Between 1973 and 2011, I recorded dreams in which marijuana appeared. Over the years, I began to sense that those dreams could be strung together to tell a story. The following string of dreams tells that story.

Portsmouth, Ohio (about 20,000 people in 2010) sits on the banks of the Ohio River. My family moved to Portsmouth in 1963 when I was 11 years old and in the sixth grade. After graduating from Portsmouth High School in 1970, I attended the Portsmouth branch of Ohio University for two years. Two of my Portsmouth friends, Steve Weinstein and Roger Anderson, attended high school with me, but after graduation, they went away to college instead of staying in Portsmouth. By 1973, at the age of 20, I also left Portsmouth and enrolled at The Ohio State University in Columbus, Ohio.

Dream of: 05 December 1973 "Finished With Drugs"

While sitting in a classroom somewhere on the campus of The Ohio State University, I glanced through a window encased in a door leading to a hallway, and saw my friend Steve Weinstein standing on the other side of the door. After I walked over to the window and tapped it, Weinstein turned toward me, opened the door and walked into the classroom.

After we had both sat down, I noticed that Weinstein seemed to have aged since I had last seen him. When I asked him what he was doing in Columbus, he avoided the question, but he acted as if he hadn't come to see me.

We began talking about drugs and Weinstein told me he had been smoking and selling marijuana. He also said that he was selling some LSD called "purple barrel" and that he just happened to have a tablet of purple barrel with him. When he asked if I would like to try it, I said no, that I was finished with drugs.

When my friend Roger Anderson showed up, I quickly learned that Anderson (who appeared to have become Weinstein's new friend) had regularly been smoking the marijuana which Weinstein was selling.

I asked Weinstein about his present scholastic status and he informed me that he had taken a correspondence course at Ohio State. That surprised me, but it surprised me even more when he told me he had failed.

Phil Waddell was another high school classmate during those long teenage years in Portsmouth. Waddell and I were never friends and I lost track of him after high school.

Dream of: 04 May 1974 "Profundity of Life

Feeling depressed, I walked along Chillicothe Street (the main north-south street in downtown Portsmouth) until I met my old high school classmate Phil Waddell and his attractive frizzy-black-haired girlfriend. After speaking to them, I walked away, but since I was so lonely, I turned around and walked back to them. I just wanted to be near someone. When I asked them where I could find someone in town with whom to talk, they shrugged and said that finding such a person was impossible. After the three of us embraced, I decided to go with them for a ride.

As we rode through the country (it was springtime), I thought about the way Waddell had evolved into the niche reserved for him by society. He and his girlfriend seemed uninteresting, but happy.

Waddell pulled out a bag of marijuana and rolled a joint. When he asked me if I wanted some, my mind began flashing. I could see no reason why not. I hadn't smoked in six months. Lonely and depressed, I thought perhaps the marijuana would give me a boost. I answered, "Sure."

Something, however, gnawed at my mind and when I had the joint in my hand, I asked Waddell if he had ever stopped using drugs. He said he had once stopped for several months, but then someone had offered him some drugs and he had returned to the routine.

I looked at myself intensely and I asked myself whether I should smoke marijuana. After a short painful deliberation, I decided that smoking would be disadvantageous. Instead of smoking the joint, I gave it to Waddell's girlfriend, who was now sitting between Waddell and me.


After Waddell, his girlfriend and I arrived at a home in the country, we walked in and sat down in the living room. While Waddell and his girlfriend continued smoking heavily, Waddell turned on a record player, and with an intoxicated demeanor, began listening to the music.

Meanwhile, as I was trying to understand my destiny, I realized that both Waddell and his girlfriend needed help. I didn't want to preach to them, but they were obviously in need of guidance. I felt a poetic impulse and I began talking to them about the shortness of life, the consequences of the use of life, and the ultimate question of eternity. I could see, however, that the marijuana was preventing my communicating effectively with them.

The sister of Waddell's girlfriend arrived. She looked like a girl I had once known in Portsmouth. Although I felt attracted to her, I was preoccupied with continuing my speech on the profundity of life.

Mike Walls was probably my best friend during my last couple years of high school and my first two years of college in Portsmouth. Walls was slightly older than I, but he was a year behind me in school because he had failed a year. A thin black-haired fellow, Walls never went to college. He played bass guitar for a while in a band around Portsmouth but he finally gave it up. Like I, he wasted a lot of time in his life.

Dream of: 12 July 1975 "Wasting Time"

I was sitting in the back seat of a car in Portsmouth with Mike Walls, Randy Ramey, and Steve Buckner (three of my best friends in my late teens). We were smoking marijuana. I took two hits, became high, and decided I didn't want to smoke anymore with them; so I left.

I went to the Logan Street House (my mother's home in Portsmouth) where I found my mother and asked her to fix me something to eat. I told her I would be back shortly and left. It was 10:45 a.m.

I decided to find Buckner and Walls again and smoke more marijuana with them. I located Buckner and together we went to Walls' house. As I waited while Buckner and Walls ate something, I kept thinking about how much time I was wasting. We finally left to search for Ramey, because Ramey had the marijuana. When we found Ramey in the library, I told everyone that it was too late now and that I had to leave because I had promised my mother I would be back. It was already 12 o'clock.

Phil Lane was a good-looking blond-haired fellow who was a year ahead of me in high school. I hardly knew him, except for a few weeks in the summer of 1970. He didn't go to college, and I never knew of him to work at anything legal. He was a party guy and fun to be around. I was quite the party boy myself back in the summer of 1970.

Dream of: 24 August 1975 "Broken Sunglasses"

While in Portsmouth, I bought a pound of marijuana from Phil Lane (who also seemed a little like other Portsmouth acquaintances from my teenage years, Leroy Maggard, Steve Buckner, and Mike Walls, all rolled into one). Lane and I transported the marijuana to Lane's house and after descending to the basement (which seemed like the basement in Buckner's house), Lane and I sat in a little cement-block room. Having already rolled some of the marijuana into joints, I pulled out a joint and lit it. Lane and I sat smoking until the joint became rather small. I then stuck the joint backwards into my mouth and blew smoke through it into Lane's mouth.

We decided to leave, walked outside and boarded a car. Lane and I weren't alone in the car - someone else was sitting in the driver's seat. Lane sat on the passenger side of the front seat while I sat in the back seat. After I stuffed the marijuana under the dash, we rode off.

As we rode along, Lane told me a little story. He said some black fellows had attempted to steal all his marijuana and Lane's father (whom I pictured as looking like the father of Mark Upton, another Portsmouth acquaintance) had encountered the blacks in the basement and had paid the blacks $300 to leave. Lane said he afterwards pressed charges against the blacks, who were subsequently fined $430 and sentenced to 30 days in jail.

 I asked Lane to pull the marijuana out from under the dash and hand it to me. Lane pulled out the marijuana (which was in a container resembling a long, thin, rectangular, candy box) and after he handed the box to me, I stuck the box in the inner pocket of the long, green, army coat which I was wearing.

As we headed for the state liquor store on Gallia Street, I remembered my father had earlier warned me not to go to the liquor store. When we nevertheless arrived at the liquor store, we stepped out of the car and walked inside. Lane only wanted to buy two packs of cigarettes. Since I didn't smoke, I didn't want any.

While in the store, I looked at the bottles of alcohol and noted how expensive they were. When I saw a bottle of Tom Collins among the bottles, I remembered that Buckner used to buy that particular brand. I thought about buying a bottle, vacillated and decided not to. I then saw a bottle of whiskey which looked like a bottle of chocolate milk. Somehow the chocolate milk and whisky had been blended together. I thought about how good it must taste.

After Lane had ordered two packs of cigarettes, things became confused, and the store clerks tried to force Lane to buy 20 more packs. Somehow I became entangled in the mess and the clerks tried to compel me to buy 70 packs of cigarettes.

Cheap broken pairs of sunglasses were lying all around the store.

I tried to plead with a police officer who was in the store, but I had no success. I felt a trifle like Josef K., the main character from Franz Kafka's novel, The Trial.

Worried about the marijuana in my coat pocket, I feared the people in the store knew I had it. I remembered my father's having told me not to struggle, but to simply give in.

When Lane and I were finally able to leave the store, we carried the cigarettes (and some broken sunglasses) in a plastic bag to the prosecutor's office, which was down the street in a building beside the Laroy theater. After we walked into the prosecutor's office and told the prosecutor what had happened, he said that the whole thing was ridiculous and that we didn't have to buy the cigarettes. Relieved, we returned to the liquor store and informed the officer at the store of the prosecutor's words. We deposited the plastic bag with the cigarettes and broken sunglasses on the counter and left.

Lane and I got back in the car, which Walls was now driving. We rode off and bustled recklessly, drugged, through the streets.

Steve Buckner and I were classmates and good friends during my last three years of high school and we remained friends after he went away to college at the University of Cincinnati in 1970. Buckner was intelligent, and was especially apt in the sciences. He played guitar and also played in a band for a while. He and I ultimately operated together outside the pale of the law for a very short period of time.

Dream of: 01 February 1977 "Impaled"

I was in the back seat (on the driver's side) of Steve Buckner's car, while Buckner was in the driver's seat. Six people, including myself were in the car. We were sitting in the parking lot of the BBF (a hamburger carry out) in Portsmouth.  Next to me sat a pretty girl who seemed somewhat like Ursula (a girl I had known in Portsmouth as a teenager) and somewhat like Carla (another Portsmouth acquaintance I had known as a teenager). The others in the car were smoking some marijuana. I was tempted to smoke, but I didn't. Finally, however, someone handed me a metal pipe and I took several deep hits from it.

Suddenly someone said something about the police and I saw the police behind us. Buckner started to drive off, but then stopped the car. Everyone inside was in a panic because of the marijuana. I knew Buckner had a large baggie full of marijuana (too much to eat), so I also was quite frightened. After the police surrounded us and ordered us out of the car, Buckner stepped out. As one policeman turned his head, Buckner suddenly ran wildly across the street toward an alley. One policeman ran directly behind Buckner and two others ran around a building to try to cut him off. Unfortunately for Buckner, a fence stretched across the entrance to the alley, so Buckner couldn't run into the alley. In front of the fence stood a garbage can. Buckner leaped onto the garbage can and attempted to jump over the fence, but he failed in the attempt and was impaled across his midsection. All I could see were his kicking feet. Since I was sure that Buckner would be charged with resisting arrest, I began thinking about the legality of what had happened.

The profound effects of psychotropic drugs upon the psyche reach deep into the memory.

Dream of: 15 October 1977 "The Psyche"

My mother and I were living in the House in South Shore, Kentucky (a four room cottage in South Shore, Kentucky, across the Ohio River from Portsmouth, a cottage in which I lived for about a year when I was in the fifth and sixth grade in 1963, before my family moved to Portsmouth in 1964). When a fellow came to the door for me. He was wearing a red cap (pulled down almost over his entire face). When I stepped outside to meet him, I recognized the fellow as my second cousin Keith. He had arrived in a blue jeep driven by his older brother, my second cousin Jeff. Another fellow who reminded me of Chuck Welton (a high school acquaintance from around 1969 whom I had hardly known) was also in the front seat of the jeep.

They were smoking marijuana and they asked me if I wanted some. When I asked them if the pot was any good, they said the pot was about 10 times better than regular Colombian marijuana.

I was in a terrible mood. I told them that I would go with them, but that I would have to return soon because I was being hired by Pasquinelli (my boss when I had a paper route in 1970) to take over a Cincinnati Enquirer paper route. Jeff and the others said they understood because they likewise had Enquirer routes.

I boarded the vehicle and we drove off in the direction of Portsmouth. I sat in the back with Keith, who put some marijuana in a pipe. I lit the pipe and took a deep hit from it. The marijuana crackled and a few pieces which looked like brown paper fell onto the floor.

Keith pulled out a jar which contained the marijuana (which was in cubes and looked like croutons). I plopped one piece into my mouth and ate it. When Keith saw what I had done, he put the lid back on the jar. Jeff said that he was selling the cubes for $2.50 to $5 apiece and that they were eight-way hits.

I began to feel rather intoxicated and the sky started to look watery. The conversation of the others was boring me so I decided to change it and I asked a question about the psyche. When all three rattled off something that Socrates believed about the psyche, it sounded as if they must have memorized what they were saying for a class.

After attending classes at The Ohio State University for six months in 1973, I ultimately transferred to Ohio University in Athens, Ohio, where I graduated in 1975. After graduation, I worked odd jobs and traveled for a couple years, until I was finally arrested in Iran in June 1978 and charged with auto smuggling. I was in the company of an 18-year old  Canadian fellow named Tom Smith with whom I spent eight months in a jail in Tabriz, Iran, until we escaped in February 1979, when the jail was overrun by a revolutionary throng at the beginning of the Iranian Revolution.

Dream of: 21 July 1978 "Tehran"

Tom Smith and I had just arrived by jet in a large city where we were either delivering or picking up a large quantity of marijuana. We either had already delivered the marijuana and were waiting for the money, or we had given the money and were waiting for the marijuana.

After boarding a bus, we were driven through a deserted street. We rode over a bridge and three times the bus passed over bumps which made my stomach jump. I thought we were going to crash, and each time I was momentarily frightened. I started to ask Tom if he were afraid, but I stopped myself. I didn't want to have to explain why going over the bridge made me afraid, but I was thinking of the time the Silver Bridge had collapsed near Gallipolis, Ohio in 1967 and 40-50 people had been killed.

A city shrouded in white clouds lay sprawling beyond the water to our left. I was unsure Tom knew we were in Columbia; I thought he believed we were in Peru. The bus moved on through the streets and the scenes seemed familiar. I wanted to say I had been there before, but I realized I had never been in Colombia. When I asked Tom if he knew where we were and he said Colombia, I was surprised by his accurateness.

I had begun to feel silly and suddenly I realized why. We weren't in Colombia at all and Tom was wrong. I answered him back, "No, this is Tehran and you'd better hang on, because the person with whom we made the connection slipped some LSD to us and we're beginning to trip."

My father's father, Cole (my grandfather), died in 1947, almost five years before I was born, and my grandmother Mabel married my step-grandfather Clarence in 1948. Before marrying my grandmother, Clarence had already had two children, Ivan and Lou, who became my step uncle and step-aunt after Clarence's marriage to my grandmother. Shortly after their marriage, my grandmother and step-grandfather moved to a farm of approximately 200 acres in Pike County Ohio (about forty miles north of Portsmouth) into the "Pike County Farmhouse."

Dream of: 05 October 1978 "Fleeting Images"

I took two pounds of marijuana to Ramo's house in Portsmouth (Ramo was a friend with whom I started smoking marijuana when I was 17 years old when we were both seniors in high school in 1970). I wanted to sell the marijuana to Ramo, but when I realized Ramo didn't yet have the money with which to buy the marijuana, I left.

Outside in the street I encountered Rico (a German fellow with whom I was incarcerated in prison in Iran in 1978), and we began playing a game of chase. As I chased Rico through the streets, we came to a fire station and walked inside. We saw a fire truck, as well as the beds where the firemen slept. We also saw two, large, glass jugs of milk. Since Rico and I both had mugs with us, we each filled our mugs and each drank a mug-full of milk. As we filled the mugs a second time, intending to leave with them, Rico asked a fireman how much the milk cost. When the fireman said the milk would cost 1,000 rials (currency of Iran), we thought the price was ridiculously high, but when he finally said the milk would only cost 60 rials, we paid him for it.


I returned to Ramo's house where I found Ramo in a room on the first floor. When I poked a stick in a hole in the chimney in the room, I could hear stones which I had knocked loose falling inside the chimney. It sounded as if the chimney had no floor and that the stones continued falling down.

I noticed Shannon McGee (a Portsmouth acquaintance whom I briefly knew in 1977) sitting in the room, smoking a joint. He said the marijuana he was smoking was some of the same marijuana I was selling. I praised the marijuana, took a hit from the joint, and passed it to Ramo.

Ramo and I then walked upstairs to his room, where I saw many little white bags full of white powder on his dresser. Ramo said that the powder was just like psilocybin mushrooms and that the powder was good when sprinkled on marijuana.

Other people were also in the house; I heard Ramo's parents coming up the stairs. Obviously they knew what was going on in Ramo's bedroom, but they didn't say anything. Suddenly an excited man burst into the room. At first I thought the man was a policeman, but then I realized that he was only complaining because he couldn't pay his rent because Ramo owed him $200. When two or three other men also showed up, a fight seemed to be in the making, but the men finally left without further incident.

I stood up and told Ramo if he would simply sell one pound of marijuana, he would have enough money to pay the man. When I also told him he should do something with the white powder, he gave me a bag and I began snorting the powder from it.

I noticed a doll in the room which reminded me of my brother Chris (five years my junior, crippled with muscular dystrophy). The image of Chris made me remember a time when I had been with Chris at the Pike County Farmhouse. I recalled that my step-uncle Ivan, Ivan's wife, and two small girls had walked into the room. Chris had spoken with one of the girls, and then they had all left.

My family finally settled down in 1964 near downtown Portsmouth in the "Gay Street House," a huge two-story Victorian house of twelve rooms and two baths. While my family lived upstairs, my father converted the downstairs into offices for his real estate business. He later also opened an insurance agency in the downstairs.

Dream of: 30 September 1980 "Burned House"

I was talking with my father in his office in the Gay Street House. One of my father's employees, Seeley, was present and I thought about asking Seeley if he could obtain some marijuana for me. I wanted to smoke some pot and I thought Seeley would probably know where to find it. Since my father was there, however, I decided not to say anything about the pot, and Seeley left.

When Seeley returned with another person a few minutes later, we walked out to his car and Seeley asked me if I would like to buy some marijuana. After I told him I might want to buy about $10 worth, we boarded his car and drove away. After he pulled a baggie of marijuana from his pocket and rolled a joint, we rode around smoking it until we finally returned to the House.

When we pulled up, we could see there had been a fire inside the first floor of the House; apparently the fire had been Seeley's fault. My father was busily stripping the burnt wood from the interior walls of the House and stacking it outside. He had also carried out some badly burned old real estate signs which had been stored on the second floor. One sign said, "For Rent."

I wanted to speak with my father and tell him the fire looked problematic for his insurance agency, but before I could get out of the car, Seeley pulled out the baggie and started to give me part of the marijuana in it. Since I had thought he was going to give me the whole baggie for $10, I asked him what he was doing. He told me he had only intended to give me half the marijuana in the baggie for $10.

When my father abruptly walked over to the car, I cautioned Seeley, "Be careful. Here comes my father."

Seeley quickly put the marijuana in a handkerchief so my father didn't see it. Nevertheless, I still thought my father somehow knew what was going on. When my father reached the car, Seeley had already slipped out, leaving me sitting in the back seat. My father walked up and asked, "How does the House look now?"

My mother was born in Gallia County, Ohio in 1931, and I was born 21 years later in Gallipolis, the county seat of Gallia County. Gallipolis is another river town about 70 miles up the Ohio River from Portsmouth. At the time I was born in 1952, my mother's parents, Leacy and Liston (my maternal grandparents) were living in the House in Patriot, in the little Gallia County village of Patriot, Ohio. At that time, Liston and Leacy also owned a fairly large farm of 388 acres, the "Gallia County Farm."

In 1961, Liston and Leacy sold the 388-acre Gallia County Farm to my parents. My family moved to the Farm in the summer of 1961 and lived there for a year and a half until the end of 1962.  My parents then sold the Gallia County Farm to my paternal grandparents Mabel and Clarence , whereupon Mabel and Clarence moved there at the end of 1962. Thus the Gallia County Farm passed from my maternal grandparents Liston and Leacy to my parents in 1961, and then from parents to my paternal grandparents Clarence and Mabel in 1962.

Dream of: 06 October 1980 "More Powerful Than Christ"

While I was in a new bar on Chillicothe Street in Portsmouth, Ron Bell (a rough-hewn employee in my father's cellulose insulation manufacturing company; I knew Bell briefly in 1979) walked in and sat down at my table two chairs away from me. He reached out with one of his long arms, put it around my head and rubbed the back of my head in a pleasant way. I moved into a chair closer to Bell, still leaving an empty chair between us.

Some children (only 15-16 years old) in the bar were talking about playing a game which they had found in a book (they didn't have the book with them at the moment). One kid said that when he played the game, he would be 10 times more powerful than Jesus Christ, and apparently he would then tell the other kid what to do. They kept talking about the game and one kid kept asking questions.

Bell said something about my father having accused him of taking someone named John Ford or John Smith out to the Gallia County Farm. Apparently that person was now out there running around in the hills. Bell said he hadn't taken that person out there, although he had once been out there with him and had smoked some
marijuana with him. I said, "Man, I smoked some good Puerto Rican grass when I was in Puerto Rico."

Bell's eyes lit up when he heard that. I said, "Well, do you have any?"

When he pulled out a tightly rolled baggie and handed it to me, I asked, "How much is that?"

He said he was charging $15 for a joint and he asked me if I wanted to buy it. When Steve Buckner (who had been sitting on the other side of the table) walked around to our side, I thought I might buy half and Buckner could buy half. When I asked Bell how good the marijuana was and he said it was pretty good with alcohol, I figured the pot was just average. I handed it back to Bell. I didn't want to hold it right there in the bar. After sticking the baggie back in his pocket, Bell pulled out a joint and lit it up. My mouth was watering for it. I wanted to smoke, but people were all over the place and I didn't really want to smoke in front of everyone. Bell passed the joint to someone to his left. The joint next went to Buckner, then to a fellow behind me. The fellow stood up because he really wanted to smoke, but as soon as he had the joint in his hands, he just passed it on to me and said he was too conservative to smoke. I could tell he simply didn't want to smoke in front of all the people there.

Smoking in front of everyone likewise bothered me, but unable to resist, I took a deep hit. I looked around and saw Wood (a former high school classmate) in the back of the bar looking at me. I thought I also saw King (a former female high school classmate) with Wood. 

After I had toked, I noticed three men in suits to my left and I felt that something was wrong. I immediately put the joint out, stuck it in my mouth and swallowed it. Suddenly the man right behind me said, "All right. Let's stand up. Get any pills you have out of your pockets."

I stood up. I didn't have any kind of drug on me. The man said, "Do you have your wallet with any kind of identification?"

In a very weak voice I said, "No, sir, I don't."

As I just stood there, Bell also stood up.

After I returned to southern Ohio from my prison stay in Iran in the summer of 1979, I moved to the Gallia County Farm and stayed there with my paternal grandparents Clarence and Mabel. On the highest hill of the Farm, I built a sturdy one-room log Cabin from large oak trees which I cut down on the Farm. I lived in the Cabin until January 1980 when I began working in Chillicothe, Ohio for the Census Bureau. When I was laid off from the Census Bureau after six months, I moved to San Juan, Puerto Rico where I was able to collect unemployment benefits and teach some English for a few months in late 1980.

Dream of: 20 October 1980 "Return From Puerto Rico"

After returning to Portsmouth from Puerto Rico, I went to Mike Walls' house and told him about some of my experiences in Puerto Rico. My step-grandfather Clarence was also there. I mentioned that Randy Ramey had visited me in Puerto Rico.

It was getting late and it seemed Walls and I had been drinking some alcohol. Walls pulled out a baggie of marijuana and asked me how long it had been since I had smoked. I told him it had been over two weeks and I really didn't want to smoke. He lit up a joint, began passing it around and talked about how good it was. I told him I had smoked some good Puerto Rican marijuana with Ramey when Ramey had visited me in Puerto Rico. We had smoked it at Fugitt's (a former high school schoolmate) house in Puerto Rico.

The joint came around to me. I took a hit and then passed it on. The joint came back and I took another hit. Suddenly I felt terrible about smoking because I had told myself I wasn't going to smoke anymore. I felt absolutely miserable.

My step-grandfather Clarence, also smoking, asked me about Ramey's visiting me in Puerto Rico.

Along with Mike Walls and Steve Buckner, Randy Ramey was the third friend with whom I mostly partied during my first couple years of college from 1970-1972. Ramey graduated with me in 1970 from Portsmouth High School, but we weren't friends until after high school. He attended The Ohio State University and graduated in economics in 1974. He was somewhat self-conscious of being a bit pudgy. He always seemed to have money, even though he never seemed to have a real job.

Dream of: 13 September 1981 "Accusation"

Randy Ramey and I had gone to a little shed on a farm where Ramey had been living with another fellow for a while. The dirt-floor shed (devoid of furniture) didn't have a wall on one side. After we had sat down on the dirt floor, Ramey told me he was renting the shed from a farmer for $60 a month and that he was two months behind in rent payments.

The farmer from whom Ramey was renting the shed walked in, sat down and said he had discovered marijuana growing amidst the corn in a nearby corn field. The farmer (40 years old ) was carrying a little book about marijuana and he began describing the marijuana he had found in the field. I spoke with the farmer about the marijuana, but Ramey remained quiet and didn't say a word during the entire conversation.

The farmer showed me a picture in the book and said the marijuana in the field was about a foot high. Obviously the farmer was very intelligent. When he showed me the book, I saw a legal section in it, and in the back of the book was an Ohio court case dated 1969. After explaining to the farmer that I had studied law for a year, I took the book and began trying to read the Ohio case, trying to understand the law regarding cultivation of marijuana in Ohio, but the farmer took the book back before I had a chance to finish. He then stood and left.

While I had been talking with the farmer, I had concluded that Ramey had planted the marijuana. I told Ramey, "Whatever you do, don't go down there and try to pick any of that marijuana because he is probably going to be watching you with his field glasses from the house."

Ramey said it was about time he packed up and left the area. He said he saw a whole new life opening up for him and that it was all for the best anyway. Before Ramey could leave, however, the farmer returned and handed Ramey what appeared to be a citation for Ramey to appear in court. When I asked Ramey if I could see the paper, he handed it to me. It consisted of three or four pages of what seemed like thin white cardboard.

On the paper, I saw a row of words which said, "Accusation." I couldn't fully understand what the accusations were because so many abbreviations were among the accusations. I said the citation was vague and ambiguous. Ramey and I both continued trying to read it, but neither of us could understand it.

The farmer stood watching us with his hat in hand.

Finally I deciphered the citation: the charge was that Ramey was a never-do-well, that he hadn't been working for about a year and that he hadn't been doing anything.

I told the farmer that he could sue Ramey, but that a lawsuit was going to cost the farmer considerable money, and that Ramey might sue the farmer in turn. I told the farmer that I would try to find a good lawyer for Ramey and that I was going to show the citation to my law professors.

The farmer seemed taken aback by what I had said; he didn't seem to understand what he had gotten himself into. I explained to him that starting a legal process could be a dangerous affair, and one needed to be quite sure of what one was doing before beginning. I said that the present action was a farce and that the farmer had no grounds for an action against Ramey. I told the farmer he would probably end up being sued himself.

The farmer mentioned that Ramey was two months behind in his rent; from the farmer's statement, I inferred the farmer was thinking of evicting Ramey for non-payment of rent. I became agitated, jumped up and said, "No, you can't simply kick him out. You have to give notice first. But I'm not going to tell you about all that. You're going to have to hire a lawyer to tell you your rights. Of course if you want to pay me something, I might give you some information. But if you want to kick him out right now, go ahead and do it now while there are two witnesses here and then see what happens."

I thought of telling the farmer he would find Ramey and his friends would be honest in the whole matter if called to testify, but then I decided not to say anything else.

I told Ramey, "Just don't say anything else to him. Just tell him to get off your land."

Instead of waiting for Ramey to tell the farmer to leave, I jumped up and said, "Get out! Get off this land. Even though the land does belong to you, Ramey has rented it and you are a trespasser. If he tells you to get off and you come back on, you can be sued for trespassing."

The farmer picked up his hat and left.

While in Puerto Rico, I took the Law School Admission Test, and in February 1981, at the age of twenty-eight, I entered Baylor Law School in Waco, Texas. Legal questions pervaded my mind.

