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Dreamed 1994/8/16 by Chris Wayan

I've just been chosen for Seattle's tribal council. I'm shown an orientation film before meeting the others. I didn't know Seattle has the lowest skyline of any major city. Even lower density than Los Angeles! The only exception is the Space Needle. The film claims it's not just a tourist icon: "It's a spiritual and historical monument, commemorating the spot where 700 years ago a treaty was made between all the tribes in the Sound, balancing fishing, hunting and berrying rights. The Tribal Alliance is always led by a couple, husband and wife--to discourage sexism or autocracy." It worked well for centuries, slowly knit the tribes together into one. Its most famous leader was of course Chief Sealth, who the city's named for.

The council still runs Seattle. But whites slowly infiltrated as they immigrated, and it's half-corporate now, ruled by a certain vain zillionaire. He tells us newcomers "Welcome to the board. I own all the communications equipment, and I won't let you install your own. You can rent them from me. You'll eventually quit this council and be my business rivals, and then I can deprive you of your familiar networks. Knowledge is power. Why should I let you have information for free?"

Oh, these Seattle software magnates. Egotistical kooks, every one.

These days, the council's a bunch of random looking working folks, many not even visibly Native. But some ancient customs prevail. Members house the newcomers free, and hospitality is mandatory. We're all considered to be one family, married as a group. This has sexual implications--something they downplayed in the orientation film! But I notice the members are checking out us newcomers very closely! I feel uncomfortable and worry they practice group sex. I'm pretty much a one-guy kind of girl. Suddenly a newcomer by me says "Your turn. Show us YOUR bodies." And this too is ancient custom. They have to. The old members sigh, stand up on the corporate round table and strip naked.

Not a sexy sight. Big hairy Sasquatch bellies and saggy breasts. Sad, sedentary, subservient bodies shaped by the TV and the car--so different from the compact elegant rather aristocratic people who formed the Tribal Alliance way back when. My assigned lover's blocked his stair with a cascade of gunk. Dream sketch by Wayan. Click to enlarge.

I cheer up in a minute though--I'm offered ritual shelter by the ONLY guy in the group I like! If I have to sleep with someone here, at least it's him.

I like his apartment too--light and large, with a nice view, above a restaurant. The only scary urban thing is the stair--dark and dank, it opens from a hidden door in a nook in a dark hall behind the restaurant.

At bedtime, I have trouble finding the hidden door. At last I do, but... it's stuck! No, clogged with something sticky-tough. Yell up to him to open the door.

He acts completely different now--mocking, cold, laughing at me. He says "I don't like you. I'm not attracted to you. I don't want you. I'm obliged to let you stay in my flat--IF you can get in!" He's deliberately blocked the stair. I pry and slowly recognize that smell. The tough sticky stuff is a mass of thousands of gelatin capsules. Vitamins? Drugs?

I pry one loose and recognize the label. It's allergy medication! Only they're empty. And stuck together.

"Have you noticed" he yells down "that they're empty? That's 'cause they've been used!"

Ugh. They're sticking to my hands. I don't know if I can tear my way through this stuff, it'll stick to my clothes, my hair... He lets me struggle a while before tossing the last bomb.

"Ask me," he yells down with a nasty laugh, "if they're ORAL."

I stop. Oral? "I bet you assumed they were oral!"

Suppositories? Used? YECCCCH!

He really doesn't like me! And... I liked him. The only guy I did. He seemed attracted. I thought he liked me.


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