martin Springett, (c) 1979, with spooky images of desert ruins of brick & stone courses, full of reliefs & full statues, including a woman in a sorta stone bikini. Though they’re not carved--they're previous travelers magically trapped.

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