Dream of: 06 October 1981 "A Resolution"

I was in Portsmouth where for some time I had been trying to learn how to attend the city council meetings where laws were passed. I learned the meetings weren't merely for the small body of council members, but also for the public in general. However, there was a membership and if some one from the public wanted to attend a meeting, he must have been invited by a member. I also learned that George Musser (a burly Portsmouth acquaintance whom I knew briefly in 1970) was one of the members of the city council.

Typically, at council meetings, the floor was thrown open to resolutions and debate over the resolutions. If the resolutions passed, they became law in Scioto County, Ohio.

I managed to enter one meeting. Before arriving, I had written my own resolution which proposed the legalization of marijuana. Before the meeting began, I passed out some literature to try to persuade as many people as possible to vote in favor of my resolution.

The meeting was opened and some other business was first attended to. A speaker read all the resolutions. Finally he arrived at my resolution which also stated some reasons why marijuana should be legalized. One reason was that approximately 80% of young people were already smoking marijuana and were therefore in blatant violation of the law. As a consequence they had lost much respect for the law.

My resolution also mentioned that the writer of the resolution smoked 345 grams of marijuana a year. The speaker (obviously opposed to the resolution) declared, "That just gives you an idea of what the idiot is like who wrote this thing."

At the end of my resolution were the signatures of five or six people. My signature was at the bottom of the list.

When the speaker asked for a motion to pass the resolution, I stood up and said, "I do so move."

Someone to my right seconded the motion and asked me if the resolution as it stood could actually be passed into law in Scioto County.

The speaker threw the resolution open to debate. Some people seemed concerned that the small body of people present could vote on the resolution and pass it into law. They seemed to think a resolution of that type would require a vote of the entire county and not merely of the small number of people present at the meeting.

A girl asked whether the word "marijuana" might not include other "dangerous and killing substances." I didn't have the floor at the moment, but I thought if that were true, then any substance which was legalized could include "dangerous and killing substances." The girl then produced a list of "dangerous and killing substances" and began reading it. The first substance on the list was something called "brown blabba." I had no idea what brown blabba was, but the crowd began laughing when they heard the name.  The girl proceeded to read off the rest of the list.

Meanwhile I began looking around the room trying to determine whether there would be enough votes to pass the resolution. I saw Richter (a former high school schoolmate) and Boley (a fellow female law student); they obviously would vote against the resolution. But I saw many people who would surely vote in favor of the resolution. A question still remained whether this assembly had the power to pass the resolution into law. Some serious discussion ensued as to the actual nature of the resolution.

While attending Baylor Law School, I met Louise, who was also a law student, about five and a half years younger than I. We began dating steady and spending much of our free time together.

Dream of: 12 July 1982 "All-Consuming Feeling"

My girlfriend Louise (who was also a fellow student at Baylor Law School) and I had been having a rather lengthy argument which was reaching its climax. I was saddened because we were about to break up. Nevertheless, I was still angry with her because of the argument. While she was standing by the door, I threw a small amount of water in her face from a cup which I had been holding in my hand. Startled, she looked at me, turned and walked out the door. Knowing she would never return, I thought, "Well, I'll just let her go."

Actually I felt as if I wanted her to go, but as she was leaving I hollered out her name.

She turned, looked back at me, then boarded her car and drove away. I thought, "Well, she's gone. This is the end. At least I hollered at her and she didn't come back. So at least I tried."

I turned back around to the room I was in. I had only moved in a few days before. I had a roommate, a fellow named Keith, who wasn't there at the moment.

I walked into the small bedroom next to the living room. I wanted to listen to some music. I had turned on three radios which were all playing the same music. One radio was in what appeared to be an old sewing machine sitting next to the bed. The contraption was the type which folded down so the top looked like a table. A radio was where the sewing machine would be. At the present, the radio was folded down, leaving the table top with stuff sitting on it. Even though the radio was folded down, it was turned on, but it wasn't very loud. Apparently I had the radio set at one volume at which it stayed all the time. I thought about turning it up louder, but taking the stuff off the top and raising up the radio would be a lot of trouble. I decided not to bother.

I walked back into the living room and picked up a small wooden box about 10 centimeters long. Although the box didn't belong to me, I opened it and saw that it contained two marijuana joints. I put the lid back on the box and set it back on the table.

One of my law school classmates, Beto, showed up and walked into the room. I was unsure what he wanted and I was uncertain whether he was there to visit me or Keith. He began talking about a formal dance at Baylor University and he said there was a place down the street where the guys were supposed to pick up the girls. When he asked me if I were going, I said, "No."

I asked him if he were going and he said he wasn't.

Keith walked into the room. Since I knew that Keith had a steady girlfriend, I asked him if he were going to the dance. He also said he wasn't going. Apparently he was gradually breaking up with his girlfriend. He was still taking her some places, but he wasn't going to take her to the formal dance.

Keith picked up some jelly beans lying on an end table, began tossing them in his mouth and eating them.

As Beto sat down on the other side of the room, I heard him say something about "dope." As I sat down, I looked at Keith, who gave me a funny look. Keith and I had never discussed dope. We had simply moved in together without ever having discussed whether either of us ever used any drugs. We talked a bit longer, until I asked, "Keith, do you know where I can buy any marijuana?"

At first he looked surprised, but then he had an expression as if he thought my asking such a question came naturally to me.

By now I had an all-consuming desire to smoke some marijuana. I kept thinking about the joints I had seen in the box, and how much I would like to smoke one right now. I had the feeling Keith knew where I could buy some marijuana. I didn't want to buy much – ten dollars worth or a half ounce at the most, but because I didn't want to seem stingy, I said I wanted to buy a whole ounce. Keith gave me a funny look, and said he might be able to find some for me tomorrow.

I didn't want the marijuana tomorrow; I wanted it right now. I kept thinking about the two joints in the box. I really just wanted to smoke those joints with Keith, but I didn't say anything about them.

Another fellow who looked like Keith walked into the room. The new fellow was upset because I had asked Keith about buying pot while I had been standing in front of the window. The new fellow was afraid someone outside might have heard us. When I looked outside, I saw someone sitting in a car out there.

Everyone stood up and prepared to leave. It looked as if I weren't going to be able to smoke any today.

I respected the law but remained disappointed in the law for its encroachment on the morality of individuals.

Dream of: 30 December 1982 "Disappointed"

While at Baylor Law School, I began talking with a fellow, and we walked outside together, where he told me he was the son of Andy McSwain (a fellow law student). He looked as if he were 26-27 years old and since I knew Andy McSwain was probably only about 24-25, I said, "You can't be his son. You must be dean McSwain's son."

When he insisted he was Andy's son, I said, "Well Andy's only... He's as young as you are."

He said that that didn't matter and that he was still Andy's son. After we had walked to his car and he had climbed in, I turned around, walked back into the building into a small lounge and sat down. A black girl walked over and sat beside me. She looked as if she were 25-26 years old; I recognized her from somewhere. We began talking and even though other people were sitting in the room, she pulled a marijuana joint from her purse and handed it to me. I took it, immediately lit it up and began smoking it, not even caring if the other people smelled it.

I smoked and smoked and talked. Finally I finished the joint and she gave me another one. I lit it up and began smoking it. I had almost finished the second joint when dean McSwain walked into the room in a huff. Apparently someone had gone and told him I was smoking marijuana. He said, "All right, I see it. I smell it."

I stuck the two butts of the joints into my mouth and swallowed them, but I knew McSwain had already seen me. He walked over and sat down between the black woman and me. He angrily told me he was disappointed in me. I tried to brush some ashes off the table. I thought he would probably expel me.

The black woman was also a law student and apparently McSwain had had trouble with her before. He said, "I've had trouble with both of you."

The black woman told McSwain that she was the one who had given me the marijuana. McSwain began talking about how harmful the marijuana was. Up until then I had said nothing. Finally I said, "I cannot deny anything you're saying. You're absolutely right. It is harmful. And ninety-nine percent of the time I just don't have any desire to smoke this stuff. But just that one percent ..."

I began thinking it was actually more like 95 percent of the time that I had no desire to smoke. I continued, "But five per cent of the time I just get an urge to smoke."

As McSwain continued chastising me, I began thinking he wasn't going to expel me right now. He obviously wouldn't need any more evidence than that he had seen me smoking and had smelled it. And other people in the room had obviously smelled it.

A band was setting up on the side of the room and getting ready to play music.

A metal stand was sitting nearby and sitting on the stand was a plastic sack filled with water. When I saw something moving inside the sack, I thought goldfish were inside. McSwain also noticed the sack, stood and walked over to it. He looked disgusted as he said, "There's a mouse in there."

I rose and walked over. The sack was filled with water and a dead mouse (about three centimeters long) was floating on top of the water. Under the water were two small animals (each about five centimeters long) which looked something like weasels. They were nibbling at the dead mouse. Since McSwain was apparently through with us, he walked out of the room.

The black woman and I walked out the back of the school, put our arms around each other and began walking around together. I thought other people would notice my being with a black woman, but I didn't really care. More than anything, I just felt friendly toward her. When she turned her face toward mine, I gave her a short kiss on the lips.

My girlfriend Louise was somewhere in the back of my mind, but I couldn't seem to exactly place who Louise was. I knew that (because of somebody or because of some reason) I shouldn't be kissing the black woman, but I couldn't precisely focus in on that reason.

After the black woman and I walked over to her car, she climbed in and drove off. I walked back inside and went into a different lounge where quite a few law students were gathered. They had been working on a write-in project to become candidates for law review. Apparently they were still writing their articles and turning them in. I said, "Well they've already posted the names of the seven people who were going to be selected."

They said that the names which had been posted didn't count, but I thought the posted names certainly did count, and I remembered that Louise's name had been one of those posted as winners of the write-in competition. I said that she had been working on her law review article.

They told me that the person who had graded all the papers had been gone for a week and that the list which had been posted had just been a preliminary one. A blonde-haired woman who was a law student whose last name was Taylor handed me a list which contained the seven names. Three new names had been added to the bottom of the list. I thought, "Well apparently it looks like they're just going to let everybody be a candidate. And then they'll just have to write their law review articles and separate the people then who make law review."

My maternal grandparents lived in the House in Patriot (in the small village of Patriot, Ohio) from before the time of my birth in 1952 until they died - my grandfather died in 1966 and my grandmother died in 1972. I spent many hours of my youth in the happy House in Patriot. 

Dream of: 15 April 1983 "Grown In Stature"

While sleeping at the House in Patriot, I awoke in the middle of the night after a dream and recorded it. In the dream I had been having sex with a woman. I also recorded the fact that I had urinated in the dream, and indeed, I had actually urinated in the bed, leaving the bed wet with urine. After recording the dream, I went back to sleep.

When I awoke the following morning, my girlfriend Louise was lying in a bed beside my bed. Louise awoke about the same time and began talking to me. She said she knew what I had dreamed because she had heard me recording it.

Although I still had urine all over me, I rolled over to where Louise was and put my arms around her. Then I remembered I also had some marijuana in the bed with me which had spilled out. When Louise said she had entered the room the day before and put the marijuana in a little baggie, I began rummaging through my sheet trying to find the baggie. I finally found the baggie and saw some marijuana in it. I picked up the sheet and began trying to shake out any remaining loose marijuana. Finally I rose and hung the sheet and my sleeping bag on something to dry.

Spence (a law student) walked into the room and began talking. I was planning to leave, because I had to go to school. I was also planning to transfer to law school, and Spence and I talked about that. He said when he had first seen me he had thought I was a short person, but that since that time I had grown in stature in his eyes.

While in law school, I endured a grueling six months of something called "practice court" in which my partner and I conducted numerous trials against other law students. Each trial was judged by a jury of four other law students who decided who won. My partner in practice court was Louise. I worked hard on learning the law.

Dream of: 22 April 1983 "Pool Hall"

Louise and I had been partners in a practice court trial against Levy (a law student) and Jarvis (another law student) and we had beaten them.

Shortly thereafter, while Louise, another person and I had been playing pool at a pool hall, another law student named Brooks walked in. I walked over to Brooks' pool table, said something and turned to leave, but then I said, "Wait a minute Brooks. I want to talk to you about something."

I walked toward the door, set down my pool stick and walked outside with Brooks. I pulled him to the side and told him that about that same time the previous year, I had been talking to the roommate of Blackstock (one of my law school classmates). I told Brooks that the name of Blackstock's roommate had been Don, but that I couldn't remember Don's last name. I continued, "And I asked him if he knew anybody where I could get some psilocybin mushrooms. And he told me that you might know of somebody. Cause last year at this time he said he saw you with some. I know that right now is the time when they're in season."

We walked over into a little park and Brooks said something about "forty-five mushrooms crossed my sight recently." However, he didn't have any mushrooms at the moment, although he did say he had some marijuana. I told him I wasn't interested in buying any marijuana. Since he only had marijuana, however, I thought perhaps I would just buy a couple joints. I said, "Well I know it would be a problem, but could you just sell me a couple joints."

He said he couldn't do that and he asked me if I would buy a "brick." I was unsure what a "brick" was. Finally he said he would sell me a $10 bag of marijuana. He proceeded to pull a baggie of marijuana from the pocket of his sports coat and he held it up in the light. Since other people were standing around the parking lot, I was afraid someone might see the marijuana. I quickly grabbed the baggie and said "Ok." I pulled out my billfold, extracted $10 and handed it to him. I stuck the baggie of marijuana in the pocket of the sports coat I was wearing.

It occurred to me that about a year before I had also bought some marijuana from Brooks. So it seemed obvious to me that he was simply a drug dealer.

I immediately felt nervous and thought, "Oh no. I hope nobody's seen me."

The thought also crossed my mind that Brooks could be an undercover narcotics agent. I wanted to go back in the pool hall and I said to Brooks, "It just always makes me feel so nervous when I buy anything like this."

We walked back toward the entrance to the pool hall. We had been gone for quite a while and since I had left right in the middle of the game which Louise and I had been playing, I knew she had probably begun another game.

Before we walked inside, I looked through a large display window in the front of the pool hall. Many people were playing pool and I could see Louise in the back taking off her shirt. She stood in her white bra in front of several men who were watching her. Apparently she was just changing her shirt and putting on a different one and no one said anything, but I couldn't understand why she hadn't gone to the toilet to change.

I walked in and hung up my sports coat by the door. I then walked over to Louise, who was obviously angry because I had left.

Only about three or four pool tables were in the room. While I had been gone, Levy and someone else had entered and begun playing pool on the table which I had been using earlier. I asked Louise what had happened and she told me they had come in and taken over the pool table. I said, "Well, aren't these our balls?"

Levy spoke up and said, "No, we brought these balls ourselves."

Apparently they had brought in their own balls. I responded, "Well, if these are your balls, I guess you can go ahead and use it."

I thought since I had been gone. I had abandoned the pool table. Apparently our balls had been turned back in.

Levy began talking about the trial we had had. He said Paulson (another law student) and someone else had been sitting in the audience and after the trial they had talked with Levy and compared my closing argument with Levy's closing argument. They said if the jury was able to vote for me instead of Levy, it had just been a lazy jury. Levy was obviously quite upset about having lost the trial to us.

Someone else, perhaps Jarvis, was with Levy. They made more snide comments about Louise and me having won the trial. I began wondering what it would be like if Levy and I were to have a contest showing cows, as in 4-H in a fair. I wondered if I would go out at night to the farm where his cow was and put something in the cow's food so it would become sick and not be able to go to the fair. I thought, "Na. I'd never do anything like that."

I imagined how terrible it would be if I were apprehended for doing something like that.

When Louise and I finally decided to leave, I picked up my sports coat and we walked out. As we continued  down the street I thought, "Uh oh. Did I put that marijuana in the bathroom?"

I reached in my pocket and felt the marijuana there. Louise and I then boarded a car which she drove, and we headed off.

Since some of the marijuana was falling out of the baggie, I poured it into my hand. I had a notebook in front of me and I began crumbling some of the marijuana over the notebook and picking out the seeds. I thought to myself, "Well, now I've spent another ten dollars. And I'd spent ten dollars before. So now I've spent twenty dollars on this stuff. I could have probably used that twenty dollars better than spending it on pot."

I was unsure whether Louise was watching me as I rolled a joint. Apparently she was, because she said something about my having the marijuana. Clearly she disapproved. I didn't say anything. Feeling rather guilty about having the marijuana, I just held onto the joint.

I met many new people in law school and I made several friends. I settled down in Waco, but still returned to Portsmouth for occasional visits.

Dream of: 28 April 1983 "Island In The Pacific"

I had gone to visit my old friend Mike Walls who was living in the House in West Portsmouth (a four room cottage in which I lived in 1971 while I was attending the branch of Ohio University in Portsmouth). After I walked inside, I told Walls I had been living in Texas close to Mexico in a house which had been similar to the House in West Portsmouth.

I told Walls that Phil Lane had visited me in Texas, that I had been rather rude to Lane and that I hadn't let him in my house. I had simply greeted him and sent him on his way. I told Walls that Hurley (a former junior high school classmate) and Petty (a female law student) had also visited me in Texas.

Walls showed me about a pound of marijuana which he had piled on the kitchen table and which he was obviously selling. Although I told him he should get out of the business of selling marijuana, I took an interest in the pile of pot. I looked more closely at the marijuana and noticed many stems and very dark seeds in it. I told Walls he should first separate the stems and seeds from the marijuana and throw them out. Then he could do whatever he wanted with the marijuana. As I talked, I picked up a cigarette paper and started rolling a joint. When I finished rolling the joint, I lit it and began smoking it with Walls. After we had smoked the joint down to the end, Walls threw the roach in a can. I wondered if the roach could be retrieved later.

I walked outside, climbed into the back seat of a car and left. Other people were also in the back seat and after the car had traveled a ways I realized two of them were my friend Leah (a law student) and Ballengee (another female law student with whom I had never spoken). I also noticed a dark gray cat in the back seat with us. I ignored everyone and we continued on until we reached Cincinnati and pulled up in front of an auto garage - apparently something was wrong with the car. As several men walked out of the garage, I began thinking of the incredible number of people in the world and how many different people I had met.

After I climbed out of the car, Leah stepped up to me and said something about my not having spoken to Ballengee. I indicated I knew who Ballengee was. When Ballengee then stepped up to us, I ran my hand up and down the spine of her back.

Nearby was some kind of strip joint. I recognized it as a place where I had first seen a strip show.

When we and several other people re-boarded, we were no longer in a car, but rather in what appeared to be a long canoe floating along a lake. Suddenly a large alligator raised its head above the water and powerfully snapped its jaws together. It was quite frightening.

As we steered the canoe toward the bank, I tried to remember where I was and I concluded I was on a lake on an island somewhere in the South Pacific.

We reached the bank and I disembarked. Right on the other side of the bank was the ocean. I thought about how the salt water was separated from the fresh water by the narrow strip of land.

Standing on the bank I thought of the political nature of the island. I leafed through a book I had and I reached a page addressed to treaties and the legal status of the island. I thought the status was somehow linked to the United States. I also thought about how Louisiana followed the civil law rather than the common law.

The summer of 1983 was my last quarter of law. Louise and I were closer than ever and I felt more and more inclined to settle down.

Dream of: 02 June 1983 "Wild And Free"

While walking on a street in Columbus, I encountered two fellows who seemed friendly enough, although they were a bit disheveled and had long hair. One had blond hair and was wearing a blue tee shirt and a hat.

I walked to their house with them, entered the living room and sat down. We smoked a joint together and I became high. I reflected how easy it was to meet people like these if I wanted to smoke marijuana. The two seemed to be decent fellows, but I figured I would probably never see them again. They told me they didn't smoke much marijuana, but I was unsure whether I should believe them.

I looked around and realized the house was the one in which Randy Ramey (my good friend from my college years) used to live. I told the two fellows I had had many experiences in that house. They didn't believe me at first. When they said they had moved there about a year before, I asked, if they had obtained the house from Ramey.

"Yes," they answered.

Noticing a television playing, I told the fellows that Ramey used to have a television in the other room. One of the fellows replied that any normal person would have it in the other room.

I began thinking I had had quite a few dreams in that house and I tried to recall specific ones.

I stood up and looked at myself in a mirror. I was wearing a red and black plaid shirt. My hair was long, but I didn't look bad. I knew people could tell I was an honest person just by looking at me.

On the television was a rock and roll singer playing a guitar and singing something about being wild and free. I thought about my girlfriend Louise and how I was no longer wild and free. I could be wild and free if I wanted, but I didn't want to. I liked being settled down. In the back of my mind, I thought about how if I were wild and free, I could go out to night clubs and meet different women, but the idea didn't appeal to me much. If I didn't have Louise I could be like the rock and roll singer, except I would learn to play the flute instead of the guitar. Then I could play music and live a wild and free life.

The two fellows and I decided to go see a movie. I thought perhaps we could go to the Cheech and Chong movie Still Smoking, but I didn't really want to see it because I had read some bad reviews and had heard it was a lousy movie.

When the fellow in the blue tee shirt asked me if I wanted some beer, I told him I didn't. He began stuffing some cans of beer inside his blue tee shirt to take with him. However, I did want more marijuana. I asked them if they thought we would be able to buy more marijuana when we were outside. They were unsure.

After we left the house and were walking down the street, I realized I was no longer high from the marijuana.

One of the fellows walked on ahead of us. I walked beside the other one on his right and I began talking with him about a test I had taken. Although I hadn't studied for the test, I had taken it anyway and had done quite well. The other fellow had also taken the test.

Abruptly I said, "Have you ever dreamed that you were just walking down the street with somebody like this? I have. It gives you a relaxed feeling just to be talking with somebody walking down the street and just looking ahead of you like this and just letting your mind flow."

As we walked along, I was trying to hypnotize him and trying to transport him into a dream-like state of mind. I thought I could probably somehow gain control of his mind just by using soothing talk. I could remember dreams in which I had been walking down the street talking with someone like that.

My problem was that I was beginning to feel bad about having smoked the marijuana. I was feeling intensely guilty.

I never went out with other women while I was dating Louise. As I approached the end of my tenure in law school, Louise and I contemplated a future together.

Dream of: 09 June 1983 "Lucy In The Sky"

I awoke from a dream around five o'clock in the morning and, still lying in bed, began recording the dream on my cassette recorder. I continued recording for quite a while, absorbed in what I was doing. When I had finished recording about half the dream, I noticed that a pretty girl with long frizzy hair was lying in bed next to me. The girl somewhat reminded me of Regina (a friend of my sister; I had known her known around 1970), but this girl was much prettier than Regina. She looked about the same age as my sister (six years younger than I). Suddenly she awoke and asked me what I was doing that was so important.

As I rolled over next to her, I wasn't quite sure, but I thought she probably wanted to have sex with me. When I began feeling one of her breasts, she clearly wanted to proceed. Since I was also in the mood, I began talking to her about it.

However, I had one problem – Louise was in the back of my mind. Because Louise and I had been dating steady, I didn't want to betray Louise. The girl and I were both relieved when we finally decided we shouldn't have sex. We both rose, and as I headed to the toilet, the girl blurted, "Oh my God. Its five o'clock."

She said that it was time for her boyfriend to go to work and that he would probably stop there first. She walked to the window, looked out and said his car was already outside. When she also mentioned that he knew karate, I felt relieved that she and I had decided to not have sex. I said, "Well, I'll just go in the bathroom."

As soon as I stepped into the bathroom, the girl's boyfriend entered the house and immediately began getting ready to go to work. After stepping up to the bathroom door (which was slightly open), he looked into the bathroom, saw me and said something about my knee being injured. Since the girl had apparently told him that I had an injured knee, I went along with what he was saying.

The boyfriend was about my height and build. His hair was cut short in a style which reminded me of an American Indian hairdo. Realizing he didn't seem at all threatening, I walked out of the toilet and began talking with him. Having a conversation was difficult, however, because he was running back and forth as he was getting ready for work. I watched as he donned the green military uniform which he had brought with him.

While he was dressing, he pulled some things from his pockets and laid them on the dresser. When I noticed a roach clip among the items, I realized he must smoke marijuana and I thought about asking him about it. But he dressed very quickly and left.

It suddenly occurred to me that the fellow had been in the dream which I had been recording earlier. I even remembered having dreamed that he knew karate. I was amazed that he had been in my dream and that he had then actually appeared in reality.

After the fellow had departed, I walked into the living room where approximately 20 young people were sitting around, many of whom were smoking marijuana. I was amazed that so many people would be there smoking marijuana so early in the morning.

I sat down near a small group. Most were about 20 years old, but one old woman was sitting among them. When I saw all the younger people in the group puffing on short joints, I half wanted to smoke myself. I thought a joint was even passed to the old woman, but I was unsure. I thought about how good smoking marijuana would feel. It seemed the marijuana was a special type called "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds." When I asked one fellow why they were smoking so early in the morning, he just laughed.

The girl with whom I had originally been sleeping finally walked out of the bedroom. Leaning over the back of a chair, she watched what was going on. I thought since the girl was one of my sister's friends, all the other people there must also be friends of my sister.

I finally stood up and walked out the back door. I jumped on a bicycle sitting outside and rode up the street a ways. When I saw a green area which appeared to be a park, I pulled in. As I rode around the park, I realized many people were gathered there. It almost appeared the people were part of some kind of commune. It didn't take me long to realize all were smoking or dealing in marijuana.

When I saw two fellows sitting on a bench at a park table, I pulled up close to them. As they stood up to leave, I noticed that one was carrying a large garbage bag clearly filled with marijuana. I stopped the fellow and inquired, "Hey, do you think you could sell me a couple of joints of that?"

He replied, "Sure."

He opened his bag, pulled out a large gob of marijuana and said, "Here, I'll sell you that for two and a quarter."

The second fellow then handed him a joint, which was apparently a special type, and added, "Here. You can have this, too."

After I agreed to buy the gob of marijuana, the fellow handed the gob to me. As I began trying to cram the pot into an empty baggie, I pulled out another baggie of marijuana and some cigarette papers which I was carrying around with me. When the fellow saw the other baggie of marijuana, he asked me about it. I explained that the other marijuana belonged to someone else and that it wasn't mine. That was why I wanted to buy some of my own. Besides, I was unsure of the strength of the pot I had been carrying around. I wanted the strong pot which the fellow had sold me. 

As the fellow started to leave, I realized I hadn't taken the joint which his friend had pulled out for me. When I asked him what had happened to the joint, he didn't seem to know, so he pulled out a second joint and laid it on the table. Then I noticed the first joint was already lying on the table. I picked up both joints and stuck them in my mouth. I also asked the fellow if there was some place nearby where I could hide the marijuana for a little while. I motioned toward a hillside across the road behind us, and said, "Maybe I can hide it up in there or back behind this bench."

The fellow motioned to the area behind the bench and said, "No, people don't hide anything back there." He indicated the area behind the bench was a sacred place. I motioned to the hillside again and said, "What about up there?"

He answered, "Well, not too far up in there."

He continued to explain that I shouldn't worry about all the people there and that I should simply put the pot under the bench. He said no one was ever arrested around the park.

When we finally separated and he began walking down the street, however, I noticed he suddenly stopped and looked over to where a crowd of people was gathering. I knew immediately the police were arresting someone, and I could tell from the look on the fellow's face that he knew it also – but he just couldn't believe it.

Knowing I had the marijuana, I became frightened. When I saw some cars pull up close to me, I thought the police might be in one. I still had the two joints in my mouth, and I was still trying to stick the other gob of marijuana into a baggie.

I suddenly remembered I had completely forgotten I was in law school. Everything I was doing in life depended on my not being arrested. If I were arrested, my life would be basically destroyed. I desperately wanted to discard the marijuana and I tried to decide what I could do with it.

My brother Chris was born in 1957 and died in 1974 in Portsmouth at the age of sixteen. He had muscular dystrophy and was confined to his bed for the last years of his life.

Dream of: 26 June 1983 "Dying Young"

I was in a house in Portsmouth with Mike Walls (probably 16-17 years old). I was only going to be in Portsmouth for a couple days and I planned to go out with Walls that evening.

I had a couple baggies of marijuana, out of which we rolled two joints. I gave the joints to Walls and he put them in his pocket. I also gave him one of the baggies of marijuana to keep. I was still worried about carrying the other baggie of marijuana around with me.

I told Walls I wanted to try to call my old Portsmouth friend, Steve Weinstein, because I thought Weinstein was in town, but when I tried to call, no one answered.

Suddenly I noticed my brother Chris sitting with us in the room. I hadn't been paying any attention to him. I walked over to him and asked how he was doing. I asked, "Would you like to go out with us tonight?"

He seemed as if he liked the idea. I walked back to Walls and said, "Do you mind if Chris goes out?"

Walls said Chris couldn't go. That bothered me. I thought Chris probably wouldn't live much longer; getting out of the house would be good for him. He might also be able to smoke some marijuana with us. Since he would probably die young, it wouldn't matter if his lungs were damaged.

I sat back down. I was nude and only had a sheet wrapped around me.

I heard someone enter another part of the house - a girl who was going to take care of Chris. When she opened the door to my room, a full-grown, gray cat with a white spot under its neck ran into the room. As the girl walked into the room, I opened up the sheet so she could see me nude for an instant. She quickly turned and left. After she shut the door behind her, I was unsure whether she had seen me.

I stood up and dressed. Then I lay down on the floor and began playing with the cat. Playing with the cat was fun, except for the very sharp claws. When I stood and walked across the room, the cat attacked my foot. I tried to knock it away; I wanted to teach it not to attack a walking person's foot.

I recalled Louise wasn't seeing me anymore. I thought if she knew I had one, since she loved cats, perhaps she would come to visit me. Perhaps I would call her and tell her I had a cat. I decided not to call, but I thought I might just go to her place and show her that I had a cat.

Meanwhile Walls was on the phone trying to line up some grass-cutting jobs. He found two jobs. I wanted to help him because I needed some money.

Walls was only visiting Portsmouth for a few days. He had to return somewhere in the South were he was living with one of his brothers. I suggested to him that we both stay in Portsmouth a few extra days to make some money mowing grass. I told him he could probably make more money there than back where he had come from. He seemed to agree.

Although I cared about Louise, I was not a family man. I did not have any children and I did not plan on having any.

Dream of: 04 July 1983 "Children In The Basement"

Louise and I were together in a small house where we were both apparently living. When I looked out into the street in front of the house, I saw quite a few people running past as part of law school festivities held on the Fourth of July involving a race from the law school to the county court house in Waco. I could see the finish line; the first person across it was Cosby (a law student).

Quite a few smaller children had walked into our house and were watching the race through the window. I didn't know what to think about the children. One asked me about getting some marijuana; apparently they thought I had some in the house. They were correct: I did indeed have some marijuana in the house. They wanted some of it, but they didn't want to smoke it. They just wanted the marijuana to show that they had been there. Apparently their reason for coming in the first place was to find some marijuana there. I told them I wouldn't give them any and I thought perhaps I should dispose of the marijuana which I had. Finally I said, "All right, everybody out."

I wanted to put the children out of the house. Some scrambled to get out the door and some ran down some stairs toward the basement. I followed them to the basement, where considerable furniture was sitting around. Although I couldn't see the children, I knew they were down there; I said, "All right. I want everybody out of there by the time I count to three."

As I counted, children climbed out from behind things all around me. Some climbed out of a bed. There were probably 10 children in all. They ran up the stairs. After they had all left, I noticed a small, gray kitten and a cute, small, fuzzy dog had been left behind. I picked them both up and began carrying them upstairs.

During my last year of law school I started working as a law clerk at the "Waco Law Office," located in downtown Waco. 

Dream of: 06 July 1983 "Wrong People"

Louise and I were doing some research together and one Sunday we went to the building housed the Waco Law Office. We went to Lanelle McNamara's law office and entered her law library. We began working and while we were there, the elder Mr. McNamara (Lanelle's father, also an attorney) walked in. He seemed somewhat startled to see us, but he said hi and then went into his office.

Louise began looking around the place; I didn't want her to bother anything. She wanted to know which office was Lanelle's and I pointed it out to her. She walked over to it and looked in. She then returned to where I was and we continued working.

We left the library and walked into the reception room. We lay down on the floor, spread out some books in front of us and began looking at them. We whispered quite low because we didn't want to bother Mr. McNamara, but then he walked into the room where we were and saw us whispering. I was unsure, but I thought he might think we were trying to hide something. He walked on out the door into the hall.

By now we were ready to leave and began gathering up our things. We walked out into the hall and saw Mr. McNamara getting into an elevator. Just as he was getting in I said, "Well congratulations on your victory the other day."

I was referring to a case in which they had won $300,000. He said, "Thank you. I don't see how somebody can pay that much money, a hundred thousand dollars."

I said, "Yea, that is quite a bit of money."

After his elevator door closed, Louise and I boarded a different elevator and left.

We went to a house on a city street where I was living. In the front room was set up a bed which was from a brown bedroom set which I remembered from when I was a small boy. I lay down on the bed while Louise began doing something else. I began commenting about how music on the radio was so terrible these days, and how television shows were so terrible.

When Levy (a law student) walked in, I told him the same thing, about the bad sound of radio and how I had taken out my radio and television. I told him I didn't turn on the radio in the car anymore. He agreed; he thought modern music was terrible.

We talked about clothes and how strange some of them were. Louise was trying on some different clothes. She put on a long dress and then she put on a pink sweater. She walked around and wanted to know how she looked. I thought she looked very conservative in the clothes. I was unsure what Levy thought.

I tried on a pair of pants made of transparent cellophane. When I stood up, my penis was visible. I put on a red skirt over the cellophane pants and walked around. I then put on a blouse with red and white vertical stripes. I looked at myself in a mirror; I looked like a woman, even though someone could still tell I was a man.

Louise tried on a pair of pants just like mine, but I couldn't see through hers.

We talked about going out somewhere; Levy was going to go with us. He was quite nice, but when Louise asked him if she could borrow some money from him, he said he was sorry, but he didn't have any money at the moment.

I thought about asking Levy about his family background. Although he looked as if he had some money, apparently he was quite poor.

Finally I took off all my clothes, got back into the bed and crawled under the cover. Through a window I could see some men outside coming to the door. They opened the door and simply barged right in. They were five uniformed policeman and a couple other men in civilian clothes. I was so startled I didn't know what to do.

They immediately began looking around the room and going through things. They went into the other rooms of the house. They worried me, because in the headboard of my bed, in a small drawer, was a small quantity of marijuana, enough for two or three joints. The drawer was broken so if someone pulled on it, the front would come off. The marijuana was stuck in the back of the drawer.

One policeman began going through the drawers on the other side of the bed, not on the side where the marijuana was. He then walked around to the side where the marijuana was, and as he was getting close to that drawer, I thought, "Maybe I ought to say something to distract him to keep him from getting in that drawer."

When other policemen came back in the room, I asked them what they were doing there, and I said, "Do you mind if I put my pants on?"

One of them said, "No. Go ahead."

I rose from the bed, walked over to a corner and put on a pair of pants. Finally I gathered the courage to ask them what they were doing there. Apparently there had been a violent murder and they thought I had committed it. They said something about my having lived before on "Dacryn Street."

I said, "I never lived on Dacryn Street."

They asked if I was a doctor and gave me a name. I said, "No. I'm a law student at Baylor University. I'm a third year law student. I'm just about to graduate."

I thought I should begin asserting myself more, instead of just standing there like an idiot, especially since I was a law student.

One of them asked, "Well how old are you."

I thought for a minute and then said, "I'm 30 years old."

They asked Louise and Levy how old they were and they both replied that they were 25. One officer said to one of the other officers, "Well these aren't the ages we're supposed to have."

When I finally realized the policemen had made a mistake, I became angry and said, "You've got the wrong people. And where's your search warrant?"

I had suddenly realized they had entered my house without even having a search warrant. I said, "Get the hell out of here. What are you doing here. You don't even have a search warrant."

They began marching out as I continued screaming at them. I followed them out onto the porch and watched as they went to the house next door. Levy and Louise stayed inside while I screamed profanities at them. I then slipped back inside, opened the drawer where the marijuana was lying loose and began scrapping it out on a piece of paper. I wanted to get rid of it by smoking it; perhaps Levy and I could smoke it together. Now would be a good time to get rid of it.

It suddenly occurred to me that even if the police found the marijuana, they wouldn't be able to convict me for it, because they were there without a valid warrant.

My understanding of the law had definitely sharpened during my tenure at law school. I was still convinced that some laws were bad.

Dream of: 10 July 1983 "Expecting Trouble"

I was riding in a car being driven by Pruitt (a law student) and we pulled up to the front of the House in South Shore, Kentucky (across the Ohio River from Portsmouth, the four room cottage where I lived for about a year when I was in the fifth and sixth grade). Pruitt and I had been engaged in a marijuana transaction; we were expecting some trouble at the House and we thought some police might be there to arrest us. Firm in our commitment not to say anything to the police, we shook hands firmly and said, "No matter what happens, don't tell them anything."

We looked at each other and said, "You can trust us."

As we pulled up, we saw a man standing in the window of the house. I was able to see his identification and realized he was a narcotics officer. Pruitt said, "Look, he doesn't even have enough sense ...."

We pulled on around to the garage and found a fellow whom we were expecting to find standing in the garage. He opened the garage door and stepped out. We stepped out of the car. Apparently he thought we had ripped someone off and he asked about someone having been killed due to the rip-off.

A black fellow walked out of the house. He was wearing a holster with a gun in it. Five or six more people followed him and gathered around me. After I asked them what they wanted me to do, I realized they were going to try to beat me up. One fellow stood behind me while another placed himself in front of me.

The fellow in front of me looked as if he were going to try to hit me, so I put my hand in front of my face. Suddenly he began slugging me on different parts of my body. Two more fellows joined in and began hitting me. I held my arms in front of my face and I didn't strike back. The situation was becoming quite serious. I was also alarmed to see one of them carrying a cigarette.

Musser (a burly Portsmouth acquaintance whom I knew briefly in 1970) then walked out of the House and sat down on the hood of the car. I looked at Musser and asked him what was going on. I was unsure whether he was on my side or their side.

Meanwhile the men continued beating me, although I was still able to protect my face. One suddenly grabbed my foot. I wasn't wearing shoes and I was afraid they would try to burn my foot with the cigarette. That frightened me. I thought I might need to start thrashing back to escape, but I was afraid that would just make them hit me more.

Someone said something about my getting 5 years in prison. I responded, "Well, first you gotta prove I did something. I haven't done anything."

I started to say I was a law student, but I decided that wouldn't help at that point.

I turned eighteen in 1970 at the height of the Vietnam War. I feared I would be drafted. I registered for the draft, but fortunately I drew a high number in the Draft Lottery and was not drafted. Beginning in 1971, however, I did make several trips to Mexico.

Dream of: 27 September 1983 "Vietnam Prison"

While a girl and I were at the house of McGuiness (a Waco acquaintance, several years my junior, whom I met at the Waco Law Office in 1983), I watched television while McGuiness cleaned up the house. When McGuiness asked me if I wanted to smoke some marijuana, I told him I didn't. He continued cleaning and said he might have more marijuana around there somewhere.

The show on television was about a fellow who had been smoking marijuana and had gone insane.

Finally McGuiness brought out a large pipe, the bowl of which was six or seven centimeters in diameter. Then he brought out a baggie of marijuana. I had smoked with him before and I recognized the marijuana as what we had smoked the last time. I said, "Oh, that's the real good stuff."

But then I realized it wasn't the same marijuana we had smoked the last time and I said, "Well, that's not quite as good."

The girl also said something about the marijuana.

We sat for quite a long while as I held the baggie in my hand. Upon closer scrutiny I saw the substance in the baggie looked like a white powder. The baggie had a little hole in the bottom. I held the baggie over the pipe which McGuiness was holding and I allowed some of the powder to fall from the baggie and into the pipe. I decided I was going to smoke and began smoking.

The person on the television began talking about how he had smoked marijuana in Viet Nam. He had been captured in Vietnam and held in prison. Apparently he had smoked a great deal of marijuana while there. He said he had also once been incarcerated in Mexico for smoking marijuana. The authorities had wanted him to pay $300,000 before he could be released from the Mexican jail, but in Viet Nam he couldn't get out for any amount of money. Finally he had snapped out of it and quit smoking marijuana.

I inhaled the marijuana about three times and then stopped. I knew I had made a mistake by smoking marijuana, especially since I hadn't smoked in such a long time.

I graduated from Baylor Law School in August 1983 and I was admitted to the Texas Bar in October 1983. I started working full time as a lawyer at the Waco Law Office.

Dream of: 26 December 1983 "Fenal"

I was taking a class in international finance at Baylor Law School. I had been reading a textbook on the subject and had thoroughly covered a section dealing with Latin American countries. I found it all quite interesting.

I went to the locker room. I had heard a search was going to be conducted for drugs. Since I was carrying a trifling amount of marijuana around with me in a baggie, I looked for a place to hide it and finally put it over top the lockers. When I then went to my locker, I found a man standing in front of it. He was the school detective and was looking for drugs. He pulled a boot from my locker and extracted a large baggie of what looked like marijuana from the boot. I had forgotten the stuff had been in my boot and I was thoroughly surprised when he pulled it out. He immediately arrested me and took me away to a cell in the school.

I was told I could move about the building but couldn't leave. I could also no longer attend classes.

I walked around the halls and noticed posters had been put up showing that my name had been taken off the list of practice court members. Somebody even gave me a list to put up on which I saw my name had been scratched out.

I knew the authorities were going to ask me the names of anyone else whom I knew who used drugs. I thought about my old friend Steve Buckner and I wondered where he had his marijuana and his drugs. I knew I could tell the authorities about him, but I had already decided not to do that.

I was taken to a little room and given a part of the stuff they had found. I realized the stuff wasn't really marijuana although it had some seeds which were similar to marijuana seeds. My major concern was to find an expert who could test the stuff to prove it wasn't really marijuana. But when I noticed a commode in the room, I flushed everything down the commode. When the authorities returned, I told them I had destroyed the evidence. They said that was only part of it and they still had some.

They took me back to my cell. On the way back, I saw professor Dawson (the practice court professor) standing in front of the elevator. I thought he would speak to me when I walked by, but he just snubbed me.

The authorities gave me a computer print-out of court dates. My name and the names of many other people were on the list. Apparently another fellow had been arrested at the same time I had been arrested, and his name was also on the list. Apparently he had hired a lawyer to help him, and he had been freed. I considered whether I should hire a lawyer and I asked the authorities if they could tell me who a good lawyer would be.

I thought I might just defend myself. But that might not be the best solution. I would probably contact Terrell (a lawyer I had met at the Waco Law Office). Perhaps he could defend me and, if not, perhaps he would know someone who could.

I wanted a copy of the Penal Code to determine exactly what the penalty was for possession of marijuana. I knew the law said something about "fenal" in regard to marijuana. What did "fenal" mean? I thought it was some sort of measurement.

Would I later be able to take the classes over since I had been kicked out of school for the quarter? If so, I thought, I would do quite well especially in the finance class since I liked it so well.

Although my paternal grandfather, Cole, died before I was born, I did know Cole's younger brother, my great uncle Ray. Ray's son, Jeff, was my age, and Jeff and I sometimes loafed together when we were 12-13 years old. After that, I hardly ever saw any of them.

Dream of: 31 January 1984 "Little Chain Saw Blades"

My father and I had moved into a house with my great-uncle Ray and his three children: my second cousin Jeff, my second cousin Keith and my second cousin Brenda. It was around 1 a.m. and I was alone in the house.

I walked into Jeff's room and looked around. I knew Jeff used to collect Playboy magazines and I thought I would like to peruse his collection. After unsuccessfully searching the room, I thought, "Well, I know they're here somewhere. All I have to do is look for them and I'll be able to find them."

Instead of continuing to look, however, I walked into the adjoining room which was to become my room. A couch which pulled out into a bed was in the room. I pulled it out, lay down a while, rose and put it back up.

Meanwhile Jeff, Keith, and Brenda returned. Jeff went into his room, while Brenda (who seemed rather petulant) retreated to her room without saying much.

I walked to the kitchen carrying a small baggie of about 15 grams of marijuana. I sat down at the table and began cleaning the seeds and stems from the marijuana leaves. I crushed it so the seeds would fall out. I thought I would have to get up and go to work the next morning, so I knew it was too late to be smoking, but I didn't really care. Keith entered the room, saw me and said, "That must be marijuana."

"Yea," I answered.

I asked him if he smoked and he said he did. I rolled a joint. After finishing, I looked at the joint and saw about half the marijuana had fallen out of it.

I knew my uncle Ray and my father would soon be home and I didn't want to smoke where they could smell it. Nevertheless I handed the joint to Keith and he lit it up. The smoke began drifting into the air and I said, "Well no. Shouldn't we go outside?"

"Yea," he answered.

We walked outside and as we proceeded I told Keith I hadn't yet tried the marijuana and I didn't know how good it was. I took a hit from the joint and said, "Oh its definitely not as good as some I had the other night which was great. But this will be OK."

I took another hit and looked around. We were out in the country. A little lane stretched from the house out to the road. Suddenly I thought I saw some lights approaching the house on the lane. Keith didn't see the lights at first but when he did he cried, "Oh yea! Its our parents!"

He ran back inside the house as quickly as he could. I extinguished the joint and carried it into the house as I ran after him. By the time I was inside the house, Keith had turned off all the lights. I quickly grabbed the baggie of marijuana in the kitchen, ran into my room and turned off the light. I picked up a banana, lay down on the couch and began peeling it. I also picked up a coat lying on the floor, pulled it over me and continued peeling the banana under the coat. Suddenly I heard my father call, "Steve, come out here."

I walked back into the kitchen where I found Keith and Jeff standing in front of my father and my uncle Ray. My father was obviously extremely angry and he wanted to know what the odor in the room was. We told him we didn't know. Suddenly my father pulled out a chain saw (about two meters long) and started it up. He looked at the three of us and demanded, "Well are you going to tell me? Or am I going to have to start cutting your necks with this chain saw?"

I screamed, "Why don't you bring out Brenda? She's the worst of the bunch."

My father and Ray disagreed -- they didn't think Brenda would have anything to do with that kind of activity. Indeed, I was only trying to get her involved even though I knew she was innocent.

As we worked our way out to the porch, I became terribly frightened. I ran off the porch in an attempt to escape. When my father motioned to Ray and said something, I looked up and saw what appeared to be fans descending from some trees. But their blades looked like little chain saw blades. I realized my father and Ray had arranged them that way.

I ran over to a steep bank and saw a road down below me and a metal box sitting near the road. I decided to jump and -- although it was a long jump -- I thought I might be able to land on the box. I leaped, landed safely (even though I was short of the box) and ran into the road. It was so dark, I thought I could probably hide among some trees farther down the road. I looked back -- my father was racing toward me. It looked as if he were going to catch me.

Steve Weinstein and I attended Portsmouth High School together for three years, but we didn't become close friends until after high school. He first attended the University of Cincinnati, then transferred to St. John's College in Annapolis, Maryland. The curriculum of St. John's was the 100 great books of western literature. I was awed by his erudition. After college he settled down as an editor in Manhattan.

Dream of: 21 February 1984 "Escape On A Train"

After I ran into Steve Weinstein at Portsmouth High School, he and I walked into an empty classroom. When a girl (about 3 years old) walked into the classroom behind us, I learned that she was going to be a tutor for Weinstein in some subject.

After the three of us sat down and began talking, Weinstein asked me if I would like to smoke some marijuana. I realized I had a small joint in my shirt pocket, but I wasn't sure where it had come from. I replied, "Oh no. I haven't smoked in a long time. I don't think so."

Weinstein pulled out a baggie of marijuana, rolled up a joint and began smoking. Both the little girl and I began smoking with him. We continued talking for a long time and Weinstein suggested we smoke another joint. Weinstein pulled out his baggie again, rolled up another joint and we lit it up.

I had just got the joint in my hand when I looked through a window in the classroom and saw a man getting ready to come into our room. I quickly stood, walked out into the hall with the joint in my hand, and discovered a large group of people standing in the hall. As I crushed the joint in my hand, I heard a fire alarm go off, and I thought perhaps I had set off a smoke alarm. I started walking toward the door.

I went through the door just as other people were streaming out of the building. When a man (about 25 years old) walked up to me and asked if I had been smoking inside, I said, "No."

When I kept walking, he followed me and he said that he had been listening with some microphones to what we had been saying in the room we had been in. Apparently he was some kind of school detective. When he continued following me, I remembered the joint I had in my shirt pocket. I stealthily pulled the joint from my pocket and began crumbling it in my hand. As I continued walking, I turned around, looked at the detective right in the face, and dropped the empty cigarette paper.

He failed to see it drop, so I started walking again. He continued following me and talking. Finally I again turned around to him and said, "Look, either do something about it or not. I don't want you following me around. I didn't do anything."

I then walked back into the building and went into a large auditorium. After I sat down, I saw the girl who had been smoking the marijuana with Weinstein and me earlier – she was sitting farther down in front of me. But now she looked as if she were about nine years old.

I suddenly realized some kind of religious service was in progress. A man was on the stage talking. I realized he was talking about smoking. He said they had ways of detecting people who had been smoking. That bothered me because I was afraid they might have some way of detecting I had been smoking.

The service continued and close to the end I realized someone there was going to use dogs to detect if people had been smoking. The dogs apparently were going to sniff for smoke. Some men led in some dogs and began going up and down the aisles.

A black dog came over to the aisle where I was. When it walked up to me, it didn't do anything in particular except sniff me. Then it sniffed around some people standing close to me. Every time the dog began sniffing someone in particular, someone would come and stand next to the person being sniffed. When the dog sniffed me, someone came over and stood next to me.

The dog then ran quickly up and down the aisles. When the dog finally went down to where the girl was sitting, I suddenly realized the men conducting the search were going to use the girl. They were going to ask the girl if she had been smoking and with whom she had been smoking. I feared she had been so affected by the service that she would tell them that she had been smoking with Weinstein and me.

When some men walked over to the girl and began talking with her, I looked at the fellow standing next to me and said, "There's nothing to keep us from leaving right now if we want to is there?"

He replied, "No, you can leave."

The minister then began talking with the girl and while the people's attention was focused on the girl I headed for the exit. As I did, I heard several people saying, "Uh huh. Unh huh."

By the sound of their voices, I knew they were signaling that I looked guilty because I was leaving. It looked as if I were afraid of what the girl might say. Nevertheless, I walked out into the hall. I thought someone probably would follow me, so as soon as I was in the hall, I began running down one corridor and then down several more corridors. I saw some stairs leading down to exits and other stairs leading up. I thought, "Well I'll throw them off. I'll go up this up stairs cause they'll be expecting me to try to get out. And I'll hide up there."

After I ran up the stairs, I found an unexpected exit and I ran outside. I still thought someone was chasing me. As I watched a train pass by on a nearby train track, I thought I would try to hop on the train and I went running down the tracks. The last car of the train was right in front of me. I thought if I could only reach it and hold on to it I would be able to escape.

Suddenly, however, I realized something was very strange about what was going on. I half realized I was dreaming. It therefore didn't matter whether I escaped. I began thinking how interesting it was that I was running after the train. I thought, "Well maybe if the train came the other way I could just jump on to it as it was going past and they wouldn't be able to catch me. I'd go right past them."

The American legal system is based upon violence. To be effective, laws must be enforced. The force required to effectuate the laws often requires violence.

Dream of: 02 March 1984 "Elevator Crash"

While I was sitting in the Waco Law Office, two long-haired, scraggly-looking fellows walked in. One asked me if I wanted to buy some marijuana. He said that he and his friend were going to buy $150 worth and that they needed someone else to contribute some money.

Referring to the office I asked, "You mean you're going to bring pot up here?"

He replied, "Yeah."

I asked, "Aren't you worried about getting caught?"

The smaller of the two answered, "No. We work for the police, too."

Apparently they were undercover agents. I had thought they were just con men. The bigger of the two, as if he knew I was thinking they were con men, said, "Well, he can probably think of something better than that to call us."

They perturbed me. I was sick of drugs and the whole idea of drugs. Suddenly I jumped up, grabbed the big guy, turned him around, and said, "OK. Go right into the next room."

I shoved him into my secretary's office where about 20-25 people were gathered. I told the people inside I might need some help with the other guy. I said that the two fellows had been trying to sell me some drugs, and that I was going to take them down the hall to the police.

After someone else grabbed the other guy, we started pushing them down the hall. I said to the other fellow who was helping me, "Look, I'm not really that interested in having them busted for pot. If they've got anything, I'd just as soon they'd take it in the bathroom and dump it. "

Basically I was only interested in teaching them a lesson not to come up there so blatantly. About half way down the hall, I saw another rough-looking character walking toward us with a gun in his hand. I thought he was going to shoot me. He immediately demanded we release the two men. We did so and all three quickly jumped onto the elevator.

Suddenly another guy ran up to help us. He shot at the elevator with a machine gun, but the doors had already closed. Nevertheless he continued shooting at the elevator door until he had shot a hole through it. I thought he was trying to shoot the people inside, but he said, "That should have taken care of the rope."

I heard a noise and realized he had shot the rope in two that held up the elevator. The noise I heard was the sound of the elevator quickly falling. I jumped back from the doors because I didn't know what would happen when the elevator finally hit the bottom. Suddenly I heard a terrible crash. The elevator doors seemed to shake and I envisioned red flames. I thought all three men inside the elevator had obviously been killed. I was worried someone else below might have also been injured by the impact.

The fear of enforcement of an unjust law can be overwhelmingly debilitating.

Dream of: 09 May 1984 "Petrified"

Two fellows and I went to someone's house to buy some marijuana. One of the fellows intended to buy a pound of marijuana, the second fellow intended to buy nine ounces, while I only intended to buy $10 worth. Since the marijuana was costing $30 an ounce, I was going to get a third of an ounce.

I had never been to the house before, and I didn't know the people who were going to sell us the marijuana. After we had entered the house and walked into the living room, a fellow walked in and my two companions introduced me to him. The fellow looked at me suspiciously, although I thought we had met once before. I said, "I think we met the other day. I think you called me and we talked to each other on the phone this morning."

He replied, "Yea."

We talked and finally reached the subject of how much marijuana we wanted to buy. One fellow said he wanted a pound and the other fellow said he wanted nine ounces. I had decided to get a half an ounce instead of a third of an ounce. The nine ounces was going to cost $275, but I learned that the pound was only going to cost $300. I quickly figured that if I paid an additional $30 with the fellow who was getting the nine ounces, we could buy a pound. I decided to do that, and said, "Well, just give us two pounds."

The seller then went to a drawer, extracted a sack and handed it to the fellow who had ordered the pound. The seller then went to get the second pound. He stood behind a couch and pulled up a seat of the couch. Standing in front of the couch, I saw what looked like a cloth purse lying under the spot where he had pulled up the seat, and I said, "Is this it."

He picked it up and said, "Yea."

We then began examining both sacks which he had produced for us. Although the first sack seemed to be a little fuller, the fellow who had originally been going to buy a pound seemed to think the marijuana in the second sack was better quality. The marijuana in the second sack was a darker color.

We gave the seller the money. The fellow buying the pound picked up his pound to take, and the second fellow picked up both his and mine. As we left I wondered what would happen if we were caught. Would all of us deny having bought any and blame it on the others? Would each person who was carrying the marijuana just say he was carrying it for someone else?

Just then a man (perhaps 45 years old) wearing a white trench coat came to the door. He scared me because I thought he might be the police. But the fellow in the house knew him and invited him in. Apparently the man was also going to buy some marijuana.

Once we were outside, I was startled to notice a van sitting in front of the house, and sitting in the driver's seat of the van was a highway patrolman. As I started to walk around the van, the patrolman hollered to all of us, "Hey, wait a minute, you."

I then saw another patrolman in the passenger's seat, and off in the distance I could see several more policemen. Obviously they had come to make a drug arrest. I couldn't believe it. The other two fellows with me suddenly began running in different directions. When the highway patrolmen jumped out and began chasing them, I stood petrified, wondering whether I should run. After thinking, I realized I didn't have any marijuana on me, but I was still unsure whether I could be found guilty of anything, since I had bought some. I continued trying to decide whether to run. 

In early 1984, Louise graduated from law school and she and I moved to Dallas. On May 5, 1984 we were married.

Dream of: 19 July 1984 "For Sale"

I was sitting in the stands of a stadium. Louise wasn't with me, although quite a few other people from law school were sitting nearby.

A performance was taking place in the stadium. Several people, including some women, were singing and the performance appeared to be an opera. While the performers were singing, I began talking to someone and several people looked at me. I noticed Haim Habib (a former law school classmate) among them and I could tell he wanted me to be quiet. I felt bad and stopped talking. Another fellow began talking obnoxiously and disturbing the people around us, but he obviously didn't care whom he disturbed. I felt somewhat better that at least I wasn't the only one who had caused a disturbance. The obnoxious fellow said, "I don't want to listen. I won't listen."

The singing continued and suddenly I heard a loud voice booming out up behind us. I looked up and saw a fellow (about 25 years old) dressed in white singing a solo on a balcony. He had black curly hair and looked Italian. Everyone stood up while he sang and then we sat back down.

I knew some of the people on my right. Wallace (a former law student) was there; I began talking with him. We hadn't seen each other in quite a while. He told me that while he had been on vacation, he had gotten married. I noticed a wedding ring on his hand and said, "Well I got married, too."

We talked and I realized we had gotten married on almost the same day. He asked me where I had gone for a honeymoon. I told him we hadn't really had a honeymoon and he said he hadn't either. I said, "We had a long weekend that weekend though."

I told him that Louise and I had ridden up to Niagara Falls. I told him we had taken a route up through Columbus and then had crossed over into Indiana (although it was actually Pennsylvania) and then we had headed straight up to Canada and Niagara Falls. Wallace and I discussed it a while longer.

Douglas (a former female law student) walked up and sat down in the seat in front of me. She leaned back, turned around and rested her cheek on my hands which were on my knees. She began talking to me. Her cheek felt very soft and I was very attracted to her. She soon rose and sat down right beside me. She began talking and rubbed her cheek against mine. Although she also had recently married, I could tell she wanted to have some kind of affair. She was obviously interested in me and she seemed to want to kiss me there if front of everyone. But I thought about Louise and said, "No, we can have no public display of affection. No public display of affection."

I however decided right then I was going to have an affair with her. I was overpowered by my attraction to her. I thought about Louise but decided, "I'm still going to do it. I'm just going to go somewhere with her."

When Douglas asked me if I knew anything about buying a used car and about used car prices, I answered, "I have no idea."

She asked, "Didn't you just recently buy a used car?"

I answered, "No, I bought a brand new car."

She asked me what kind of car it was and I said, "Oh, a VW diesel '84."

After I suggested she go outside with me and see the car, we walked out of the stadium. After we were outside, we began walking together across the lawn of a house toward the car. And as we walked, she seemed more like a large plant which I was carrying, instead of a person – like a large marijuana plant. However, she did still seem like a person, also.

When we had almost reached my car, the car suddenly started up and I realized that Louise was in the car and that she had seen Douglas and me together. Louise sped off wildly down the street. She couldn't drive very well. I could hear her screaming at me and I tried to holler at her to wait.

Douglas meanwhile had completely turned into a large bushy marijuana plant. I picked the plant up and threw it down at the side.

I ran after Louise. When she turned the corner, I ran behind the house near me so I could catch her on the other side. When I reached the front of the house I knelt down so Louise wouldn't be able to see me. I lay on the ground and saw her drive by. She had put either a "For Sale" or a "For Rent" sign in the window of the car.

The car was silver, but it didn't look like the Volkswagen Rabbit I had bought. It looked like perhaps a Volvo. Louise was driving wildly and looked as if she might wreck; but she was still managing.

When my father first met my mother in October 1951, she was living with her parents in the House in Patriot, in the tiny village of Patriot, in Gallia County, Ohio. My father was also living in Patriot. Only nineteen years old, he had recently moved to a parsonage in Patriot to become minister of the small Methodist church in Patriot. Shortly after my parents married in December 1951, I was conceived in that little parsonage.

Dream of: 23 September 1984 "Washed In The Blood"

My father and I had entered a church which seemed to be located in the back yard of the House in Patriot, in the area where the garage normally stood. Inside the church I encountered my old Portsmouth friend, Steve Buckner. Both he and I had some marijuana – mine was in a little baggie. We rolled up a large thick joint and a second smaller joint. I dropped the large one on the floor where I was sitting. I then stuck my baggie of marijuana down in the seat where I was sitting and walked outside with the smaller joint, which I smoked.

When I walked back into the church and sat back down in my seat, I had an uneasy feeling that someone had seen me and that some police were there watching everything, but I was unsure the police would try to arrest me. I finally picked up the large joint off the floor, retrieved my baggie of marijuana from the seat, and walked back outside.

By now I was certain some people had seen the marijuana. I tore open the joint and let the marijuana fall out of the joint onto the ground, then poured the marijuana out of the baggie onto the ground. When I had finished, I saw that my father and some other men had seen what I had done, but I had already thrown the marijuana away, so it was too late for them to do anything to me.

When one man walked up to me and asked if I would submit to a blood test to see if I had been using any drugs, I replied, "No. No way."

Another man walked up and said he wanted to know if I had been using any iodine (apparently iodine was some kind of drug). He had a needle in his hand and he wanted to give me a blood test. I said, "No," and I walked away.

A girl (18-19 years old) walked up to me. She was holding a small needle in her hand. She wanted to give me a blood test and again I said, "No."

The girl was strong-willed and determined to give me the blood test, even though I didn't want it. She grabbed me, we wrestled to the ground, and she managed to stick the needle in my thumb. I knew the blood test would only be able to show whether I had used any iodine, and since I hadn't used any iodine, I knew the result of the test would be negative. But I still didn't like the idea of their doing that to me.

I felt like hitting the girl in the face with my fist, but instead, I just wrested the needle from her. I then grabbed a little box of needles which she had, ran through the back yard and finally threw the needles in some weeds. I hoped the needles wouldn't later get in someone's feet. I also threw away the needle which the girl had stuck in my thumb.

The girl hadn't realized at first that I had taken the little box of needles and I could hear her looking for it. Suddenly she realized I had taken the box and she became extremely upset.

I walked back into the church and found it full of young people, most of whom looked as if they were Japanese. One fellow looked as if he were going through some kind of conversion and the others were gathered around him. Suddenly they began screaming, "Washed in the blood! Washed in the blood! Washed in the blood!"

I stood up and said something about my having been washed in the blood, even though I knew I hadn't been washed in the blood. I wasn't a part of their religion and I wanted to explain to them that I hadn't really been washed in the blood, but I couldn't, because they again loudly screamed, "Washed in the blood! Washed in the blood!"

My conscience often bothered me. I wasn't sure what my conscience was, or even if the word "conscience" was the right word for describing the thing that bothered me. But I often felt as if I were doing wrong, and I suffered pain because of it.

Dream of: 02 November 1984 "Question Of Conscience"

I was visiting Randy Ramey and Mike Walls in Columbus. When I told Ramey I was planning to go to Europe he asked, "Well, if you didn't go to Europe, what would you do?"

I said, "Well, if I didn't go to Europe, I'd go to Mexico."

Ramey looked at Walls, smiled, and seemed quite happy with the possibility of my going to Mexico. Ramey let me know that if I went to Mexico, there was a possibility that I could buy some marijuana there and that we could smuggle the marijuana back to the United States. I thought about the idea, but I didn't think I would be interested. I thought, "Well I'll probably be living in a rural area down there, and if I bought it, I could hide it out back, maybe even bury it back there."

I could even imagine myself doing that, burying a one pound brick of marijuana behind the place where I would be living. I also thought about how much marijuana would cost in Mexico, probably about $25 a pound. I could probably sell the marijuana in the United States for $600-$1,000 a pound. The profit would be tremendous. I thought I would need to make some connections in Mexico with some lawyers and important people, so if something went wrong, I would be able to extricate myself from the predicament. Plus I'd have to make sure neither Ramey or I handled the marijuana. We would have to hire people for that. 

I stopped and wondered whether dealing with marijuana would really be worth it. Finally I told Ramey and Walls that I wasn't interested in marijuana, but that I would be interested in smuggling psilocybin mushrooms, if we could find them. I asked Ramey if he ever came across any psilocybin mushrooms any more. When he said they hadn't had any mushrooms in a long time, I asked, "What about LSD?"

Walls said he occasionally came across some LSD, but very rarely.

I sat back and continued thinking about what would be involved in smuggling in marijuana. I thought about all the damage which would be done to people who smoked the marijuana. Even though I could make a lot of money doing it, I wondered if my conscience would allow me.

After Louise and I moved to Dallas and married, I stopped working as a lawyer and started buying and selling houses which were being foreclosed on. I traveled around Texas and bought the houses. One house was a small ranch-style close to the town of Kilgore in north-east Texas. When my marriage with Louise fell apart after only about six months in late 1984, I moved into the "House in Kilgore" for a couple months.

Dream of: 03 February 1985 "Nothing Wrong"

My father, my mother, my sister and I were living in the House in Kilgore. While the others were away, my sister and I decided to have sex together. While nude, I rose and walked into the room where she was. Through the open mini blinds in the room I could see a girl using a phone in the house across the street. I was sure the girl was looking at my sister and me, and after I had walked over and shut the mini blinds, I began to worry about having been seen nude.

I went to my sister and she and I had oral sex together. She was one of the best sexual partners I had ever had. Sex with her was extremely pleasurable; I thought she must be the best lover in the world for me.

Once finished with sex, we decided to go into town together. Even though I still didn't have on all my clothes, we both boarded my 1984 Volkswagen Rabbit and she began driving. Finally I put on all my clothes.

I had recently bought about an ounce of marijuana which I had in the car with me. I looked for the marijuana amidst the clutter of junk in the back seat, but I couldn't find it.

After riding into town, we went shopping for a while at a shopping center. Finally my sister and I returned to the car; she got in on the driver's side and I on the passenger side. We talked about having sex. Since we hadn't been having sexual intercourse, but only oral sex, I told her I would like to actually have intercourse with her. She seemed to want to. I told her the only reason we hadn't had intercourse was because I was afraid she would get pregnant. She was afraid of the same thing. I told her if I would get a condom, we could have sexual intercourse. She agreed. Finally I took off all my clothes.

I then happened to notice getting into the car next to ours the same girl whom I had seen earlier through the mini blinds, and I remembered having been afraid that she had seen my sister and me nude. I climbed into the back seat and tried to lay down so the girl wouldn't see me.

About the same time, I noticed a policeman coming toward our car, and I managed to put my clothes back on before he reached us. He seemed to think something suspicious was going on and he wanted to search the car. When I said nothing, he began searching the car and went all through it without finding anything. He was just about to leave when another policeman walked up and wanted to search the car. The second policeman walked to the rear and began searching the trunk. He was just about finished when he said, "Ah, ha."

After pulling out a baggie of about an ounce of marijuana, he walked around to the side of the car. I knew then that my sister and I were definitely in trouble. The policeman began spilling some of the marijuana on the ground, into the car, and even onto me.

Meanwhile, after five or six other policemen wearing suits walked up, the girl in the car next to ours began telling the officers that she thought my sister and I had been having sex together. I didn't know whether the girl knew that my sister and I were brother and sister. I was bothered because I was afraid all this was going to get back to my father and my mother.

My sister became frightened and after she got out of the car, the policemen began questioning her. After putting on my blue pin-stripped suit, I also got out of the car, walked up to the policemen and said, "OK, I'm an attorney. And the officer that searched the car did not have a search warrant. And therefore it was an illegal search."

I turned to one of the officers wearing a suit and asked, "Are you the attorney for the state."

After he said he was, I pulled my Texas Bar Card out of my billfold to prove that I was actually a lawyer, flashed it around and then handed it to him to look at. I began explaining to him why the search was illegal, but he ignored me and spoke with the other policemen. Among them was the policeman who had actually searched the car; he was particularly unfriendly.

I became angry and continued explaining how the search was illegal. I protested that they might lie about the search and say it had been conducted legally. I said something about their all being "bastards," but I reflected that that might not have been the appropriate thing to say at the moment.

That made me recall a recent conversation I had had with Steve Buckner. We had been talking about once when we had been arrested together in New Boston. Buckner had said that I had acted very angry with the police, but the arrest had been so long ago, I hadn't been able to remember it.

My sister walked up to me and said, "I think maybe now's the time for us to call Terrell."

She was referring to Terell (a lawyer who officed in the Waco Law Office) and the fact that he might be able to help us as a lawyer. I said, "No, I think I can handle this situation myself."

A couple young policemen walked up and began doing something to my feet. I finally realized they were putting cuffs on my feet. I also noticed several jail inmates dressed in blue jail uniforms had been brought up in a sort of jail chain. The policeman putting the cuffs on me pushed me down on my knees – apparently so I wouldn't run away – and tightly fastened the cuffs. I said, "Look I just went through four years of law school to become an attorney here in Texas. You think I'm just going to take off running away because of some small offense like this."

Ignoring me, he continued tightening the cuffs. I said to him, "You really enjoy your work, don't you."

He laughed gruffly. I asked how much the bail was going to be and I became angry when no one would tell me. I hoped that since I was a lawyer, I would be able to sign a personal recognizance bond and not put up any cash.

As I was being led away, I saw my sister being led to a separate place. After the cuffs were on me, I noticed my feet didn't even touch the ground. I simply floated along above the ground. As we descended some steps, I simply I floated down them.

Finally we reached the police station and I was led into a small room, where I was left sitting alone. I took out a pencil and paper and began writing. I knew that possession of marijuana could be either a Class A or Class B misdemeanor offense, depending on the amount of marijuana involved. On the paper I wrote "Class A offense." I was beginning to prepare my defense.

When the young police officer in the next room said something, I answered, "I have done nothing wrong."

I really believed that. I didn't think possession of a drug should be a crime. He and I then began arguing about whether possessing the drug was wrong and whether society was wrong in imposing penalties for possession of the drug.

All paths in life are wrong, except one, which is the right one. By listening to the conscience, one knows which is the right path. Whether a person has followed the right path may be detected in the person's personality, or character.

Dream of: 09 February 1985 "Reflection Of Personality"

Louise and I had moved into a small frame cottage (with an upstairs attic) on the corner of Travis and Newman Streets in Dallas.

It was early Saturday morning and Louise and I were still sleeping together in bed when I heard the phone ring. I answered it and was surprised to hear Mike Walls on the other end. We spoke and he asked me when was the last time I had smoked marijuana. I knew that although I hadn't been smoking for quite a while, I had recently purchased a small quantity of pot and had smoked it the previous day. I told him I hadn't smoked in a long time except for the day before.

After we hung up, I continued thinking about smoking marijuana. I still had the small baggie of marijuana which I had recently purchased. Since it was Saturday morning, I began thinking now would be a good time to smoke some.

Louise didn't know I had bought any marijuana and I didn't want her to know I had begun smoking again. I thought I could possibly roll up a joint and smoke it before she awoke, but I didn't have any cigarette papers. I thought perhaps I could go to a store and buy some; but I really didn't like that idea, because someone might see me and report me to the police. I considered whether my buying cigarette papers would be sufficient probable cause for my arrest. I didn't think it would, but I thought it could still cause me some problems.

Where would I smoke the marijuana? I might just walk down the street and smoke it as I walked. Or I might go to the railroad tracks in back of our house and smoke. I concluded that my best option would be to go up into the attic house to smoke. The attic (which was quite clean) would be the safest place.

As I thought about it, I began looking about the house, which was quite clean throughout, although still a bit disorderly from our recent move-in. The house was newly carpeted and painted and quite comfortable.

I walked out onto the porch and looked at the surrounding neighborhood. The porch stretched around the corner of the house so the porch was on two sides of the house. I thought the front of the house would be a nice place to install a swing to sit in.

As I stood contemplating the surrounding houses, Louise walked out and stood beside me. She pointed to a large house on the corner of the street across from us, and deprecatingly spoke about a fellow who lived there. Having seen the fellow myself, I knew he was a slovenly person.

The other house seemed to mirror the fellow's personality. The yard was overgrown and the paint was peeling. The window's crooked curtains looked like dirty sheets. I told Louise I thought about 10 people lived in the large house which looked as if it had been built as an apartment and not a house.

In one window of the house I could see what looked like an African carving, like some kind of small totem pole. I thought living in that house wouldn't be so bad. I would be more independent over there. Louise asked me if I would like to move out of our house and live over there alone. I had the feeling that her question was somehow tied to my smoking marijuana and that the other house was the kind of place where a person who smoked marijuana would feel at home. I turned back and looked at our little, comfortable, clean home, reflected for a moment and told her I sincerely thought I would rather stay there with her.

I looked to the other side of the street and saw a row of small green houses which all looked alike. The houses weren't very pretty. A small girl (3-4 years old) came out of one. She was neatly dressed in a dress. I looked at her and wondered if I would meet her.

The older I became, the more difficulty I had socializing. I simply enjoyed the company of fewer and fewer people. Paradoxically, I still had a desire to be with someone with whom I could communicate.

Dream of: 19 June 1985 "Being Convivial"

I boarded a car in Portsmouth being driven by Rembert Glass (my philosophy professor in my second year of college). Some other men were also riding in the car. Although I had been drinking alcohol, I didn't know whether the others had been drinking. When we started talking about smoking marijuana, I had the feeling Rembert was taking us to the house of Steve Tubbs (a Portsmouth acquaintance whom I had barely known in the early 1970s) to get some marijuana.

We reached a building, got out of the car and walked into a small room adjacent to a basketball gym. About a dozen men and women were sitting in the room watching something on television. When Rembert went to one part of the room, I went to a different part and sat down.

Although I wasn't very intoxicated, I began acting intoxicated. I spoke to some women sitting there, trying to be friendly and nice.

I realized all the men in the room were firemen. I was surprised to see my old friend Randy Ramey there and I asked him, "Are you a fireman?" He kiddingly said that he wasn't and that he was just wearing his large rubber boots for no reason.

When another fellow walked up to me and asked me if I would follow him outside, I did so. Although I wasn't completely intoxicated, I was still feeling the effects of the alcohol. After we had walked into the parking lot, he told me I was going to have to leave because I was too intoxicated to stay there. He wasn't at all friendly.

I tried trying to explain that I wasn't really intoxicated. I told him I was only acting intoxicated to be as "convivial" as possible.

Rembert came out and walked over to us. He spoke and tried to help me out. Since I was talking clearly and I obviously wasn't intoxicated, the man began to leave me alone.

Some other men including Mike Walls came out and stood on a porch. Walls rolled up a joint, lit it and began passing it around.

Rembert walked over to Walls and the others and sat down. I wondered if Rembert had come over to help me because he knew I was now a lawyer and he had more respect for me than before, but I didn't know for sure he knew I was now a lawyer. I also didn't know whether he knew I had snapped out of my former debauched ways. If he did, he would probably feel better about having helped me.

I wondered if Ramey was inside trying to gloss over the way I had been acting there by telling the others that I was now a lawyer. I could just imagine him saying, "He's a lawyer now. He's one of the smartest people I know."

I walked over to where the joint was being passed around. I had already smoked a little marijuana earlier in the evening and I wanted some more. I smoked some of Walls' joint with the others and then I spoke with Walls. When I recalled that I had had sex with Birdie (my black-haired girlfriend during my last two years of high school and first two years of college) earlier in the day, I thought about how strange it was that I would see Birdie and Walls on the same day.

When Walls rolled another joint and passed it around, I went to the end of the line and waited for the joint to come my way. When it finally reached me, I had to stoop over to get it. A greedy girl tried to grab it before I did, but I got it first (it never occurred to me that I might be considered greedy). I took a couple deep tokes from the joint, then handed it back to the girl.

I suddenly realized that the lit butt-end had somehow broken off from the joint and that it was still in my mouth. I walked over to the side; I thought I would simply smoke the butt end myself.

By now I was feeling rather intoxicated from both the marijuana and the alcohol. I was wearing a jacket with a hood which I had pulled up over my head.

When a girl walked up behind me and said she wanted a hit from the joint, I turned around and saw a very pretty girl whom I thought I recognized. She was a girl I had known as a schoolmate in junior high school, Maxie (although I couldn't remember her name at the time). I handed her the joint and said I thought I knew her. I asked her if she had gone to Grand Junior High School in the seventh grade.

I asked her if she remembered me and she said she did, although we were unsure whether we had met in the seventh grade or the twelfth grade. I knew I had met two different girls in those grades who looked similar. I recalled having heard from someone at one time that this girl had liked me. I finally concluded her name was Becky Pruitt. I said to her, "Yea. You're the girl from Grant in the seventh grade. I remember you. You were very pretty and sweet and nice. Of course I don't remember you being that sweet and nice to me. Maybe you just weren't sweet to me. I don't know why. I was so lovable."

Suddenly I reached out, pulled her to me and began kissing her. Her mouth seemed wide. She seemed rather hollow as if there weren't all that much to her. The kiss wasn't bad, but not really enjoyable.

I sometimes thought I received messages from God. Obviously I'm not the first man to have had this experience. These messages have invariably pointed me to the right path. Sometimes, I have even managed to follow that path.

Dream of: 03 September 1985 "Message From God"

While sitting in a high school class, I noticed someone had begun smoking marijuana. A joint was passed around the room until it reached me. I greedily took several hits from the joint and then extinguished it. The effects of the pot were immediate: my mental abilities immediately deteriorated. I couldn't think well and I didn't even know what I was doing. I remembered I would soon have to take some exams, but I couldn't recall the subject matter. My only clue was a Latin book lying open on my desk. I read a few lines of the Latin, which I mostly (but not completely) understood. However I still didn't know what I was supposed to be studying.

The class ended and I shambled out. Just as I exited the school, I ran into one of my teachers. As he stopped and spoke with me about Julius Caesar, I recalled I had once begun reading Caesar's Gallic Wars in Latin, but I hadn't finished the book because it had seemed rather trite and because Caesar had seemed so egotistical to me.

The teacher soon left and I continued meandering aimlessly. I was becoming very tired, and when I spotted an empty car, I climbed in, lay down and fell straight to sleep. When I finally awoke and opened my eyes the next morning, my thoughts still seemed scattered and hazy. I struggled to remember where I was and what I was doing. I knew I was in my last year of high school, but I couldn't recall the subjects I was taking. However, I realized I should be concerned, because my final exams would be coming up soon.

While I had been in the car, I had taken off my pants, so I had to pull them back on. Once I was fully dressed, I opened the car door and stepped out. I still didn't know where I was. but I could see a circus had been set up across the street. Since it was still so early in the morning, practically no one was there.

Once again I began walking. I hadn't ambled far before I encountered Hurley (a classmate whom I knew for a short while in junior high school and high school). I had never known Hurley well, and I hadn't seen him in many years, since the time he had dropped out of high school and joined the military. As I approached him, I noticed he quickly discarded something which looked like a joint. As soon as I was close enough, I told him I had something I wanted to ask him. Then I asked him if he had any pot.

Before Hurley could answer, a vivid image suddenly formed in my mind: a red bust of Julius Caesar, his wizened face plowed with wrinkles. The stark image seemed to represent my own mind; specifically the bust seemed to illustrate what marijuana was doing to me, aging and wrinkling my mind. The bust also seemed meant to convey a message to me from God. Since I had once again begun smoking marijuana, I felt God was telling me that I would never be able to stop using marijuana, that I would have to smoke marijuana for the rest of my life. Although I would be free to determine how much marijuana I would smoke, I would never be able to completely stop. This rueful message was extremely disconcerting to me. I knew that every time I smoked, I would be unable to function properly and that I would be incapable of remembering things well. I thought perhaps I would only smoke once a week; but I knew even that would be painful. Shaking the image from my mind, I turned and walked away from Hurley without obtaining any pot.

I crossed the street and headed toward the circus, where I could see some people gathering, all of whom appeared to be strong and healthy. Next to the circus stood a bar named "Cellars," a place where people drank booze and played music. Although I wasn't interested in drinking anything, I thought I would like to hear some music. As I changed my course toward "Cellars," I suddenly heard a voice – not my own – saying, "Steven, this is where you ought to live. You need to go there before its too late."

The voice startled me. I instantly understood its import. The voice was directing me to go to Cellars because of the music there. The voice didn't merely want me to listen to the music. I understood the voice was a strong commandment for me to go to Cellars in order to learn to play music. The idea of learning to play music didn't please me, but I knew it was exactly what I ought to do. It seemed my destiny was to play music before it was too late.

The right of privacy to perform an act on one's own body should not be confused with the moral implications of performing the act. I believe I have the right (which is often infringed by society) to do whatever I want with my own body. Whether the act which I perform on my body is moral - that is a separate question.

Dream of: 05 December 1985 "Uncontaminated Baby"

To roll up a cigarette, I used two cigarette papers, placed some tobacco in them and rolled it up. The rolling took a long time to accomplish and when I finally finished, the cigarette broke right in the middle. Upset, I threw it out the window.

I looked around and realized I was in Portsmouth, sitting in a van being driven by my old high school chum, Mark Tindall. We had earlier gone somewhere and each of us had bought a small baggie of marijuana. I rolled up a couple rather large joints out of my baggie.

We also had some alcohol which we were drinking. I turned to Mark and said, "Lets go over to Walls' house."

Since Mark had said something at the same time I had spoken, I asked, "What did you say?"

I thought he also had suggested we go to Walls' house, but he repeated what he had said and it was something different.

We drove to Walls' house (which was nearby), pulled up and stepped out of the van. I picked up some tennis shoes I had earlier taken off and I walked toward Walls' porch with the shoes, still also carrying the two joints in my hand. Walls was standing in front of the house and I said, "There he is – Mikey boy."

When I said "Mikey boy" I wondered if Walls would be offended because I had referred to him as a boy instead of a man. I thought of him as someone who had never fully matured.

I hadn't seen Walls for a long time and I was happy to see him again. I thought about putting my arms around him, but I decided that probably wouldn't be appropriate. I thought he would be surprised to see me in Portsmouth again. When Walls saw us coming, he walked around behind the house.

I began thinking it had really been a long time since I had smoked any marijuana or drunk any alcohol. I decided that for once I was just going to cut loose today and not worry about anything for a change.

I walked into the house and saw a blonde woman in the room. She said, "Come on in. Make yourself at home. Don't mind the mess."

Walls' wife Connie was also in the room and she said something about her "new baby." Indeed, in the room was a pretty little baby boy (probably only a few weeks old), smiling and wearing some little, blue, bib pants. It seemed so happy. It seemed strange to me that I was preparing to smoke marijuana and this little, fresh, uncontaminated baby was right there.

Realizing that I was still carrying my tennis shoes and that I wasn't going to put them on right now, I carried them back out onto the front porch. When I put them on the porch, I realized I had mistakenly carried in two black tennis shoes and a white tennis shoe. I had only wanted the white ones. I looked at the white shoe (which had a red stripe around it). I thought the shoes hadn't been the right ones, but then I said, "Those aren't the shoes I wanted. Well one of them was."

I walked back inside, sat down and wondered whether I should light up one of the joints. I looked up and saw a girl who reminded me of Marilyn (a pretty blonde Portsmouth acquaintance whom I barely knew around 1970) had walked through the front door. I hadn't seen her in a long time. Her hair was blonde-red and she was wearing quite a bit of make-up. She attracted me in a cosmetic way. She said something and I replied, "Come on in."

I stood up and walked toward her with the intention of striking up a conversation. When I reached the door where she was, I saw another fellow dressed in a black suit who was apparently with her walking up the front sidewalk toward the house. When I also noticed some other people smoking marijuana on the front porch, I thought maybe Walls had sold them the marijuana.

Someone carried a joint into the house and began passing it around. When the joint came to me, I took a hit, then offered the joint to Connie, who was standing near me, but she didn't want any. So I handed it to someone else and it was passed around a few times.

I looked more closely at Connie. She was almost flat-chested and looked very hollow, almost insubstantial.

I passed the joint to Mark who was sitting down. He dropped it and I said to Mark, "Pick it up. Come on."

In time, certain symbols in my mind became clear to me. The earliest one was horses, as I realized horses for me represented art.

Dream of: 23 January 1986 "Chasing Thunder"

As another person and I were walking in a wooded area (almost like a jungle), we came to a dense area where there appeared to be a book store. Racks of books were standing all around. Some books were extremely large and even looked as big as I. Some were standing on the ground and some had colorful covers. I thought that some books might be art books and that I might like to look at the pictures.

I continued through the book area, even stumbling over some books, until I finally arrived in a large room which resembled a train station, where I sat down on a bed.

The fellow with me was black (about 20 years old). He walked around the room with his arms hanging at his sides, but his hands were bent up so they were parallel to the floor. As he walked I realized he was homosexual. His homosexuality didn't particularly bother me, but it was getting to be late and I didn't want him to be around me all night. Plus I wondered what people would think if they saw me with the fellow. They might get the wrong idea that I was homosexual simply because I was with a homosexual person. I wanted to return home.

Nearby I saw a magazine rack on which was a copy of Time magazine. On the magazine's cover written in large letters was the word "COCAINE," accompanied by a picture of some white powder. I thought about how the covers of Time magazine tended to reflect the general trends of the time. If the covers of Time were followed, a feel of what was going on in the contemporary world could quickly be acquired.

I picked up the magazine and leafed through it. I thought how the war the United States was waging on cocaine had already been lost. The only way the inflow of cocaine into the country could be stopped was by spending more money; but more money wasn't available to be spent on drug enforcement.

I thought about drugs in general and remembered that possession of small quantities of marijuana had been legalized in Alaska. When the legalization had originally happened, I had thought more states would follow suit, but apparently they hadn't. I wondered what the result of the legalization of marijuana in Alaska had been. Had cases developed in the courts concerning the legalization and what constituted the legal use of marijuana?

I read part of the article which spoke of how some people were able to quit cocaine, but then sometimes wanted to go back. Since making the necessary preparations in order to use cocaine was so difficult, however, people didn't bother going back to it.

I thought about myself and marijuana. I probably would sometimes smoke marijuana if it were readily available; but obtaining marijuana and rolling a joint was so much trouble, I just didn't bother to do it.

I looked out a window and saw a large desert covered with light brownish sand. When a man planning to cross the desert showed up, I wanted to go with him. Suddenly I saw a second man ride up on a large black horse and fall off. Apparently the rider had been so weak from thirst that he had been unable to go any farther.

I turned to the man with whom I wanted to cross the desert and I told him that I wanted to mount the black horse and go with him. I told him he knew I was a good horse rider. He hesitated at first, but finally he said, "Ok."

I wasn't actually a good horse rider, but I could see myself sitting in the saddle riding across the desert. I would be able to adequately perform that task.

I ran to one end of the building and went outside. I saw the horse in the distance and began running toward it. As I ran, I began wondering what I would name the horse. Several names flashed through my mind, but I suddenly knew the appropriate name was "Thunder."

I also wondered how I would approach the horse. I would calmly and quietly walk up to it. The horse would be able to sense whether I was going to hurt it. Therefore I would need to be patient and calm when I approached it.

Suddenly I encountered two men and told them I was going to get the horse. They both suddenly pulled knives on me and were determined to stop me from getting the horse. As they walked toward me, I fell down on my back. When they came close to me, I threw sand in their eyes. I knew that was an old trick, but it worked. They were momentarily blinded and thrashed wildly in the air with their knives trying to cut me.

I was able to roll past them unscathed. I jumped back up and ran toward the horse as fast as I could. They finally got the sand out of their eyes and began chasing me.

If an association with a person or a substance is detrimental to the psyche, it must be stopped immediately.

Dream of: 18 March 1986 "Seeking A Different Life"

After awakening one morning and not knowing where I was, I finally realized I was at my old high school buddy Steve Buckner's house in Portsmouth. At first I didn't think anything was strange about my being there, but upon deeper reflection, I recalled that the night before I had gone to bed at the Logan Street House (where my mother used to live). I lay there quite a while pondering how I could possibly be waking up at Buckner's house when I had fallen asleep at Logan Street.

After I saw on a clock in the room that it was 10:30 a.m.,  I realized I was lying on a couch in the kitchen.

I lay a while longer until Mr. Buckner (Buckner's father) walked into the room. Mr. Buckner seemed to have become old and rather senile and he was clearly no longer in complete control of himself. He began fixing some coffee and knocked the coffee pot onto the floor. It occurred to me that I had once had a dream of that very same thing happening. It puzzled me how I could have possibly dreamed the incident had happened and then have it actually occur right in front of me.

Finally Buckner (who had gained quite a bit of weight) walked into the room. After I motioned for him to come to me, he did so and I asked him, "How did I get here last night?"

He looked at me puzzled at first; but seeming to understand what had happened, he indicated he didn't want to talk to me in front of his father and he said he would tell me later.

I continued thinking about the matter until I began to realize what must have happened. Apparently I had left the Logan Street House the night before, drunk some alcohol and blacked out. Having blacked out disturbed me because I had never blacked out before. Now for the first time I couldn't remember what had happened after drinking alcohol. That was definitely not a good sign.

Trying to figure out what could have happened, I thought, "Well, I might have gone over to Walls' house and drunk something over there. Or somebody might have stopped by my mother's and then I had gone with them."

I tried to think of all the possibilities, but my memory simply wouldn't function. I still couldn't remember where I had been.

Finally I rose and walked into the next room where I found some other fellows, one of whom had already begun to drink some alcohol that very morning. After he told me he had drunk a whole fifth of some kind of alcohol the night before, I asked him if he had a hangover and he answered, "No."

Finally several of the fellows and I left the house and walked down the street until I realized we were in Columbus, Ohio. I began thinking that the fellows probably smoked marijuana or used other drugs and that I could probably pick up some law business defending them.

I thought about how I had defended quite a few people arrested for possession of marijuana, even though I hadn't really acquired an expertise in the area. As I visualized my work, I had a shabby opinion of myself as a cheap lawyer who defended drug cases. If I were ever arrested for drugs, I would probably not even want to defend myself. I would want some top-notch defense attorney. Nevertheless, I felt confident about defending petty little drug possession cases, even though I had a low opinion of myself doing that kind of work.

As I walked along, I realized I actually lived in a house next door to Buckner. The only way I could really change my life would be to simply stop associating with him. I needed to become completely independent; he would simply have to realize one day that I no longer used any alcohol or drugs. I thought I definitely needed to break off my association with Buckner and his friends. After a while he would simply get used to it and accept it.

Verily, I was seeking a different kind of life and I thought there might be some people in the world who were seeking the same kind of thing with whom I could associate.

After Louise and I divorced in early 1985, I began practicing law in Dallas. One court in which I worked was County Criminal Court No. 3, a misdemeanor court. The white-haired judge Schwille was about thirty years older than I. I felt as if he and I were friends.

Dream of: 24 March 1986 "Insufficient Probable Cause"

I had been appointed by judge Mike Schwille to accompany two narcotics agents when they went to arrest someone. The agents (probably in their late 20s) had longish hair and mustaches. They had been using a helicopter to observe a suspect (probably in his late 20s) who likewise had longish brown hair and a mustache.

The agents had just landed their helicopter when I joined them. On two previous occasions the agents had watched the fellow leave his house and both times after leaving his house he had lit a cigarette. The agents had deduced that the cigarette was actually a marijuana joint. On this occasion the fellow again left his house, again lit a cigarette and the agents concluded they now had enough reason to arrest him.

They knew the fellow was now in a restaurant. The three of us walked into the restaurant together obviously looking for someone. We walked past several occupied tables and came to the table where the suspect was sitting. He reminded me of Davis (a Fort Worth attorney with whom I had gone to law school) and for a moment I even thought he was Davis.

The agents ordered him to stand up, searched him, and found a small package of marijuana in his pants pocket. I then explained to the fellow that I had been appointed by the court to accompany the narcotics agents to make sure everything had been done properly. I told the fellow that the agents certainly hadn't had any probable cause to arrest him and that we would need to file a motion to suppress the evidence. In my opinion the mere fact that a person had been seen lighting a cigarette didn't constitute sufficient probable cause to warrant arresting the person.

The four of us left the restaurant, boarded a car of the narcotics agents and drove away. I was becoming rather upset with the entire situation; wanting to disparage the narcotics agents, I said, "I don't see how you guys can stand your work. Drugs, marijuana and cocaine are one of the two or three worst problems in the United States."

I continued to explain that clearly the drugs weren't good for people. However, the way to combat drugs wasn't to make their possession a criminal offense and put people in jail merely because they possessed the drugs. I was adamant and also quite agitated because I deeply felt the United States was acting wrongly when it imprisoned people for possession of drugs.

I remembered when alcohol had been illegal in the United States and the ramifications of alcohol's being sold illegally. The same thing was now happening with drugs. Drugs needed to be legalized and people with problems with drugs needed to be helped.

Louise did not waste time. In less than a year she was married to another Dallas attorney, Vernon.

Dream of: 04 April 1986 "Calming My Nerves"

While in an apartment where I lived, I heard someone at the door; I went to the door and found Louis standing there. She apparently thought her husband Vernon was after me for some reason and she was quite upset. When I looked at her, I could tell she still liked me. I reached out, pulled her to me and kissed her. She kissed me back, even though we both knew she was now married. She said she had to go because Vernon was coming; she began backing up. She left and I shut the door.

The door had two locks on it. One was a bolt lock and the other required a key. Suddenly I heard Louise talking to Vernon right outside the door, and then Vernon began trying to break through the door. I locked both locks, then ran to the back of the house.  I ran outside through the back door and began running up an alley. After I was about half way down the alley, I looked back and saw Vernon chasing me with a gun.

I zigzagged back and forth down the alley, finally turned a corner and saw a guy and girl sitting in a green Volkswagen (the girl behind the steering wheel). I opened the car door and hollered, "Take off! A guys following me with a gun!"

I jumped in and the girl without hesitation pulled out and began driving up and down some alleys. I wanted them to take me to the police station, but when I noticed the fellow had a marijuana joint in his hand, I asked him to let me have it so I could smoke some. He handed the joint to me and said he only had that one. I thought maybe I would buy some latter for them, but I needed something right now to calm my nerves. I told them I hadn't smoked any marijuana in almost 15 months.

We began smoking the joint and continued until nothing was left but a small butt; but I didn't feel any effects of the marijuana. Finally the fellow took the butt and extinguished it with his fingers. The sky outside began to grow dark. I told them I wanted them to take me to the police station so I could file charges of assault against Vernon.

On the eastern side of Portsmouth, along the Ohio River, lies the village of New Boston. Much of New Boston consists of high hills which overlook the river. Sometime in the late 1960s, my father bought about 200 acres of this hilly land, which I refer to as the "Hill in New Boston."

Dream of: 24 May 1986 "Amen"

I was a witness in a trial in which Mike Schwille was the judge. The trial was being held in the living room of the Logan Street House where four long tables had been arranged in a square.

Although I wasn't on trial myself, I was asked some questions; I told the assembled people that I had recently bought an ounce of marijuana and had smoked a joint. I regretted having bought the marijuana because I hadn't smoked marijuana in a long time. I told them I would turn the ounce of marijuana over to them.

The trial had begun about 8:30 a.m. and had drug on until about 9:30, when the judge decided to go upstairs and take a break. The courtroom/house began to seem more like the House in Patriot.

When a group of about six black people sitting on a raised platform began singing a religious song, other people joined in the song. They sang the word "Amen" over and over and I likewise began singing "Amen." My voice was clear and resonant and at one point I even carried the song – I was obviously one of the better singers. Finally I lost track of the words and someone else picked up the song.

Another judge came downstairs to take Schwille's place. Schwille had needed to leave and go to his own court in downtown Dallas which was supposed to have begun at 9 o'clock that morning. The jurors began to deliberate and the new judge told them they should make their deliberations right in front of the other people in the courtroom.

Apparently the entire trial had just been a practice trial, so it didn't matter if the other people in the room heard the jurors' deliberations. The jurors began to deliberate, but we still couldn't hear what they were saying. Finally, the jurors broke up and sat down. One juror sat next to the defendant.

Suddenly a woman walked into the room and said that the defendant was accused of beating his wife and that the wife had been badly battered. Since evidence of the beating hadn't been given before, I thought the jurors had probably found the defendant not-guilty because they hadn't known about the beating.

It appeared that the woman juror sitting next to the defendant was explaining the verdict to him, but I couldn't hear what she was saying. Someone told me to call over to her, so I screamed as loudly as I could to her that we couldn't hear her. People looked at me as if I were crazy for screaming like that. When the woman didn't respond, I stood and walked over to her. After asking her to speak up so we could hear, I walked back to where I had been.

When the other jurors stood up, I walked to them and asked one of them what the verdict had been; I was told the verdict had been "not-guilty."

When a female juror asked me if I were going to bring the marijuana in which I had bought, and if I were going to give it to her, I told her I would and I left. Walking around, I was feeling quite bad and unsure whether I wanted to turn the marijuana over to the woman juror. I went to the Hill in New Boston where I had hidden the marijuana and I retrieved it. I then returned to Portsmouth and walked around with the marijuana. Since I didn't know what to do with it, I stuck it in my pocket.

At Mound Park near Logan Street, I decided I needed to catch a taxi. I didn't think it was safe to be walking around there, and I certainly didn't want to be arrested. I saw a sign which said "public phone" which I thought I could use to call a taxi, but then I felt the key to the Logan Street House in my pocket and I decided to just walk back there.

I felt confused and distraught; suddenly I wanted to smoke more marijuana; but that depressed me because I knew I hadn't smoked any for a year and a half before I had smoked that one joint. Now I felt as if I were once again addicted to marijuana. All I could think of was returning to the Logan Street House and smoking more marijuana.

I remembered how I had recently spoken with my old college professor and advisor Rembert Glass and how I had somewhat chided him for having once told me he had never known a heavy marijuana smoker who had been able to quit completely. I had told him I had been able to stop. Now, however, I realized I had begun smoking again.

Certain that I didn't want to give the marijuana to someone else, I thought I would destroy it myself rather than do that. If I turned the marijuana over to the police, they might arrest me, so I couldn't take that chance.

When I reached the Logan Street House, I felt as if I were going insane and losing touch with reality. I thought, "Well this is what marijuana does. It radically changes my behavior."

My behavior indeed was radically changed. What I wanted to do more than anything was smoke more marijuana. Finally I walked into the bathroom and began dumping the marijuana into the commode. Before I had dumped it all, however, I stopped while a little bit was still left. I thought maybe I could just smoke one joint and then dispose of the rest. I was having a difficult time thinking about anything but smoking.

My mind is often little more than a battlefield between good and evil. Sometimes the battle seems continuous, and I don't even know which side I am on. Yet I know that nothing else matters except winning this battle.

Dream of: 04 September 1986 "Combating The Evil Spirit"

I had been to Mike Walls' house and when I had left, I had carried off a baggie containing about a quarter ounce of brownish marijuana. Unsure why I had taken Walls' marijuana, I decided to return it, but I also decided to keep enough for one joint. I took some of the marijuana out of the baggie, cleaned the stems and seeds from it and put the cleaned marijuana in a pocket on the left side of my tee shirt. I then placed the baggie with the remaining marijuana in the same pocket.

I headed for Walls' house, reached it and walked into the front room where I found Walls (about 35 years old) and Nunley (a former high school schoolmate) sitting. I was surprised to see Nunley there.

Walls' hair was gray and thinning on top; he appeared to be aging prematurely.

Walls and Nunley talked about drugs and I had the feeling Walls and been using various kinds of drugs lately. Nunley apparently had also been using drugs. I recalled having recently had a dream in which Nunley had appeared; I hadn't understood why I had dreamed about him, but I felt as if the dream might have had something to do with drugs. Although I hadn't seen Nunley in many years, I felt as if he might have started using a lot of drugs.

After I pulled out the baggie of marijuana I had in my pocket and laid it on the table, Walls said he had a lot of marijuana which he was selling and he could sell me a half ounce for $5. He mentioned that the dollar I had left for him was still there. I now remembered that when I had taken the baggie of marijuana, I had left a dollar behind for a joint and I had actually intended to bring the rest of the marijuana back just as I was now doing. Walls said that I could have the dollar back and that he would sell me the baggie I had for $5.

I contemplated buying the marijuana, but I really didn't want to because I would have to carry it around, which would bother me because I didn't like to have any marijuana around me. I even began to think I didn't want to smoke the marijuana which I had cleaned and put in my pocket. So I began taking the cleaned marijuana out of my pocket and putting it back into the baggie. When Walls asked me if I had enough for a joint, I told him that I did, but that I had decided I didn't want to smoke it.

I thought I had actually already smoked some of the marijuana, but then I realized I hadn't yet smoked any. Indeed it had been a very long time since I had smoked any marijuana. I knew I had recently had some dreams in which I had smoked marijuana, but the truth was that I hadn't smoked any for a very long time. I didn't know exactly how long it had been since I had smoked any, but I knew it had been well over a year.

I couldn't deny that I was tempted to smoke, but the temptation had dramatically decreased. I was now able to control my will as regarded smoking. I didn't voluntarily want to smoke and I had freed myself from any involuntary desire to smoke. I didn't delve deeply into the metaphysics of smoking; I simply realized I wasn't going to smoke and I returned all the marijuana to Walls.

After Connie (Walls' thin diminutive wife) walked into the room, we began watching a television show about drugs. Some people on the show were being interviewed and some women were talking about how their husbands used to use drugs and how the women had dealt with the problem. One woman was quite ugly and I made a comment about that fact. One woman being interviewed was the wife of my old Portsmouth buddy, Phil Lane. She said that Lane didn't like to party and that she had begun to wonder where he was going when he went places. I, however, recalled that the only thing Lane had liked to do was party.

When I finally stood and walked outside, Connie and Walls accompanied me. They were going somewhere, so we walked along together. Connie mentioned that Lane had been in the house while I had been inside, although I hadn't noticed him. I spoke with them about drugs and what drugs could do to a person. Walls was aware he had a problem with drugs, but Connie was much more aware that she had a problem.

She talked about a type of spirit. I was unsure whether she was referring to someone who had died or something else. She described the spirit as being about the size of a human being; it appeared to be some sort of demon.

Apparently Connie had been having some contact with the spirit, which had been disturbing her. She told me that one time she had been inside a type of tent which looked like a dome made of white silky cloth. The demon had taken what appeared to be a paint roller (except the roller rolled fire instead of paint) and had started rolling the roller across the top of the tent. The flame from the roller caught strips of the tent on fire as it was rolled across it. I envisioned the rather dramatic scene in my mind.

Walls, Connie, and I immediately began building a cloth dome-tent similar to the one Connie had described. When we had finished constructing the tent, I pulled up a truck loaded with bales of marijuana and we filled the tent with the marijuana. Walls didn't know what I was doing. I then set the tent on fire and we stood off to the side as it burned. I thought by burning the marijuana I was going to be able to combat the evil spirit. I was quite satisfied with what I was doing.

I didn't smell the marijuana as it burned, but suddenly Walls smelled it and said, "Shit, Collier, if I had known you were going to burn those 2,000 kilos of grass ..."

The enslavement of the psyche is a right reserved to the owner of the psyche.

Dream of: 18 September 1986 "Knock At The Door"

While living in an apartment on the fourth floor of a building (similar to the building which housed my rue Saint Jean Apartment where I lived for three pleasant months in Quebec City in 1986), I heard a knock at the door, answered it and found a fellow standing there who reminded me of Moreau (a downstairs neighbor of the rue Saint Jean Apartment). He wanted me to go to an apartment on the second floor with him. Since I was already wearing a jacket, I said, "OK."

After we had descended the stairs, Moreau knocked on the door of the apartment. Whoever was inside was taking his time about opening the door and Moreau told him to hurry up because the girl was getting impatient (he was trying to make whoever was inside think a girl was out there with him). When a clean-cut fellow opened the door, he seemed surprised to see me there. I walked in and found five or six guys standing around. I had seen some of them before, but I wasn't really sure who they were.

It looked as if they had quite a bit of marijuana and they were getting ready to smoke some. One fellow was breaking apart a compressed "brick" of marijuana which probably weighed about half a kilogram. A joint was lit, passed around and finally came to the fellow who had brought me down. Since he didn't think I smoked, he started to hand it past me, but when I reached out my hand, he gave it to me.

I took a hit from the joint, passed it on and immediately regretted what I had done. I began to worry that if the police were to come now, they would be able to detect the marijuana in my system. And since I was aware that the marijuana was in the apartment and I hadn't left, I was just as guilty as anyone else there. I was suspicious presentiment that the clean-cut fellow who had let me in might be an undercover agent and that perhaps the place was about to be raided. I walked over to the clean-cut fellow and said, "Tell John that I went back upstairs." (I thought John was the name of the fellow who had brought me down.)

He said, "OK. Steve."

My leaving didn't seem to disappoint him. I didn't say another word to anyone and I walked back upstairs to my apartment.

I knew that on the next floor down from my apartment was a movie theater which I thought showed pornographic films. I really didn't want to see any, but I thought I might ought to go there just to hide in case the police did come. They wouldn't be able to find me if I were in the theater. Instead, I just stayed in my apartment and contemplated the law in Canada. I thought, "Well now that I've gotten out of there and I'm up in my apartment, I don't have anything. They won't be able to arrest me for anything cause its not illegal to have it just inside your system. I'm not in possession of any marijuana now."

But I still felt badly for having smoked any marijuana to begin with.

The law is an ineffective device to free a psyche enslaved by desire.

Dream of: 01 October 1986 "Shelter Of The Courthouse"

After being away for a while, I had returned to Dallas. Early in the morning I went to judge Mike Schwille's court in the Dallas County courthouse. Since I had decided I wanted to work again in Dallas, I put my name in the box out of which the names of court-appointed attorneys would be drawn. The courtroom began filling up with people and other lawyers. Most of the lawyers were unfamiliar to me and many were black. A couple times my ex-wife Louise walked around the room, but we didn't speak.

The judge walked into the courtroom and saw me. The drawing of the names took place and my name was picked first. The judge returned to his chambers and a woman attorney walked into the courtroom and took his place. Apparently a new procedure had been instituted whereby lawyers were taking turns doing some of the judge's work.

The woman attorney called out a defendant's name. Since my name had been first on the list, I thought I would be appointed to represent the defendant, but instead, the woman attorney handled the case herself without actually appointing another lawyer. After she sent the defendant on his way, she followed the same procedure with several other defendants.

Finally she stepped down and another lawyer who followed the same procedure took her place. At last judge Schwille returned to the courtroom, took over and immediately called out my name. I walked up in front of him and said, "I'm back."

I wanted to be sure he understood that I had returned to work in his court. I also mentioned to him that I had forgotten to write "Spanish" by my name and I asked him to put an "S" by my name to indicate that I spoke Spanish. That way I could also represent Spanish-speaking defendants. The names of several Spanish-speaking attorneys were already on the list.

I had hesitated to return to court because I still had long hair, but the judge didn't seem to mind. Apparently he was going to appoint me to cases even though I did have long hair.

After he appointed me to a defendant, I worked with my new client, quickly completed the task and turned in a pay sheet to the judge for $100. I felt good about being back in court. I could start earning some good money again; this was where I needed to be.

When the judge finally went back to his chambers, I walked back to talk with him. We discussed a case which I was going to argue and he gave me the citation of another case which he said would help me if I would read it. I told him I would return later to discuss the case more with him. Having finished, I walked outside the courthouse, where rain was pounding down.

While I was still standing under the shelter of the courthouse, a black fellow walked up to me and showed me what appeared to be a small plastic container for carrying 35mm film. He opened the vial, showed me that it contained marijuana and asked me if I wanted to buy some. Glancing inside the vial I noticed some seeds which were obviously from marijuana. Some other leaves were also in the mixture.

The fellow said he wanted $15 for the marijuana. I agreed. After paying him $15, I took the vial and stuck it in my pocket. As I started to walk away, the fellow suddenly wanted to fight with me. We were standing on a slightly raised platform; the fellow attacked me and I threw him off the platform, but he kept coming back and I had to throw him off the platform about a half dozen times.

I screamed for help so someone might call the police, but no one did anything. Finally I used some karate on the fellow. I didn't really need the police, although I would have preferred for them to have appeared.

When I at last managed to extricate myself from the fellow climb into the driver's seat of a car, to my chagrin, the fellow also slipped into the car. As I started driving down the road, the pugnacious fellow was still trying to fight with me. Somehow I managed to open the door and kick him out. As my car proceeded forward, I looked back and saw the fellow lying in the middle of the street. I was finally free of him.

I finally stopped the car, got out and began walking around in the rain. I was wearing my long beige trench coat which I took off, folded up and threw down by the side of the road.

I returned to the courthouse where I put on a thin blue jacket. Once again I left the courthouse and began walking around in the rain. This time I took off the blue jacket, folded it up and threw it down beside the road. I continued walking until finally it struck me that I had actually thrown my coats away; but it didn't bother me.

I thought about the marijuana I had bought from the belligerent fellow. It suddenly occurred to me that some of the leaves which had been lying on top of the mixture hadn't really looked like marijuana leaves. I began to surmise that the leaves probably weren't marijuana at all. I figured someone had probably taken some marijuana seeds and mixed them with another substance so when someone saw the mixture, he would recognize the marijuana seeds and think the whole mixture was marijuana. Saying what was included in the mixture was difficult. The mixture might even include something dangerous. I began to doubt I had done the right thing by buying the mixture.

After my maternal grandmother died in 1972 when I was nineteen years old, I never set foot again in the House in Patriot. The House was sold and remained nothing more than a potent memory. During my childhood I received many lessons in the House regarding good and evil.

Dream of: 16 October 1986 "Messy House"

While I was living in a house in the little village of Patriot, Ohio, a narcotics agent came to the house. I was unsure what he wanted - he left without saying. The next day I went out and bought about a dollar's worth of light green marijuana (with some stems in it). After I had returned to the house, I heard a knock at the door, answered, and once again encountered the same irksome narcotics agent. Apparently he was looking for my sister, who also lived in the house, and who had left with a man. When the nark asked if he could come in, I said, "Wait a minute."

I walked back into the house, carried the marijuana I had bought out into the back yard and threw it into the air so it fell into the grass. I walked back into that house, returned to the front door and allowed the nark to walk into the house (very messy with clothes and junk lying all about). He stepped through the junk and asked me if I knew anything about my sister. After I told him I didn't know anything, he left.

I was rather disturbed because I had wanted to smoke some of the marijuana I had thrown away. I thought that someone might be living in the house of Saunders (a farmer, one of the local denizens of Patriot when I was a child) and that the person might possess some marijuana. I thought if I obtained more marijuana and put it in my pocket, the nark wouldn't be able to see it, but I didn't want to take the risk. I walked back outside to see if I could find any of the marijuana I had thrown away, and I noticed some of the marijuana had fallen onto the tops of some large plants. I was just about to scrape it off when Kant (a friend from the Dominican Republic whom I met in Puerto Rico in 1980) stepped up.

I didn't want to say anything about the marijuana to Kant. I sat down and Kant also sat down. When I noticed some small piles of the marijuana on the cement walkway, I wanted to gather it up, but I didn't want to do so in front of Kant.

I knew that Kant had been having trouble with a woman with whom he couldn't get along, and that he was planning to go to Mexico. When I asked him about it, he said that he wasn't yet sure, but that he should know in about a week whether he was going to Mexico.

Life ultimately boils down to morals. To be victorious, one must simply be morally good. Knowing what is good is an instinct which can be sharpened with concentration.

Dream of: 16 October 1986 "Big Trouble"

I was taking part in a transaction involving a couple pounds of marijuana which I had left in someone's large, two-story, country house where I had once lived. I planned to have someone pick up the marijuana for me and because I didn't have anyone else, I found a girl (only about 5-6 years old) whom I could send as a go-between. I simply planned to give her a note which she was to deliver to the person in the house.

Before I could send the girl, however, I realized I needed to go to the house myself and take care of something. Carrying a chain saw, I arrived at the house and with the saw in one hand, I began climbing up some grape vines hanging on the side of the house. The grapevines also looked somewhat like large heavy ropes and I thought perhaps they might even be ropes. I ascended to the second story where I found a door which consisted merely of a couple pieces of plywood.

Realizing no one was in the house, I stuck the blade of the saw over top the plywood, commenced sawing and continued until the plywood came loose. When I suddenly realized I had sawed more than I had intended (I hadn't actually intended to enter the house), I tried to put the plywood back in its original position. When I had finished, I began climbing back down the grapevine. Upon reaching the ground, I suddenly realized I had left my chain saw stuck back up there over top the plywood, so I climbed back up and fetched the saw. While up by the plywood, I noticed a blonde-haired girl (about 16 years old) who vaguely reminded me of Tammy (a girl I barely knew who lived on the farm which neighbored the Gallia County Farm). The girl had climbed up some other nearby grapevines. Hoping to scare her away, I held up my chainsaw and acted as if I were cocking a trigger of a gun, but she didn't budge.

I then realized a tall, strong-looking, young policeman dressed in a black uniform and a white helmet was standing on the roof next to her. When he began walking along the roof toward me, I realized I was in big trouble because the marijuana was in the house. The door to the house suddenly opened.

The policeman (acting as if he were from the gas company) asked me something about the gas in the house. He tried to act friendly, but I knew I was in trouble. I assessed the situation and realized I didn't actually have any marijuana on me. I thought maybe I would just be charged with breaking and entering, which would be better than being charged with a drug offense.

I led a semi-moral life. Sometimes I did what I was supposed to do, but most of the time I just did what I felt like doing. I didn't usually concentrate on the one right path, even thought the one right path might have been clear to me.

Dream of: 20 October 1986 "One Day At A Time"

It was night and I was working on a long thin boat. My job was to lie flat on my stomach on the front tip of the boat and guide it. My boat and other boats were traveling on a river which rather seemed like a canal in the swamps of Louisiana. Men on every boat were supposed to help each other by hollering back and forth. But the river was extremely dark. I couldn't distinguish the cries of the men on the other boats and I couldn't tell where we were going. I thought I could discern the silhouettes of some trees. Thinking we were headed toward a bank, I became concerned my boat might ram into the shore.

I stood and walked to the back of the boat (which actually appeared to be somehow connected to the shore). I walked onto shore, where I could see a restaurant, inside of which, sitting at a bar, were two fellows who were supposed to be guiding other boats. I became very upset because they weren't on their boats. I ran into the restaurant and demanded to know why they weren't on their ships.

The two fellows and I sat down at a table together and one of them said something about some marijuana. I thought I might like to smoke some marijuana, but I didn't have any. It looked as if he had some joints lying in front of him.

After some other people sat down with us at our table, I heard a black waiter (about 20 years old) offer to sell some marijuana to some people sitting at another table. Selling marijuana in a Louisiana restaurant seemed brazen to me. Nevertheless, when the black waiter walked over to our table, I asked him how much some marijuana would cost. He looked at me and said it would depend on whether I wanted to buy red, black or white. I said, "Well just give the price for a joint for all three of them."

First he said something about the black and then he said the red would cost $40 for two joints. I was astounded, but I began to see why he could be so open there: he was making so much money that even if he were arrested, he could buy his way out. I just scoffed at the idea of paying so much money and I was just about to tell him to go away when he sat down at my table. Apparently he had some lower prices.

I stood up, walked over to a booth and sat down at a table with some different people who all appeared to have been drinking quite a bit of alcohol. The fellow on my left was talking about some experience he had had which appeared to be a dream. I became quite interested in listening to his dream and I realized it contained several symbols. One symbol was a girl who was a friend of all of us there and who was also in the restaurant. The fellow telling the dream began drawing a picture of the girl on a piece of paper on the table. He drew her head, but left the top of it open so a cloud appeared to be coming out of her head at the top of the paper. I said, "I had that same dream. Why haven't we talked about this kind of stuff before."

I thought to myself, "These people don't know how deeply involved I am in dreams. I should probably slowly inform them of the fact."

No one was paying much attention to me. Up until then, I myself had felt quite groggy, as if I were intoxicated or drugged, but suddenly things became clear to me. I looked around and realized all the other people were groggy from drinking and using drugs. Since I hadn't been drinking or using any drugs, my grogginess was quickly beginning to dissipate.

The girl (about 20 years old) whom the fellow had been describing in his dream walked up to our booth. Since the booth was full and I was sitting on the end, I let the girl sit on my knee. She had blonde hair, was about 5'5" and was very thin, almost anemic, yet still very attractive. She had a small glass which contained some ice and brown liquid which looked like whiskey. Quite intoxicated, she said she was going to quit drinking at 1:30. I patted her on the back and asked, "For the rest of your life?"

I thought she might need some encouragement if she were going to try to permanently stop drinking alcohol. I told her I had quit drinking alcohol many times. I said the last time I had quit had been two months ago. Since I hadn't drunk anything today, I had made it through another day. I might have done a lot of foolish things today but at least I hadn't drunk anything. That meant today had been another successful day.

I almost added that before I had drunk something alcoholic two months ago, I hadn't had a drink for six months, but I thought there was no point in bringing that up because the significant date was when I had last drunk alcohol two months ago. Whatever had happened before that date wasn't really important. What I wanted to point out to her was that for alcoholics, the major goal was to simply go through one day at a time. The simple goal and achievement of one day of sobriety at a time was what really mattered.

No one else seemed to pay any attention to what we were saying. I looked around the table and realized that everyone was a close acquaintance of mine and that each person had some kind of alcohol in front of him which he was drinking.

Receiving communication from God seems to be easy. For me, my "conscience" also seems to originate from God. I could say that God speaks to me through my "conscience." In my life, God is principally occupied with showing me "the way" or "the path" which I should follow. My job is to actually follow the path.

Dream of: 09 November 1986 "A Personal Relationship With God"

Inside an apartment in an old apartment building, I was looking at a piece of a dried marijuana plant which I had somehow acquired. Since I knew my old college professor, Rembert Glass, was in the neighboring apartment, I decided to take the marijuana plant to his apartment and show it to him. I walked next door and found Rembert (who looked about 40 years old) sitting behind a desk. I laid part of the plant on the desk so Rembert could see it, but I kept part of the plant in my hands, the part which consisted of a dark brown bud, thick with seeds. Rembert suggested I take the seeds back to the neighboring apartment and count them. He also said I should separate out some smaller younger seeds – which he described as premature – and count them separately.

As I was about to leave, I noticed the part of the plant which was lying on the desk no longer looked the same. That piece of marijuana was now white and had changed shape, so it resembled a piece of porcelain shaped like a plant. The piece was about a half meter long, thick at the base, curving and tapering off toward the top. When I commented to Rembert that it resembled a garlic plant, he agreed.

I carried the seeds back into the neighboring sparsely-furnished apartment. After I had seated myself and had begun examining the seeds, the room gradually began to fill up with people. Finally as many as 20 men were in the room, most of whom appeared to be in their 20s. A raucous old classmate from high school, Scott MacDonald, had sat down next to me on my right.

MacDonald also had some marijuana which he was busily compressing into a tiny square, about a centimeter in size. When I spoke to him, he asked me something about smoking marijuana. I told him that I didn't smoke any more, that I hadn't smoked in almost two years. When he asked why, I tried to explain that about five years earlier, I had felt as if God had counseled me to stop smoking marijuana. Even as I spoke, however, I felt awkward about using the word "God," because I really didn't understand what the word meant.

MacDonald asked me if I were a Christian, and I told him I wasn't. He asked if I were a Hindu, and again I said no. I tried to explain that I simply had a personal relationship with God and that I didn't belong to any religion. Seemingly satisfied with my explanation, MacDonald continued with his business.

When I finally stood up, I noticed that several people in the room had some pot which they were apparently preparing to smoke. As if on cue, different people lit up joints and pipes, and began passing them around. I decided to simply watch, and when one fellow walked toward me with a pipe and offered it to me, I turned it down; he handed the pipe to someone else.

As the room began to fill up with smoke, I wondered if I would be affected if I breathed any of the smoke in the air. Noticing a particularly heavy cloud of smoke near me, I thought of sticking my head into it, but instead, I walked into a neighboring room where I found several women, including another old high school classmate, prim and proper Wendy, sitting inside. The women apparently didn't smoke and had retreated to the other room to escape. I only stayed in the room for a few minutes, and I spoke to no one. When I finally turned and walked back into the smoking room, I was surprised to discover that everyone had already left. However a thin haze of smoke still hung over the room.

I glanced at the door which led to the room where Rembert had been earlier. Seeing no light under the door, I concluded that Rembert had probably also left. I wondered if he had smelled the marijuana and had thought I had been smoking. I hoped not.

It is my theory that no matter how far I stray from "the right way," I can instantaneously place myself back on "the right way." Of everything I could be doing at any point in time, only one thing is "the right way." All I have to do is simply start doing the right thing and I will again be following "the right way."

Dream of: 18 December 1986 "Mexican Transaction"

I had gone to Mexico to meet with some Mexican men. We sat together in a room and I began explaining a proposition I had for them. The men cultivated a plant which resembled marijuana (but wasn't marijuana) which I wanted to buy. I explained to them that my father could use the plant in the United States in some kind of manufacturing process with which he was involved.

I only wanted to buy four pounds of the plant and I only wanted to pay $40 a pound. I knew the men were already selling the plant for that price to another American who used it as fodder for his livestock. I explained that if all went well with the initial buy, we would buy more the next time.

The men said they would have to have $40 a pint for the plant. I assumed four pints were in a pound and that they therefore wanted $160 a pound, far more than I wanted to pay. I re-explained the figures and finally one man seemed to grasp my proposal. He said he was for it and the others also then agreed.

I knew the men also raised a crop of marijuana and I explained that if our transaction went well with the non-marijuana plant, we intended to also start buying quantities of marijuana from them to smuggle into the United States. They seemed to be in agreement.

Simply following the right path guarantees success, whereas following the wrong path could prove catastrophic. This much is clear. What is unclear is why I so often followed the wrong path when I knew what the right path was. 

Dream of: 06 February 1987 "Catastrophic Consequences"

While I was in the Gallia County Farmhouse with my step-grandfather Clarence and my grandmother Mabel, (who was preparing a meal), I received a phone call from Kant Brito (a friend from the Dominican Republic whom I met in Puerto Rico in 1980) who informed me that he would like for me to meet someone in about an hour somewhere in Dallas and pick up a pound of marijuana for him.

He gave me some information about the transaction and he said I would have to give the person with the marijuana about $30, plus I would have to pay the person and additional $49 which Kant already owed him. The deal was supposed to be simple, and I wrote down the information. We mostly spoke in English although once we spoke in Spanish when I thought Clarence and my grandmother might be able to overhear. I noticed how much Kant's English had improved. Once he even called me "Bud" which seemed to indicate how well he had mastered the English slang.

I was still unsure whether I wanted to act as an errand boy in a marijuana transaction. I thought the deal seemed relatively safe, but if I were arrested, the consequences could be catastrophic, especially since I was an attorney. I might even be disbarred. I definitely needed to reflect more before making a decision.

Even though I didn't yet have all the information, I told Kant I had to go eat and would call him back. He gave me his number and I hung up. I knew there wasn't much time left and I walked to the table. Clarence was seated at a long table spread with a white table cloth and covered with food. My grandmother was still putting things on the table. As I took my seat, I was still concerned with the drug deal. What a shock it would be for everyone if I were arrested. More and more I began to think that the deal wasn't a good idea, although I still thought I might do it.

Psychotropic applies to sex as well as drugs.

Dream of: 09 February 1987 "Dazzling Flowers"

I had just finished law school and had decided to take some time off to vacation. I headed for Florida. I needed some place to spend the night and found a small white cottage in which a family lived where I was able to rent a room for one day for only $15. I found a phone in the back of the house and carried it into the back yard (stretching out the phone's long extension cord quite a way from the house). I then called Kim Leitel (a friend whom I first met in Portsmouth in 1977), who was in far-away Portsmouth. Kim came on the other end of the phone and we began talking.

Our conversation soon turned to smoking marijuana. I hadn't smoked any marijuana in a long time, and I thought Kim hadn't smoked in a much longer time. It seemed as if she hadn't smoked since she had been about 13 years old, and I thought that she had only smoked a trifling amount when she had smoked then. I wanted to know more about when and how much she had smoked and I started probing her.

To my astonishment she suddenly told me she had smoked marijuana just six months earlier. She explained that she had met and become attached to a fellow who smoked marijuana. She had cared about the fellow  and had started smoking marijuana with him. She finally told me she and the fellow had gotten married and had lived together for a while, but that they had finally split up.

I was truly amazed. When I asked her if she had been in an actual marriage or in a common law marriage, she told me they had actually been married. It then struck me that Kim must have also had sex with the fellow. That likewise floored me because from frequent conversations with Kim, I had thought she was totally celibate.

She didn't seem ashamed of what she had done, although she did apparently think smoking the marijuana had been a mistake. She seemed to be more or less of the opinion that she had just slipped, but that she had now recovered. I didn't know quite what to say. I didn't condemn her, although I wondered why she had waited so long to tell me, since she and I had talked quite a bit recently. Thinking that she had actually had sex with the fellow was difficult for me. When I tactfully asked her a little more about it, she said she would have preferred for the fellow and herself to have just lain close to each other, but he had insisted.

In a way, I had thought I had been somewhat depending on Kim in my own struggles to remain celibate and to avoid marijuana. Now that she (whom I had thought was so strong) had succumbed, I figured that I could once again more easily indulge. I began to realize, however, that I hadn't actually been relying on Kim as much as I might have thought. Even if she had strayed from the path, I still had no reason to change my ways. My struggles were completely independent of hers.

I was still curious about why Kim had given in and I wanted to know more about the fellow who had enticed her. I asked her what he did for a living and she said he was some kind of clerk at Ford's. His position certainly didn't seem important and it occurred to me that my being a lawyer should certainly be more impressive to her. It vaguely seemed as if I had once considered a physical relationship with Kim. Although the idea of physical contact with Kim had faded away and no longer seemed appropriate, I still placed a deepening value on our spiritual relationship.

I was beginning to worry about the length of the call. I hadn't actually had the permission of the people in the house to use the phone and I thought I should probably hang up. I wanted to talk with Kim longer, but I thought I had better go. Before I hung up, however, I asked her how long we had gone without talking to each other before we had resumed talking again a few months ago. We agreed that we must have gone a couple years without talking.

I wanted her to know that since she had made her confession to me, I in no way felt bad toward her. In fact, I told her, I had wanted to tell her that when I had begun talking to her again I had noticed a definite change in her personality. She seemed much more in tune with life. Her attitude was more positive now and she seemed to have improved markedly. She seemed to be able to relate to people and the world around her much better. I just wanted her to know what a big improvement I had noticed.

I finally told her I regretted I was going to have to hang up. She wanted to know what I was going to do and I told her I was going to spend about a week in Florida. It was spring and absolutely beautiful in Florida. I told her I would probably go to the beach, stay intoxicated on alcohol for about a week and pick up girls. But I was just kidding her and I actually had no intention of becoming intoxicated and picking up girls. I had just said that as a way of pointing out that she certainly couldn't now criticize such activity on my part. Finally I said good-bye and hung up.

When I finished, I realized a boy (about 17 years old) and his brother (probably only 2-3 years old) had come out of the house. The three of us boarded a red car on which I had been leaning while talking. I sat behind the steering wheel, the older brother climbed into the back seat, and the small boy sat to my right. The older brother had a car battery in the back seat and he said something about its running out of oil. I thought he might be making a reference to the length of the phone call I had made.

We decided to go for a ride and I drove off. When the older boy asked me what I was going to be doing, I told him I might spend a week on the beach. Indeed I thought I might pick up some girls there. I knew I had had success before in picking up girls on Florida beaches, especially around Fort Lauderdale. Mainly, however, I just wanted to be free in Florida. I told him the coming week would be the most beautiful time of the year and where we were was the most beautiful area I knew of. I said the flowers there were incredible and even as I drove along, I pointed to many different kinds and colors of large flowers along the road. The flowers seemed to dazzle me. I didn't know of any place where there were so many flowers or where they were so beautiful.

I finally stopped the car and we got out. The boy was curious about how I could just travel around like I did. I told him that although I didn't look like it, I was actually a lawyer. I hadn't worked for 10 months and I had just been traveling around. I would probably only continue doing so for about 2-3 more months before returning to work. I told him I had been to Europe and Asia and I still planned to go to South America. However, I no longer had a car and I was going to have to rent one. He asked if my father was paying for my expenses and I told him I was using money I had saved while I had worked.

We sat down and the other two began looking at a small nearby cemetery. Still thinking about my conversation with Kim, I pulled out a pen and paper and began writing some of the things she had told me. I wanted to remember as much as I could and I was afraid I would forget if I didn't write it down.

Meanwhile the small boy had found some kind of large pinball-type game to play with. In a way, the game resembled a pin ball machine, except its dimensions were exceedingly large. The insides of the game were more like a small room and even part of the cemetery was located inside. After I finally showed him how it worked, all sorts of balls and blocks began flying around inside the thing.

In 1977 my mother sold the Logan Street House to my sister and my sister moved into the House. Shortly thereafter, my sister married James, and James moved into the Logan Street House with her.

Dream of: 29 March 1987 "The Mailman's Advice"

While my sister and my brother-in-law James had been living together at the Logan Street House, my sister had told me that when she wasn't home during the day, she left the door to the House unlocked. So, one afternoon, I decided to visit the House even though I knew no one would be there. When I arrived at the House, I walked up to the side door, which was standing wide open, and walked inside. I thought James probably had some marijuana hidden somewhere in the House, and I wondered if I could find it.

I walked into the front bedroom, wondering where James would hide his marijuana. I didn't have to look long, because lying on the seat of a hard back chair was a plastic baggie about a quarter full of dark green marijuana. I picked it up and looked at it.

I was debating whether I should smoke any. Since no one was in the House, I thought I could roll a large joint, smoke it and once again feel the effects of marijuana. But I had serious reservations about smoking. I thought I hadn't smoked any marijuana for 22 months, which seemed like a rather long time. On one hand, it seemed as if I had obviously overcome the marijuana habit and as if smoking again wouldn't hurt anything; on the other hand, it seemed as if I needed to totally abstain from marijuana and as if by smoking even one joint I would destroy my abstinence and I would once again have to begin the struggle with marijuana. That was an unpleasant thought.

Still trying to decide, I walked out unto the front porch where I encountered three people standing on the sidewalk. One was my old friend Roger Anderson (probably in his early 30s). One of the others was the mailman (although he was dressed in a suit and tie instead of a mailman's suit). He was bald and looked as if he might have been around 50 years old. The third person was also a man.

I explained my dilemma concerning the marijuana to the men. Anderson couldn't see why I had any problem. He seemed to think smoking marijuana would be perfectly all right and he didn't understand why I was hesitating. His attitude reassured me that smoking would be all right. However I still hesitated.

The mailman didn't say anything at first, and it seemed as if he felt reluctant to mix in because he didn't know me. But finally he spoke and pointed out that I had abstained from marijuana for a very long time. Not smoking for 22 months hadn't been easy. If I were to smoke now, I would have to begin counting all over again, even if I only smoked one joint. Did I really want to do that?

His words were very persuasive. I saw much more clearly how foolish it would be for me to smoke the marijuana and I was grateful for his having spoken to me.

I seemed to have great difficulty doing the right thing. I want to do the right thing, but doing the wrong thing seemed so much easier and much more pleasurable. Yet it turns out that in the long run, doing the wrong thing is harder and more painful.

Dream of: 25 April 1987 "Troubling Tests"

I had been living in the west end of Portsmouth near the Scioto River Bridge. I had been trying to formulate a plan for organizing people in that section of town into a political group. The exact nature of the group was unclear to me, but I realized if the people there were ever to have any real political power, they must organize.

I walked around the streets, surveying the area. I also began thinking that I would like to begin practicing archery and that I needed to obtain a bow and arrow. I thought shooting arrows might prove beneficial not only for purposes of protection, but for developing my concentration.

I encountered a couple overweight fellows (each about 20 years old) whom I knew when I used to live in Portsmouth. They were going across the Scioto River to West Portsmouth and they wanted me to go with them. Since we didn't have a car, we stuck out our thumbs to hitchhike. A pickup truck stopped, we jumped in the back and arrived at their place in West Portsmouth.

We went up to the second floor of a building and into a bedroom with a hard wood floor. The other two soon began talking about marijuana. They said that they were going to buy some marijuana and they wanted to know whether I also would like to buy any. I declined. Apparently the marijuana was going to cost about $50. One of the others had the money and he left to buy the marijuana. Apparently he was going to buy it from Eubanks (a Portsmouth acquaintance whom I barely knew around 1970). He quickly returned with a paper bag, opened it and showed me about 20 joints inside. The joints were quite peculiar; they were extremely large and bunches of green seeds were sticking out one end. Actually the marijuana looked like pieces of broken broccoli which had a cigarette paper wrapped around it.

One of the fellows (who seemed also like a female) began smoking. I lay down, put my arm over my head and covered my eyes. I could smell the marijuana smoke and I wondered if it would affect me by just being in the room. Suddenly I realized the fellow smoking the marijuana was leaning toward me and blowing the smoke in my face. When I inhaled, I clearly smelled it and I thought it certainly would have an effect upon me. However I didn't stop him because I thought I wasn't actually smoking and I really did want to feel the effects of the marijuana. Gradually I thought I began to perceive some change in me.

When someone knocked at the door, one of the fellows opened it. It crossed my mind that they should be more careful about just opening the door since they had the marijuana in the room. The fellow immediately slammed the door shut and shouted out that two fat policemen were outside. The two fellows immediately grabbed the marijuana, which was in a bowl, began tearing the cigarette papers from it and crumbling it up into a fine powder, separating the seeds and stems from the leaves. I thought the fellows should have separated the stems and seeds before smoking the marijuana so they wouldn't have had to have smoked the stems and seeds. Now they were simply trying to make the marijuana easier to dispose of.

I looked out our second story window to see if any police were outside. When I didn't see any, I picked up some of the marijuana and threw it through the window. Much of it landed on the leaves of a tall, green, leafy plant outside. We continued throwing more and more of the marijuana outside until it was all gone.

We then opened the doors and the two overweight policemen, dressed in civilian clothes, walked in. They didn't seem to be in any hurry and they didn't even search the room. They simply peered around – one began talking. He apparently knew who I was and he said that if I were convicted of a drug offense, I might be disbarred from the practice of law. Finally however he made it clear that he wasn't really interested in arresting any of us. What he wanted was for us to tell him who had sold the marijuana.

He quickly brought out a large television set and a video recording device upon which he intended to record any statements we might make. I immediately began speaking and told him I hadn't possessed any of the marijuana. I continued to say I had "not smoked any dope in eight months." He seemed to think that was significant and I wondered if I had unwittingly confessed to smoking marijuana at an earlier time and if the confession could be used in evidence against me.

It puzzled me that the policemen didn't seem concerned about gathering up any marijuana for evidence. I knew quite a bit of marijuana must have fallen on the floor and I even saw some. One of the other fellows with me picked up a piece and threw it out the window, but the policemen didn't say anything.

I had no intention of giving the police any information about where the marijuana had been purchased. I was simply concerned about being set free. Finally we all walked outside. Since I knew we hadn't yet actually been placed under arrest, I asked one of the policemen if he intended to arrest me. He mumbled that he did. I immediately became defensive and told him he had no evidence with which to arrest me. I shouted out that he had no "probable cause" for my arrest. I thought by accurately stating the legal terminology he would be aware that I knew what I was talking about.

I then shouted at him that what he was doing was "unjust." I told him the type of work he did was unjust to begin with, but to arrest an innocent person without evidence was even more so.

I then pointed out that he hadn't even bothered to ask the other people who had been with me whether I had been smoking. (I began thinking there had actually been four people, including at least one woman, in the room with me before the police had arrived.) I adamantly insisted that he should ask them. Finally he and the other policeman conferred for a moment and it appeared they had decided I was right. We headed back inside where the policemen apparently intended to ask the others whether I had smoked anything. I had the distinct impression that if the others said I hadn't been smoking, then I wasn't going to be arrested.

I also began thinking I might be able to give some other type of evidence. Perhaps I could take a blood test. But then I realized that taking a blood test might not be a good idea because I had inhaled some of the marijuana smoke blown in my face and I might actually have traces of marijuana in my system. Perhaps I could take a lie detector test. But there again, since I had inhaled some marijuana, I might have trouble with the test.

While practicing law in Dallas in 1986, I met Salvador Ibarra, a lawyer from El Salvador, and we became friends. Salvador had fled a bloody war in which he had become involved in El Salvador. He had entered the United States illegally, and I helped him obtain political asylum.

Dream of: 28 April 1987 "McCurve"

While in a large, modern, carpeted office containing six or seven workers, I was surprised to hear I was the topic of conversation of some workers. I quickly surmised they were talking about a debt or debts which I had incurred by using credit cards. I said nothing and listened attentively.

They had apparently concluded I wasn't going to pay the debts. They brought up the fact that I was a lawyer and they seemed to imply I therefore should be held to a higher degree of accountability for my debts. One mentioned contacting a prosecuting attorney; that alarmed me because I knew that would indicate they were considering the affair as a criminal matter.

One short man dressed in a suit (apparently a lawyer) stood in the middle of the room and shook his head from side to side. He apparently considered me as a type of lawyer who had lost his way, as lawyers sometimes do. Another fellow sitting at a bench had a paper with my name written on it. He also had an invoice from the Clark Boardman Company which I knew sold legal books. I remembered I did indeed owe that company some money, not more than $100, for a book. I thought how if I had intended not to pay them, I could have ordered many more books than that.

The company which most concerned me was Hertz. I had rented some Hertz cars recently on a credit card and I had incurred a substantial debt. Plus I had some other debts. I had considered filing bankruptcy to rid myself of the debts and I had thought if I did so, my legal problems concerning the debts would be basically solved, but now I was concerned by the mention of contacting a prosecuting attorney. I didn't think I had done anything criminal in the matter, but I still wanted to avoid any contact with a prosecuting attorney.

I thought perhaps I could have Mary Biester (a Dallas attorney friend) file bankruptcy for me. I would have to put everything together fairly quickly.

I decided to leave the room. I walked around the room but I couldn't find the exit. Finally a woman pointed out a door in the corner to me. I walked outside, but suddenly realized I was in my stocking feet -- I had left my shoes inside. I walked back in and saw my black shoes sitting beneath a bench on the plush carpet. I picked them up and exited again.

I went to a building where I knew Mike Walls was living. As I stood before the door to the building, I thought I heard Walls' voice telling me to go on in, but I didn't see Walls anywhere. Finally I saw him looking out the third or fourth floor window of the building next door. At the same time I saw him, I toppled through the open window of the door to the building where Walls lived. I could hardly stand up and I felt as if I were very intoxicated from alcohol. However, I didn't want Walls to think I had been drinking any alcohol and I hollered back to him that I was just acting that way. I had the feeling that he didn't believe me, but that he didn't really care one way or the other whether I was intoxicated. He was friendly and told me to go on up to his place, where his wife Connie and Howie (an obnoxious Portsmouth acquaintance) were. I appreciated Walls' friendliness.

While I had been away, some of my mail had been delivered there. I picked up several large envelopes and headed up the stairs. Walls lived on the third or fourth floor and due to my feeling of intoxication, the climb was quite laborious.

I finally reached Walls' apartment, walked in and sat down. I immediately began looking at my mail and opened a large envelope sent to me by Salvador Ibarra. It contained several large pictures, probably 10 by 15 centimeters, which Salvador apparently had made himself. The first one I looked at had quite a bit of dark color, but I noticed in the center, depending on how I held the picture, I could see the outline of a person's head. When I held it a different way the outline changed and the head looked different. In fact at one angle the head looked like that of Jesus Christ. At another angle it looked like a small boy, and other heads at other angles.

Another picture was quite colorful and appeared to have been painted on a white piece of paper. The paper appeared to have some raised surfaces which gave the painting a particular texture. One painting seemed to be of a colorful tropical island with palm trees, while another appeared to be of a mountain scene.

As I looked at it, I realized I somehow had images of words which formed in my mind. Somehow Salvador was able to communicate word messages through the paintings, even though the words weren't actually on the picture. It was quite an amazing achievement. The words were quite poignant and the word "amigo" particularly registered in my mind.

I wrapped myself up in a blanket. I was feeling depressed because I was still thinking about my debts. I thought I had acted dishonestly by incurring the debts without intending to pay for them and my dishonesty was now causing me pain.

I had the impression Salvador might be going to visit Walls. I was unsure how Salvador had become acquainted with Walls, but I thought he had been visiting Walls frequently. If Salvador came, I would probably speak Spanish with him.

When I looked up, I realized Walls had entered and with him he had brought Salvador. Salvador however didn't look like himself. He looked as if he were only in his late teens and his facial features were quite different. Salvador had some kind of tissue in his hand. He sat down and pulled something from the tissue which I thought was probably a joint. Indeed I saw some smoke curling from Salvador's mouth.

Walls was quite agitated and appeared to be intoxicated on either alcohol or drugs. He obviously wanted me to smoke something. I finally realized what Salvador had wasn't marijuana, but small pieces of hash which he had mixed with tobacco and rolled into a cigarette. He spread several small pieces of the hash out on a piece of white paper on the floor.

I was tempted to smoke some of the hash, especially since it would be with Salvador. I didn't want to refuse to smoke with him and I thought it would be interesting to become intoxicated on hash with him. Nevertheless, I remembered I hadn't smoked any marijuana for over 28 months. That was a very long time and I knew I wasn't going to smoke again now.

I thought Salvador would offer the hash cigarette to me, but instead he handed it to Walls who was at my left. Walls inhaled and it was obvious both he and Salvador had immediately become intoxicated on the hash. It must have been quite powerful. Walls offered the hash cigarette to me. I looked at it and said, "I'm not going to smoke that junk."

Salvador was sitting in the middle of the floor. I looked straight at his eyes after I had spoken. I had thought I might be a bit sheepish after refusing to smoke with him. Instead I felt just the opposite. I felt stronger and confident. It appeared to me Salvador was confused about smoking hash. As I looked at his eyes I wondered if I could possibly hypnotize him and maybe even help him.

Gradually I realized I might be feeling some of the effects of the hash myself just from the smoke in the room. Walls was lying on the floor and I put my head on his bare leg. There was nothing sexual about our touching each other and I realized it sometimes felt naturally good for me to touch someone. I became more and more relaxed, indeed quite lethargic, as I stretched out with my feet propped up on something, but slowly I began to feel pressure on the big toes of both my feet. Suddenly I snapped to attention and realized two fellows had stuck my big toes in their mouths and were biting them.

Jumping to my feet, I immediately realized that I had been dreaming and that I needed to write the dream. I had been thinking the day before how the most important act of my day was writing that day's dreams. However I was almost immediately overcome by an attack of lethargy and I lay back down simply thinking about the dream. Suddenly I felt a man (who seemed very strong and almost divine) pinching my arms as if to show how weak I was. He said something about my liking the sound of being an "international lawyer." He also mentioned something about a lawyer named Kurt McCurve. I immediately thought the name McCurve was a play on words to signify a lawyer who wasn't straight.

I don't believe in parallel universes or time travel. I believe in matter and energy. But I also believe that I receive messages from an intelligent source outside of myself. Some kind of intelligence, other than my own, sends me puzzling messages.

Dream of: 29 May 1987 "Subatomic Particles"

I walked into a large room which almost looked like a warehouse. I reached the far end of the room where I sat down on a high chair at a bench. My computer was hooked up there, but instead of having its small monitor, it was hooked up to a large black screen about a meter and a half square.

A fellow (probably in his early 20s) was sitting to my right using the computer and screen. He had beautiful, shoulder-length, brown hair. He was muscular, handsome and seemed very vibrant.

While he was busy with something else, I tapped a few keys on the keyboard. I tapped a function key and a number key four times each. When the fellow sat back down in front of the keyboard, I suddenly realized that he had been in the middle of some programming and that I might have damaged his work. On the screen I noticed many symbols written like words and then saw among them the numbers I had pressed.

I told him what I had done, but he seemed unconcerned. I asked about learning to program on the computer. I asked, "Do you know any languages? Is it like using languages?"

He replied that he did know other languages and that it was similar to that. Then he added, "There's no 'he' or 'it'."

He then began demonstrating some of what he was doing. He typed something on the keyboard and a small, orange, geometrical figure which appeared to be two intersecting rectangles appeared on the screen. But I noticed on one side, some of the line was missing and I thought that might be a result of my having interfered with the program.

I was intrigued and I stood up to have a better look. The fellow tapped the keyboard again and the image changed. A new geometrical figure appeared which covered most of the screen. I was uncertain what it was, but groups of colored intersecting lines formed into perfect patterns on the screen. Then I noticed the image was moving and changing. It even seemed to be throbbing. Small dots appeared on the screen and began colliding with parts of the image. I suddenly realized it was a graphic image of the bombardment of something with subatomic particles. The dots probably represented protons.

I was awed by what I was witnessing. I wanted to ask the fellow how long it would take someone to learn how to do that. Obviously, besides operating the computer, a great deal would need to be learned about atomic particles. I figured I might be able to do it in a year.

I stood with my mouth open, gawking at the screen. I was completely fascinated. But the image was so hard for me to comprehend. I wondered if I might have been smoking marijuana and had caused my mind to not be functioning well. It seemed as if marijuana could definitely prevent one from understanding something like that. And I was sure I did want to understand it. I wanted to be able to do the things the other fellow was doing. I said, "I've got to have one of those or a graphics monitor at least."

I just haven't been able to shake this feeling that someone is sending me messages. Generally I have thought of the entity as God. But somehow calling it God is confusing, because there are so many different conceptions of God. I have noticed, however, that the messages seem to be invariably correct. If I would simply follow these messages, I would have a perfect life. Yet I often seem to refuse to follow the messages.

Dream of: 12 July 1987 "Body Under The Bed"

It appeared I was in a hotel room in Columbus. I was unsure exactly what I was doing there, but I was sure of one thing: I had a serious problem. I had discovered a dead body under my bed. For some reason, at first I thought it was the body of a 5 year-old girl, but now I realized it was definitely the body of my friend from El Salvador, Salvador Ibarra. It seemed as if I had taken a glimpse of the body and it had appeared to be all bloody and mutilated. Right now it was wrapped up in some kind of black garbage bag. It was really upsetting. In fact I was feeling downright sick about the whole matter.

It seemed as if I had complicated the matter, because the body had already been there a couple days, and I just hadn't been able to bring myself to do anything about it. Now I was sick with worry about the matter. I had to do something. At least I hadn't noticed any smell from the body, which seemed a bit strange, considering how long it had been stuffed under the bed.

The problem was that I was afraid if I went to the authorities they would accuse me of the murder. I was positive I hadn't committed the murder. I couldn't explain how I had gotten into the mess, but I did know I surely hadn't killed anyone.

It had only been a few days since I had been sitting in a restaurant talking with Salvador. In fact I thought during the conversation we had talked about exhuming corpses in criminal cases to determine the cause of death. Now here he was dead, and his body would have to be examined to determine the cause of death. It was really frightening to think that I had just been talking with him and that now he was dead. It could have been me.

Well, I had decided. I was getting the hell out of there and I wasn't going to tell anyone about anything. It seemed as if maybe someone at the front desk of the hotel knew who I was, but I hoped not.


It had been almost a week since the murder, so I guessed about 5 days since I had left the body behind. Today for the first time I heard a report on the radio about a body being found. It seemed as if they said it had been the body of a 5 year-old girl, but I knew it was the same body I had left there.

The matter was more complicated. While I had been in the hotel room, I had also had a large, black garbage bag full of marijuana. There must have been 15 kilograms of marijuana in the bag. And I had just walked off and left it there. So even though I hadn't killed anyone, I was still concerned about being arrested for the marijuana. This was really maddening.

I had complicated the matter even more, because while I had been in the room with the body and the marijuana, I had rolled up a joint and smoked it. When I had smoked the joint down to a roach, I had put out the joint and had thrown the roach in the garbage bag with the rest of the marijuana. Now my principal concern was that some of my fingerprints were on that roach. I had recently read somewhere how fingerprints could be lifted from objects like that. Not to mention that my fingerprints were probably smeared all over the garbage bag containing the marijuana. It seemed I might be somehow able to explain that, but the fact that I had sat up there and smoked a joint while a dead body was in the room was going to be difficult to explain. Who was going to believe I hadn't had anything to do with the murder?

I didn't know where I was right at the moment, but there were a lot of people around there and some people were in a line. I knew my friend, Jon, was supposed to be there and I was thinking I might be able to talk this matter over with him a little. He was a lawyer and maybe he could give me a little advice. Then I saw him.

He looked somehow different than usual. I knew he had just recently been in an important trial and I asked how he had done. He said he had lost. He tried to explain a little why he had lost. We continued talking and I felt a little uncomfortable. I wasn't sure Jon was going to be able to help me.

Finally I realized Mike Walls was also in a line there and I saw him. I walked over to the fellow and then felt as if he wasn't really Walls. I said, "I was looking for Walls."

He looked at me strangely and told me he was Walls. But he looked so different. He looked young, and strong, and healthy. It seemed as if I might be able to talk this matter over with him. I knew he was also a lawyer.

I saw a black policeman nearby. Where exactly was I? And then I saw an overweight police officer who was apparently in charge. I seriously considered going to them and telling them I had information about the murder that had been described on the radio. Finally I did confess to Walls that I knew something. I felt as if I were going to be able to trust him, but I still didn't know how I was going to extricate myself from the mess.

I was especially concerned about the marijuana. If I were convicted for possessing the entire garbage bag of marijuana, it would be a felony and I could lose my license to practice law. But the more I thought about it, I wasn't even sure the stuff I had had in the bag was actually marijuana. It seemed as if someone might have ripped me off by selling me something which was supposed to be marijuana, but which wasn't. Even when I had smoked that joint, I didn't remember getting high. Maybe that was a way out -- it wasn't even marijuana to begin with.

But what was that body doing there?

Fortunately, I often do listen to the messages which I receive. The messages are the string which guides me through the labyrinth of my mind. The central message which continues to reverberate is simple enough: Do the right thing.

Dream of: 13 July 1987 "Harmless"

I was riding along in a car with my old Portsmouth friend Ramo (I knew Ramo for a couple years around 1970-71). When Ramo pulled out a green bottle of beer, I had the feeling he was going to a party and I thought I might like to go with him. Ramo opened the beer, took a drink and asked me if I would like some. His offer sounded tempting. It had been almost a year since I had had anything alcoholic to drink. It seemed obvious that alcohol was no problem for me, so I didn't see why I couldn't take a drink now and then. It might be a little embarrassing explaining to my friend Kim Leitel if I drank anything, since she was so anti-alcohol, but it really seemed quite harmless.

So I took the bottle Ramo had opened and without further thought, tipped it to my lips and took a big swallow. Then I handed the bottle back to Ramo. That wasn't bad. It had seemed refreshing, but actually it hadn't had much taste to it.

Now that I had done that, I didn't see why I couldn't smoke a little marijuana. We could probably get some from Mike Walls. Of course it had been a very long time since I had smoked any marijuana. Going on three years.

But what exactly was going on here? Had I really taken that drink of beer? I had. Terrible. I couldn't believe I had actually done that. What was wrong with me? It had felt so good having gone so long without drinking; in an instant I had blown the whole thing. The idea of starting all over again not drinking seemed so depressing. I felt lousy.

It seems as if all the messages have a moral. The essence of the messages was the moral. And the moral involved morals, or what was right and what was wrong.

Dream of: 15 July 1987 "Mind Probe"

I had gone somewhere to be tested to see if I had the AIDS virus. Another woman who had taken an AIDS test was standing in the room into which I walked and apparently she didn't want to know the results of her tests. A man who appeared to be a doctor talked to her and told her that she had tested negative and that she didn't have the AIDS virus.

I was unsure whether I had already taken the test and I asked the doctor about it. He said, "You've got some of the symptoms."

I asked, "Do I have the HIV virus?"

He answered, "That hasn't been determined yet."

I asked, "What are the symptoms."

He answered, "Nervousness."

He also added that another symptom was the lightness of my sleep. I said, "Well you should have seen me years ago."

It seemed obvious that I had some kind of problem, but apparently I hadn't yet taken the test and he was about to run a few tests on me.

The doctor (probably in his mid 30s) was dressed in white and he vaguely reminded me of someone I knew named Ira Taylor. After another man walked in and sat down, the doctor asked me to sit down and told me to look at something. The thing he had me looking at really didn't look like anything to me. All I saw was something black with perhaps a dot of light in the middle. But as I looked, I could tell that the doctor and the other man were somehow looking into my mind.

It appeared that I was being hypnotized. The doctor then said, "You will go back 3 years."

Suddenly something happened and I said something. But basically I remained quiet and listened to what was being said to me. He then said, "Go back another 3 years."

All the while I continued looking at the little light in the darkness in front of me. The little light was coming from a machine about two meters away from me and apparently something was being shot into my mind. Something clicked and I seemed immobilized. I could only listen to what the man was saying. All the while I had the feeling the man was delving into my mind and seeing things there, in essence reading my mind.

The doctor asked a question and it sounded as if he had asked me if I had been convicted of something. I hesitated to answer the question and I really didn't want to talk about it. I remembered having once been in jail in Iran, but I had never been actually convicted of anything in Iran. But it seemed as if I had been convicted of some minor offenses.

I asked, "Is the question, 'Have I been convicted?' Yes I've been convicted."

He said, "For pot smoking?"

I answered, "Yes, for pot smoking."

He said, "That's what I thought."

I thought about saying that I knew I had done some damage to my mind, but I didn't say anything. It definitely seemed that marijuana had somehow affected my mind.

I was quite nervous, but I seemed unable to do much about it at that point. I felt very disoriented and disassociated with myself. I seemed to be having a hard time grasping who I was and what was going on. I knew what was happening was important, but I couldn't seem to focus. I said, "You've got to tell me what you're doing. I have no idea what you're doing."

After traveling for over a year, in May 1987, I returned to Dallas and moved into the Dallas Zen Center, a large two story brick house which housed a zendo for daily meditation.

Dream of: 07 August 1987 "Zenny"

I was sitting in the downstairs dining room of the Dallas Zen Center, looking toward the kitchen. Three people, including Lamborghini (a member of the Zen Center), were in the kitchen. One was a woman and the other two were men. They had a bag from which one of them extracted a gob of marijuana.

I recalled that the four of us had bought the marijuana together. The bag of marijuana had been lying around the house and I had recently smoked some of it without telling the others. I hoped no one mentioned that there seemed to be less marijuana in the bag now, because I really didn't want to admit to having smoked some of it.

One of them put some of the marijuana into a pan on the stove, apparently planning to somehow cook it. I thought they might be going to make some brownies. The woman began pulling handfuls of the marijuana out of the bag and holding it up in the air. That alarmed me some, because the back kitchen windows didn't have any curtains. It was night and anyone could clearly see inside. I stood up and walked into the kitchen.

I pointed out that they weren't acting very prudently and that a policeman could easily see in the back window and have everyone arrested for possession of marijuana. They realized what I was saying was true and they held the marijuana down to where it couldn't be seen. Someone worked on pulling down the blinds.

In the meantime, Lamborghini  handed me a small pipe with some marijuana in it and I stuck the pipe in my mouth. I was a bit suspicious why Lamborghini  had handed the pipe to me first, and I thought it might be because the person who lit the pipe had to inhale some of the noxious fumes from the match when it was lit. Lamborghini  was just about to light the pipe, when I noticed a red glow already in the pipe. Apparently the pipe already was lit and more marijuana had been placed on top of the flame. I took a hit.

Someone turned off the lights. I liked the lights being off. There was still enough light coming through the windows from outside so we could clearly see each other. Referring to the lights being out, I said, "That's a zeny thing to do."

Someone asked me to clarify what I had meant by that. I explained that in practicing Zen, people needed to sometimes do things which were out of the ordinary. In fact the practice of Zen seemed to involve doing unordinary things. I added, "We can do whatever we want, as long as we're not hurting anyone."

It occurred to me that the idea of not hurting anyone else by my actions was also important in the practice of Zen. But it also seemed as if that concept might also apply to not hurting myself. And was I not hurting my lungs by smoking this marijuana? The thought made me uncomfortable.

It suddenly occurred to me that it would be nice if the four of us did a little folk dance together there in the kitchen. There was enough room. I had folk-danced before and Lamborghini  knew some folk dances. It would be fun to try.

Although Don Quixote was insane, Miguel Cervantes was not. Although many of the messages which I was receiving in my mind appeared crazy, I was convinced that the composer of those messages was not crazy.

Dream of: 19 September 1987 "Don Quixote"

I was walking around in a building which seemed something like a shopping mall. I was searching for a religious sanctuary in the building and had the idea that a Moslem mosque might be there. I wasn't Moslem myself, but I thought I would like to find someplace quiet where I could be alone to think and meditate. As I walked up to the second floor and continued circulating, I found nothing like what I was searching for. Instead all I saw were small stores lined along the sides of the passageways.

As I passed one store I noticed a suit of bronze-colored armor standing in front of the store. The armor also appeared somewhat like a skeleton and inside the armor, there appeared to be a slender bronze head, which I identified as Don Quixote. It seemed this store was selling the type of cheap, metal, art works commonly found in towns on the border between the United States and Mexico.

I continued on until I found a box about knee-high sitting in the passageway in front of a store. I looked inside; it was filled with video cassettes. I picked up one; the price had been marked down once from twenty-some dollars to nineteen dollars and then to nine dollars. It seemed to me that I now owned a video recorder and I considered buying one of the video cassettes. I began rummaging through the box and quickly realized all the video cassettes seemed to be about the art of making movies and had been prepared by directors and actors. One was by Alfred Hitchcock.

A video cassette by John Wayne caught my attention. On front of the cassette was a particularly poignant picture of a small emaciated black boy whose ribs were clearly visible. His face was turned away so I could only see him from the back. Most peculiarly, he was in a dingy little toilet sitting inside an empty commode. Apparently he lived in the commode. I was unsure, but it appeared that Wayne was interested in some humanitarian project and had been trying to point out the plight of some of the world's impoverished and starving people when he had made the cassette.


I sat down in what looked like a cafeteria in the mall. I had the feeling that I was close to the sea and that I had come there for a sort of vacation, but I didn't really feel all that comfortable. Something seemed to be missing in my life and it was causing me a dull discomfort and dissatisfaction.

Two fellows (probably in their mid 20s) who knew me were sitting across the table. One was conducting a sort of pantomime and telling a story by simply using gestures but no words. He acted as if he were handing something to someone and he was putting the thing in the other person's hand. Then he acted as if he were lighting a cigarette. I quickly understood him to be describing a transaction in which someone had obtained some marijuana and then smoked it.

Sitting there, I finally realized both the fellow and I each had a joint which we were smoking. Since quite a few other people were in the room, I was somewhat concerned about smoking the marijuana so openly, but I had the feeling that smoking marijuana was accepted practice in this place and that drugs were used quite freely there.

When a look of alarm suddenly passed over the face of the other fellow, I realized the police were approaching me from behind. In a flash I crumpled my joint up in my mouth and swallowed it. I had a bit of difficulty swallowing the paper, but it went down.

Two policemen walked up next to me; they seemed to be aware that we were smoking the marijuana, but they didn't seem particularly concerned. However they did want me to accompany them somewhere; I left with them.

We walked a short ways and then began ascending some steps in a circular stairwell. We climbed probably five or six stories and finally arrived at what appeared to be an apartment. The police officers opened the door and took me in. I realized this was the apartment where some friends of mine were living whom I was visiting in this place. It appeared that the officers thought it would be best for me to stay up there. As they turned to leave, I noticed that one officer (probably in his mid 20s) had a pierced ear; he was wearing an earring in the form of a small silver cross. A police officer wearing an earring struck me as particularly odd; I had never seen such a thing in all my life. I thought this place must indeed be particularly liberal.

After the officers had departed, I looked over the spacious comfortable room with its light-blue walls and large windows which appeared to give onto the sea. I remembered having been up there before; I also remembered having met another policeman up there, an older man, who had told me not to spend all my time up there but to go out and see the area. Now I was unsure quite what to do; my restless uneasy feeling remained with me.

Several men (probably in their late 20s) were in the room. We seemed to all know each other, although I didn't feel particularly close to any of them. Marshall (a Portsmouth attorney) was there. He, unlike the others, looked neat and lawyerly. I had the feeling that he was the lawyer of some of the others. Bob Bell (a Portsmouth acquaintance whom I barely knew in 1979) was also there; he seemed friendlier to me than some of the others, although I didn't feel like reciprocating his friendliness and I felt a bit embarrassed to even be associated with him in any way.

One fellow seated in a large easy chair began telling me a riddle or joke about the musical group "Chicago." He began by talking about how two members of the group had left the group and had gone to play music elsewhere. Then he told the joke and gave the punch line. I feigned laughter, but then felt rather silly because I hadn't understood the joke; finally I came right out and told him I hadn't understood. He seemed surprised, especially since I had laughed when he had given the punch line. He looked around the room as if looking for someone else to explain the joke to me, but the others, who had also laughed, suddenly had puzzled looks on their faces as if they likewise hadn't understood the joke.

I picked up a photograph and began looking at it. I recognized it as a picture of the living room and hall of a place where I had once lived with my ex-wife Louise. In the hall, sitting on the bottom shelf of some shelves, was a set of the Encyclopedia Britannica. But what was most peculiar about the picture was that a flood had obviously taken place in the house. In fact, when I first looked at the picture, it appeared that water was still standing in the living room about waist deep, although there didn't appear to be any water in the hall. But then I realized that it was just an optical illusion due to the way I was holding the picture and that the water had already receded from the living room.

As I looked at the picture, I imagined Louise talking to me about the house; her voice was so clear, it almost seemed as if she were there speaking with me. She was talking about the fact that I had wanted to get some of the rent money back from the apartment after it had flooded and I had had to move out. She said that not only had the landlord refused to return the money, but that he was insisting I pay several months more of rent apparently due under the lease. I adamantly asserted that there was positively no way that I was going to pay any more money for that apartment.

I was bothered that millions of people were being unjustly incarcerated and my respect for the law was drastically lowered. I believed each person had the right to introduce any substance he chose into his own body. Obviously I was not living in a free society.

Dream of: 06 October 1987 "Warrantless Search"

It appeared to me that the possession of marijuana had been legalized by the state government, although I was unsure whether possession of marijuana had been legalized by the federal government. At any rate, I had acquired some marijuana in the form of a long stick which looked like incense. I also had some marijuana in small slender boxes about a third of a meter long.

I had stored the marijuana in a storage shed where a bunch of other junk was pilled up, but I was beginning to become a bit concerned, because even though I thought possession of marijuana had been legalized, I thought the police might still try to arrest me.

Sure enough, some police dressed in suits came to the door of the shed and told me I must come with them. Apparently they were also intending to enter the shed to search it. I protested that they didn't have a search warrant, but they paid little attention to me and they took me away before I saw whether they had found the marijuana.

The police station appeared to be connected to the shed and was in the next room. After I was led to a desk, I began thinking I needed a lawyer. I wanted to know immediately how much my bail was. I was determined to fight against the charge, but I thought I needed to get out of jail on bail first in order to be able to do so.

It just so happened that a lawyer was standing behind the desk. He was a tall vigorous-looking fellow dressed in a suit. I immediately addressed him and told him I needed help. I told him that I myself was a lawyer. He seemed as if he might be willing to try to help me. He walked around from behind the desk and together we began walking down a hall.

Exploring my mind proved far more difficult than I would have imagined. Even the most rudimentary understanding of who I was proved elusive.

Dream of: 06 November 1987 "Psychiatry"

I had apparently just begun working as a psychologist or a psychiatrist. An older man came in to see me and we discussed what he had been doing. It turned out that he had recently been smoking some marijuana. Not only had he smoked in his youth, but he had also started smoking again recently. I myself began wondering what smoking would be like, but even though I hadn't smoked any for a long time, I decided I shouldn't begin again now.

The man and I continued talking. He had some other problems. He reminded me some of my father and once I even called him "Dad." I told him that my calling him "Dad" was a mistake and then I explained that he somewhat reminded me of my father.

I discovered that he had recently been involved in an auto chase in which he had tried to escape from the police. He had driven all the way to New York and even though he had passed through several police roadblocks, the police had never been able to catch him.

When the end of the session arrived, I realized I was actually in the man's house on Scioto Trail on the north side of Portsmouth. I had a big knapsack with me which was full of things. Originally I had thought the man would drive me home, but when I told him I thought I would just walk, he didn't offer to take me. I told him I would contact him later about our next meeting. I also realized that he hadn't yet paid me for the meeting.

Carrying my knapsack, I walked outside. I thought I was going to have to take a bus to wherever I was going. That would be a hassle.

Somewhere in the inexplicable realm of my mind were two antagonistic drives: one was ascetic and one was hedonistic. I was locked in a struggle between these two extremes. In the middle of the extremes, I continued to receive messages from my conscience. The messages, however, were not always crystal clear. Yet they were clear enough.

Dream of: 24 November 1987 "Pleasures Of Life"

A gigantic night club was filled with a throng of healthy-looking men and women (mostly in their 20s and 30s). Everyone was having a good time, drinking booze, and possibly using drugs. I wondered why I myself wasn't consuming any drugs or alcohol. It seemed to me that God must have created drugs and alcohol so people could have a good time with them. Why did I continue to feel that I must deny myself these pleasures of life, while others were able to freely enjoy them?

As I sat in the club, I looked through a thick newspaper and noticed several colorful pictures. Although I didn't usually use pictures from newspapers to make collages, I thought I might go through this paper, cut out all the pictures and try to make an interesting collage from them.

Noticing that Janice (an acquaintance whom I had met at the Dallas Zen Center) was sitting next to me on my left, I thought I would like to show her what I could do with the pictures, but she seemed rather chilly, as if she were upset with me about something. So I simply continued looking at the pictures alone. Finally I came across a round picture of the world with a hammer and sickle superimposed on it, clearly a symbol for the Soviet Union. I thought the picture would fit well somewhere in the collage. I wondered whether Janice would be able to see the significance of the picture.

Gradually, I began to notice something strange about my surroundings. The whole scene seemed somewhat distorted, as if everyone in the nightclub was under water, perhaps in a pool. Everything also seemed a bit unreal, as if we were on the set of a movie or television production, and as if all the people around me were actors.

It also appeared that even though drugs were available there, the distribution of the drugs was strictly controlled and was under surveillance. One man, dressed as a waiter, was involved in distributing the drugs. As I observed the waiter, a young woman walked up to him and used a ruse to obtain some drugs from him. After approaching the waiter, the woman stuck a necktie in his shirt pocket and asked him to hold the tie for her. Then she walked away. She soon returned for her tie, and when she retrieved it, she also pulled out a thin marijuana joint which the waiter had been carrying in his shirt pocket. With the waiter unawares, the woman quickly absconded.

Still seated beside me, Janice seemed to be in a dour mood. I had the feeling that she wanted to have sex with someone, but that sex wasn't permitted there. I also felt she was partly upset with me because she had wanted to have sex with me and I had rebuffed her; I simply hadn't found her sexually stimulating. I had vaguely thought sex with her might be interesting, but the idea really didn't appeal to me. Finally, Janice seemed to accept the fact that I wasn't interested, and she began talking a bit with me anyway. As we discussed the prohibition against our having fun in this place, I realized she also disliked all the prohibitions. And in the course of our conversation, she informed me that she was interested in having sex with the waiter – the one who had had the joint in his pocket.

I was unsure how, but I suddenly realized I now had the joint which had been filched from the waiter. Since Janice had been talking so openly about her sexual desires, somewhat opening up to me, I concluded that showing her the joint would be safe. Extracting the joint from my pocket, I held it up in front of her so she could see it, but her reaction was far from what I had expected. She was shocked that I would break the rules there and actually have a joint in my possession. Obviously showing the joint to her had been a mistake; and I realized that having pulled out the joint in a public place had also been a mistake.

I suddenly felt quite apprehensive that someone else might have seen the joint. What could I do with it? I reached down under the bottom of my right pants leg, rolled up my cuff a little on the inside, and slipped the joint inside the cuff. As soon as I had finished, however, I realized my cuff wasn't a safe place, and I thought I should have stuck the joint inside my sock instead.

Presently a sinister-looking man with slicked-back hair strode up. I recognized him as one of the people running the place. He casually but pointedly asked me a question which put me on notice that he knew I had the joint in my cuff. He simply wanted to advise me that I was in trouble, and then he walked away.

Extremely worried, I tried to think of what to do. I seemed to see myself following various alternatives. Perhaps I could stealthily retrieve the joint from my cuff and stick it in the back of my hair. Suddenly I saw the fellow walking back toward me. I seemed to see myself quickly grab the joint and stick it in my mouth. I chewed it up and swallowed it. What could they do now? Pump my stomach?

Debilitating fear pursued me. I fought against fear, but the battle never seemed to end, and victory proved ever elusive.

Dream of: 18 December 1987 "Trunk Full Of Gasoline"

Mike Walls and I were standing on an isolated road in the country. We had apparently both bought a substantial amount of marijuana (perhaps 20-30 kilograms each) and we had been hiding the marijuana. Although I had a nice black car with me, I didn't hide my marijuana in the car. Instead I put the marijuana somewhere else where I thought it would be safe. Walls, however, put his marijuana in the car he was driving.

After we filled up both cars with gas, Walls drove his car a short ways down the road. He went around a curve, but had to stop. I walked up to his car and deduced that he was having car trouble; his car simply wouldn't run. Walls got out of the car and opened the trunk, which we immediately saw was full of gasoline. I saw the problem: a gas line was leaking and the gas was pouring out of it. I tried to stick some cellophane on the line, but the hole was so big I was unable to stop it up.

I was beginning to be concerned, because if the police came along, they might want to know what we were doing there and discover Walls' marijuana. I thought perhaps I should pull up my car and stash Walls' marijuana in my car. Walls opposed that idea, and I didn't press it, because I really didn't want Walls' marijuana in my car to begin with.

A car containing some of my family members pulled up. I boarded the car and asked to be driven back to my car. I was still unsure how I was going to help Walls.

At heart I was a hedonist. No, at heart I was an ascetic. I could not seem to get this straight. It seemed that at heart I was indeed an ascetic, but I often gave in to hedonistic desires.

Dream of: 18 January 1988 "Unsuspecting Foreigners"

While I was sitting with some people in a city park in a Latin American country, a black-haired Hispanic man (probably in his early 20s) approached me and wanted to know if I would like to buy some marijuana. He had a large garbage bag about half full of something which he said was marijuana. I was uncertain I wanted to buy any, but I thought I might.

After the fellow left the bag with me for awhile, I had a chance to look at the marijuana, which consisted of long slender leaves tinged with yellow along the edges. The more I looked at the substance, the more certain I was that it wasn't really marijuana and that the fellow was selling some other type of plant to unsuspecting foreigners. I began thinking something should be done about his fraud; I contemplated calling the police and telling them what the fellow was doing. I thought that selling fake marijuana might be a crime. Perhaps the police could buy some of the fake marijuana from the man and then arrest him.

I also had difficulty relating to my fellow man. My major problem was the right of privacy. I was positive that men should at least have the right to do what they wanted with their own bodies. Yet millions of men were being incarcerated for exercising that basic right. 

Dream of: 11 February 1988 "Specializing In Drug Cases"

As I was driving a car around Portsmouth, I began thinking I might like to smoke some marijuana. It had been a long time since I had last smoked and I hesitated to do so again. Nevertheless, I concluded my abstinence had lasted long enough and I decided to smoke. I thought I would go to Mike Walls' house to see if I could buy some pot from him.

When I arrived at Walls' house, the front door was open, so I walked in. I found Walls sitting in the front room and I spoke with him. He quickly informed me that he had recently been arrested for possession of some kind of drug and that he was going to need a lawyer to defend him. I thought I might like to help him. I told him I had been specializing in the defense of drug cases in Texas. The problem was that I wasn't licensed to practice law in Ohio, but I figured I could probably get a license in Ohio if I wanted to.

I talked with Walls about the case and I tried to find out whether he was planning to plead guilty or to fight the charge, and how much money he was planning to pay a lawyer. He said he was just going to plead guilty. He was unsure exactly how much he was going to pay a lawyer, but he figured a lawyer would cost $300-$500. I quickly thought it over and decided that $300 would pay for my plane ticket to Ohio. I decided I would like to help him.

Walls described what had happened. Apparently he had some friends who worked on the police force and they also used drugs. One night, however, his friends had decided to come over and search Walls. After they had found Walls' drugs in the back yard, Walls had admitted to them that the drugs had been his.

I had never had close ties with my relatives (beyond my immediate family). Nevertheless, my relatives seemed much more important to me than I would have expected. My mother had three older brothers, one of whom, George, had had polio and had been unable to walk since he was a child. He had lived with my maternal grandparents in the little House in Patriot until my grandparents died. 

Dream of: 20 February 1988 "Deportation"

I was in the living room of a house which reminded me of the House in Patriot. Seven or eight people in the room appeared to be relatives from my mother's side of the family. My uncle George (my mother's brother), who had polio, was seated on the floor.

Someone produced a marijuana joint and began passing it around the room. When the joint came to me, I was uncertain I wanted to smoke. Although I hadn't smoked in a long time, I finally took a drag from the joint. However the paper on the joint was pressed together at the end where I was trying to draw from, and the smoke wouldn't come through. I tore off the paper and took another hit; this time the smoke came.

When I finally passed the joint on, I realized I had had it for a long time, and I hoped no one would think I had been smoking the joint all that time.

The joint was passed around the room and came back to me. I hit it again. Gradually I began feeling the effects of the marijuana. My thinking clearly became more and more difficult. It seemed strange that I was smoking there. Two or three other people in the room weren't smoking, but it didn't matter to me. What seemed strange to me was that George was also smoking. I thought it was probably the first time he had smoked.


I finally forgot about the marijuana and I spoke with someone. Sometimes the person seemed like a man, but most of the time she seemed like a woman. Clearly the person was a relative, and might have been the mother of my first cousins, Richard and Randy (sons of my mother's brother Liston and his wife Jesse). We talked about a legal case in which she was involved. She had had to go in front of judge Mike Schwille, and in front of two other judges in two different hearings. She had lost both times and as a result, she was going to have to leave the country.

The case appeared to be about immigration. Since one of her children had been born in Canada, both she and her child were going to have to leave the country. I tried to persuade her to return before the judges with me as her attorney so we could ask for a new hearing. I told her I was a good friend of judge Schwille. I also told her I wouldn't charge her anything, but she was unsure she wanted to return to court.

I asked myself whether her child could be deported. At first I thought the child was my first cousin Randy, but finally I decided the child was my first cousin Richard. I asked her if the child had been born in Canada. When she told me he had, I told her he could be deported. She protested that he was studying in a school. I told her that his studying didn't make any difference, and that he would be deported.

She was still unconvinced she wanted to return to court. I told her that if she lost her case in front of the judges, she could appeal it. Her right of appeal was very important in my mind.


I finally realized that we were sitting in the back of a truck, and that some water was in the truck. At first the truck was going slow, but then it speeded up and I almost fell into the water. I moved to the front of the truck to see who was driving. The driver was an ugly dark man who looked Hispanic. When I slapped him on the side of the face and told him to drive more slowly, he became angry and grabbed my hand. I couldn't free my hand from his fist. The situation was dangerous because he was driving very fast and only using one hand. I screamed, "Usa ambos manos."

I identify my conscience as the source of the messages which were coming to me. The time honored phrase "guilty conscience" certainly applied to me. Principally my guilt has been a result of satisfying my desires. This plague of guilt has been a severe impediment in my hedonistic life-style.

Dream of: 21 February 1988 "Satisfying Desires"

I was in a store where beer and wine were sold. When a man walked in to buy some beer, I realized I also would like to buy some beer, even though I hadn't drunk any in a long time. I also realized I dreamed a lot about alcohol and marijuana, and I doubted the people who bought alcohol in this store dreamed much about alcohol because they satisfied their desires in their waking hours. Since I wasn't satisfying my desires for alcohol and marijuana while I was awake, I dreamed a lot about them. Would it not then be better to drink, so I wouldn't dream so much about drinking?

I didn't spend all my time worrying about a moral foundation. I tried to fit into society, at least superficially. I felt I had some role, and I was convinced that I would only achieve if I worked hard.

Dream of: 18 April 1988 "Achievement"

I was sitting and talking with presidential hopeful, Michael Dukakis. I was surprised because I liked him a lot. It seemed that he also liked me and that he was thinking of hiring me to work for him. I began telling him about what I had been doing since law school and I finally said, "That's only a part of my life because I'm 35 years old. I had a former life."

He didn't press me, but obviously he wanted to know what I had done before law school. I wanted to be honest with him, but I wondered whether I should tell him about the hallucinogenic drugs I used to take. I thought back on the drugs I had taken during my teenage years and how the drugs had made my outlook on life rather hazy. I thought the drugs had caused me to lose much of my focus. I wondered if I should be completely honest with him. I figured the truth was that I had probably taken hallucinogens about 50 times and that the last time I had taken any, I had been about 20 years old. But then I thought, "No, that's not really true, because I took some of that Ecstasy just a couple of years ago, and that was an hallucinogen."

Perhaps I shouldn't tell him about having used any hallucinogenic drugs and should only tell him about having smoked marijuana. I could tell him I had quit smoking when I had been 20 years old. That would sound good. I said, "I could probably give you a very honest encapsulated description of my life in about 10 minutes."

I then began, "My life has not been one of achievement," emphasizing the word "achievement."

As I talked, the subject of drugs did arise, and Dukakis said something about his needing a man to run the DEA, the Drug Enforcement Administration. I thought I knew just the man for him, a man I had recently read about in an article in Time magazine. I pulled out an issue of Time which just happened to be lying there. On the front of the magazine was a picture of Dukakis standing beside a desk in front of an orange background.

As I leafed through the magazine looking for the man's name, I noticed an interview of Dukakis in the magazine. I thought the man's name might appear in Dukakis's interview, but Dukakis said he didn't remember mentioning the name of anyone like that in the interview.

I kept looking, but I realized I probably wasn't going to be able to find the name right now. But at least I figured that Dukakis could see I was looking hard for the name and that I would probably be a hard worker if I were working for him.

My job, as I hazily envisioned it, was to understand who I was and to then portray this understanding to the world. I began to understand that I was an amalgam of many disparate parts, which, when fused together, would form an enlightening picture.

Dream of: 25 August 1988 "Visiting Cousins"

I had rolled up a thick marijuana joint about a third of a meter long. When I began smoking, the pot didn't seem very good, and I wondered if it were even marijuana. Finally I decided to go visit someone, and after folding the joint in half, I stuck it in my pocket. Part of the joint was still sticking out of my pocket and I tried try to press it down.

As I walked down the street toward my car, I thought about how I would like to get high on marijuana. The problem with being intoxicated on marijuana was that the high only lasted for a short while, and I would like to stay permanently intoxicated. The basic problem was that I couldn't be intoxicated all the time on marijuana.

I reached a house where I thought my second cousin Jeff lived. I entered and walked into a back bedroom where someone was lying under a blanket on a bed. I woke up the person on the bed, and indeed the person was Jeff. Although it was almost noon, he was still in bed. Apparently he had stayed up late the previous night.

After I apologized for awakening him, he got up from the bed and said he needed some time to wake up. I told him it didn't matter because I was going to leave anyway. He told me that he had some marijuana and that he was going to roll me a joint before I left. He said the marijuana came from out west and was supposed to be very good. That pleased me, because I wanted to smoke some marijuana. I wanted him to get up and start rolling. I hoped he would roll a joint and give it to me so I could take it and smoke it alone, since I preferred to smoke by myself. I sat down and mentioned the long joint I had, but I added that I didn't think it was really marijuana. He seemed unconcerned.

I also mentioned that I was planning to go back to a school which apparently was in western Canada. I suggested that he come out to visit me, but I didn't think he ever would .

Jeff said that he didn't have the marijuana there, and that he must go somewhere else to fetch it. After he left, I walked into the living room and sat down. A few minutes later my great-uncle Ray (Jeff's father) and my second-cousin Keith (Jeff's brother) walked in. As Ray and Keith walked into a back room, I heard them talking. Apparently Ray had caught Keith buying cigarettes, and Ray suspected that Keith was going to use the papers on the cigarettes to roll joints. Ray and Keith began arguing in the back room about it.

By the time Jeff finally returned, I had become worried that Ray knew what was going on and that he would prevent Jeff from rolling the joint. When I now noticed a young woman (probably 15 years old) sitting behind me, I asked Jeff who she was. She heard my question and told me who she was. From what she said, I gathered that she was a young relative of Jeff's family and that she had come to live with the family. I also noticed a small boy and a small girl (only about 3 years old) in the room. Both the boy and girl were very pretty.

Finally Jeff walked into the back room and someone sat on my lap, but after a while it seemed as if a cat (and not a person) were sitting on my lap. While I petted the cat, I noticed a dog which looked like a Schnauzer running around the room. The dog came over to me, put its teeth on my fingers and pulled them away from the cat, because the dog wanted me to pet it (the dog). I began petting the dog with my right hand and the cat with my left. I wondered how many other animals were going to want me to pet them while I was sitting there.

The little town of my birth, Gallipolis, Ohio, seemed to call to me. Cradled in the verdant Appalachian hills, snug along the Ohio River, Gallia County seemed a refuge in a dangerous world.

Dream of: 01 September 1988 "City Hall"

I had bought a large old building in Gallipolis. The building (in need of much work) had once been the City Hall. I was thinking of converting it into a large house and living in it. I thought I would begin by fixing up one large room in the rear of the building.

I decided to get to know the town better first, and I went to a party. Most people at the party were young, and some were playing a word game. A woman had a word in mind, and the others were trying to guess the word. It was clear that the woman was thinking of a stone jar of something. I also began playing. Finally I said it was a fifth of something, and then I said it was a fifth of whiskey. The woman said that was right, it was a fifth of whiskey. Finally I guessed that it was a fifth of Seagram's Seven Whiskey and the woman said, "Yes."

I spoke to a blond fellow (about 21 years old). After talking with him a while, I realized he was a lawyer. A pretty woman was nearby, and she appeared to be listening to what I was saying to the fellow. I talked with the fellow a while longer, until finally the two of us left the party together in his car.

He told me he worked in Gallipolis in a building not far from where we were. Since I was also thinking of working as a lawyer in Gallipolis, I thought I would like to know more about the situation there. I rode around Gallipolis for a while until we finally arrived at a large field on the outskirts of town where other cars were parked.

After we parked and our conversation turned to marijuana, the fellow told me that people came to this field to smoke marijuana. I thought that I myself would like to smoke some pot. Finally the fellow talked with someone and was able to obtain some joints. The two of us then rode to a house, stopped the car, and entered the house. Some other men were inside. I had the joints, and I put them in a denim jacket lying on the floor. After the fellow with me took one of the joints and lit it up, we all began smoking.

The fellow mentioned how it was hard to go anywhere these days without encountering marijuana. I agreed. I thought about the laws against drugs and how terrible they were.

The fellow then began talking about a rock star who had originally come from Gallipolis, and who later had gone to New York City. He had recently returned to Gallipolis and a large party had been held for him. He had had to turn down an abundance of drugs while in Gallipolis, because he didn't use drugs. And apparently his manager didn't want him using drugs. I thought he could have at least accepted some joints and taken them with him.

Finally I decided to go and I left alone, walking down the street in the direction of my building. When I finally reached the building, I began looking it over. In the front was a small room perhaps four meters square. I began thinking that maybe I would convert that room first. Since the room had no windows, I would have to put windows in all the walls.

I then noticed my mother and my sister in the room. My sister was sitting on a blue sheet on the floor. I was carrying something with some water in it and I let the water fall onto the floor. The water ran to the sheet on which my sister was sitting and seeped between her feet. She began complaining because I had spilled the water.

I fancied myself an artist. My fancy was right. I was an artist, but I had much to learn about the nature of my art. I understood that my art involved the penetration and exploration of my mind, but I was unprepared for the vastness of the exploration.

Dream of: 15 September 1988 "Musical Quality"

John Lennon, a third person and I were in a room smoking a marijuana joint which belonged to the third person. After smoking the joint, we lay down on the floor and talked for a while. Finally Lennon lay down on me and seemed to encircle me. Having him close to me felt good. I could feel his penis press against me, but there was nothing sexual about our contact. I just felt happy lying there and talking with him.

Lennon was thin and looked as if he were in his late 30s. I had a good rapport with him and we seemed to be good friends. We talked about music. His speech was rather difficult to understand due to the way he was talking. I compared his music to the way he talked. I said that his lyrics actually didn't make much sense, but that the words sounded good in the songs. The way he used words had a musical quality to them. He admitted that. I said something like, "Its probably just as well that way."

I also thought of Bob Dylan's songs, and how that unlike Lennon's songs, Dylan's songs made sense. But not as many people listened to Dylan's songs. I told Lennon that I thought that was the way it was with many song writers. Their songs made sense, but no one wanted to listen to them. Lennon's songs on the other hand had a musical quality which made people want to listen to them.

I thought about mentioning that Paul McCartney was actually a better song writer than Lennon, but I thought it might not be the best thing to bring that up, and so I didn't mention it.

Lennon stood up and sat down on a couch. He pulled out a baggie of marijuana which was mostly green, with some brown color to it. He asked who the other marijuana had belonged to, and I told him it had belonged to the other person. As I stood in front of Lennon, I reflected that he had probably smoked a lot of marijuana in his life.

He then lit up a joint and handed it to me. I took a deep toke from it.

In principal, I wanted to altruistic. Art was the method by which I hoped to be altruistic. By dedicating my life to art, I would ultimately improve the universe. The dedication was the difficult part. I still had my hedonistic temperament which distracted me from artistic dedication.

Dream of: 22 October 1988 "Young And Reckless"

I had gone to the house of a black-haired fellow (only about 20 years old) from whom I planned to buy some marijuana. I had once before bought a baggie of marijuana from the fellow and now I wanted to buy another baggie. I spoke with him and he was quite friendly. I gave him $30 for the marijuana, but this time, instead of giving me a baggie of marijuana, he began rolling joints for me. I watched as he rolled joint after joint for me and put them on the desk in front of him.

I talked with him about how he reminded me of myself when I had been his age. He seemed reckless and he wasn't taking precautions against being arrested for selling marijuana. I pointed out to him that he in fact didn't know me very well and that I could even be a narcotics agent. When he finally stopped rolling the joints and gave them to me, I told him that I indeed was a narcotics agent and that he was under arrest. He was obviously startled, until I told him I had just been kidding and I was only trying to point out to him that he should be more careful.

After another fellow entered and I considered whether I should smoke one of my joints with them before I left, I asked the fellow from whom I had bought the marijuana if smoking a joint would be alright, and he had no objections. What troubled me was that I knew that sometimes when I smoked marijuana, I threw away all the remaining marijuana I had. I was concerned that if I smoked before I left, I might throw away the other joints after I left.

Plus I knew that I was driving and that I didn't like to smoke and drive. I was concerned I might be pulled over by the police.

Nevertheless I lit up a joint, inhaled from it and then passed it around to the others. When the joint came back to me, I wondered if any of them were sick in any way and whether I should be smoking after them. I felt like spitting after I smoked.

I followed my conscience more often than not. I believe I was more tuned in than most people to the messages of my conscience. Nevertheless, I faltered over and over, and rarely experienced peace of mind. I was far from nirvana.

Dream of: 25 October 1988 "Straw Room"

Another fellow and I were playing a game which involved some cards with pictures on them which were placed upside down on a table so we couldn't see what was on the face of the cards. The game seemed to have something to do with guessing what was on the cards. At one point I pointed out that the cards weren't in the proper order.

When a second fellow (probably in his mid 20s) who reminded me both of Mr. Hall (a legal client) and of Will Johnson (a member of the Dallas Zen Center) walked into the room, I spoke to him. It seemed that several fellows were living together in the house. After a while the second fellow spoke about how he had once been arrested for a drug offense. I asked him the degree of the drug offense and he told me the offense had been the same as murder. I told him the offense would be a first degree felony and I asked him what his sentence had been. He told me he had received a sentence of 21 years in jail. I told him the offense must have indeed been a first degree felony, because the maximum sentence for second degree felonies was 20 years.

When he then pulled out a baggie of marijuana, I looked at it longingly and asked him if he could sell me a couple joints. He seemed reluctant, but then he began rolling a joint for me. When I inquired about the quality of the marijuana, he said it was the best. He finally finished rolling and handed me the two joints. When I asked him how much I owed him, he said I didn't owe him anything. I didn't disagree with him and I thought his not charging me anything was smart. I told him that giving away small quantities of marijuana was only a misdemeanor, as opposed to selling, which might be a felony.

I was anxious to smoke the joints. After going to a small house, I lit one up. From the first inhalation I could tell the marijuana was of a high quality. I smoked until I seemed to lose track of what was happening. When I regained my consciousness, I saw that some straw lying on the floor had caught fire, apparently from the joint. I put out the fire, then noticed that the room I was in seemed made of straw and that one of the walls had also caught fire. I began trying to put out that fire also.

Although my conscience was transmitting messages to me, my conscience was not supplying me with the power to implement the messages. Spiritual power was difficult to come by. It is difficult to even define. I needed spiritual power, however, to define myself. 

Dream of: 18 March 1989 "Spiritual Journey"

I had had a dream concerning another fellow's problems with alcohol. When I awoke and reflected on the dream, I realized the dream was saying I was the one with the alcohol problem. The dream had seemed positive, however, and had seemed to indicate I had been successfully dealing with the problem. Although I shouldn't let the problem bother me, I did need to continue to be aware.


I was with several people who were going to travel together to Mexico. Some of us had had problems in the past with marijuana. When I thought about it, I was probably the strongest in the group in dealing with the problem and I now realized I was going to have to take a leadership role in dealing with the problem.

As we neared the Mexican border, we almost seemed to be flying toward it. I could see a river and a lush green bank on the other side where marijuana plants were growing. I cautioned the others not to be deterred by the marijuana, and I warned them that if they were deterred, they could be lost from our group forever, because we would leave them behind. As we approached the opposite shore, I steeled myself, feeling some temptation to use marijuana. The temptation was slight and I quickly realized I would be able to go right through the marijuana plants without using any. It was a tense but healthy feeling.


I was with a close friend in Mexico. We were looking at a mountain up ahead and beyond that mountain I could see another mountain peak in the background. I told my friend that pyramids were on the other side of the mountain in front of us, and that we were going to go sleep atop the pyramids. In fact we were going on a long spiritual journey together and I told him we wouldn't stop until we had reached the pyramids of Egypt, where we would stop and decide what we would do next. I put my arm around his shoulder and we walked down the street together. He was quite overweight, but he was still my close friend. I wondered what I would be like if I were to warrant having a close friend who wasn't overweight. I knew I needed to improve my own life.


I was in a house with a group of several people, one of whom had been talking about going into the interior of Mexico. I turned to him and told him a person's power lay in an area around his stomach, and I made a circular motion around the stomach to show where I was talking about. I told him if he used that area one tenth as much as he did his mouth, he would be able to go.

He stood up and seemed to comprehend what I was saying. I pointed to each of the other three people in the room and I said that they and I were willing to go. I told him the time to go was right now. Finally seeming to comprehend, he said that he too was ready. I stopped and told him we must first make a pact. He agreed. He thought the pact was that when we went down there, we would stay there forever. But that wasn't the idea I had in mind at all. The pact I had in mind was that we would stay together. We all stood in a circle, held hands and began singing a song, some of the words of which were, "Stay Together."

Each of us then had a chance to be in the center of the circle while the other four danced around that person. The song was very positive and reflected the kind of life we would be living together. The song mentioned "sexual energy" as something we would be able to harness.

One fellow had rather long black hair. Another fellow was quite good looking. I saw myself in a mirror as we were dancing and I realized I also was fairly good looking. Plus I was a lawyer, which indicated I had some intelligence. I thought I was taking a positive step forward.

I seemed to have a problem generating spiritual power.

Dream of: 28 March 1989 "Smoking"

I was walking up to Mike Walls' house, different from any house in which I had ever seen him live. Although difficult to see because the sky was dark, the house seemed to be a small frame house of two stories, painted white. It seemed to be in a secluded area with no other nearby houses. Just as I walked up to the house, Walls stepped out the front door and walked over to his car. He seemed surprised when he saw me and he asked me how I was. I told him I wasn't doing so well and I asked him if he had anything which could help me. I was hoping he had some marijuana. He told me to come into the house and I walked inside with him.

Inside we encountered two other fellows. On a table in the room lay a large comic magazine which had the word "smoking" in large print on the front, and seemed to have pictures of different brands of cigarette rolling paper from around the word. I immediately began talking about the drug laws and how strict they were. I also mentioned the rules of legal evidence and I said that if the house were raided, probably everything in the house would be allowed into evidence. That magazine certainly wouldn't look good if entered into evidence.

One fellow pulled out a large bag which contained what appeared to be a number of beige nylon stockings filled with a green leafy substance. After looking at the substance (which appeared brown upon closer scrutiny), I concluded it was marijuana. One fellow said the marijuana was Panamanian, while another fellow pulled out a large joint and lit it. As they began passing the joint around, I asked one fellow if they would sell me some of the marijuana, but he said he couldn't. I told him that if he was worried about my being an undercover police officer, he could sell the marijuana to Walls, and Walls could then sell it to me. He started to think it over and it looked as if he would indeed sell it to me.

Meanwhile, I also had a joint in my pocket which I pulled out. I didn't light it because I knew it wasn't very good marijuana. I continued smoking from the joint they had lit, which had a pleasant taste. However, I had difficulty getting any smoke out of the joint and I still wasn't feeling any effects. Suddenly we all heard a car door slam. Paranoid, I immediately wondered if the police might have arrived. I was afraid there was too much marijuana in the house to get rid of if the police came. I was also wondering if I could be convicted of possessing the large sack in the room even though it wasn't mine. Someone handed the sack to me and I thought if the police somehow took a picture through the open window of me holding the sack, they could convict me on that.

I walked over to the window, looked out and saw a policeman getting out of a white truck. I hollered to the others that the police had arrived. The others looked shocked for an instant and Walls told the others to get rid of the marijuana. Apparently he wanted them to take it to the bathroom and flush it. I knew there was too much to flush, and they seemed to hesitate to flush it anyway in case it might be a mistake. Indeed I wondered why the police hadn't already broken down the door. But then I heard the police announce themselves at the door and demand that it be opened. I had already begun crushing in my hand the joint which I had brought in with me and I was looking for a place to hide it. I also wondered if I might be able to go upstairs into the attic and crawl out a window. Perhaps I could manage to get away without the police ever seeing me.

My power of imagination also needed improvement. I felt alone and isolated, but I also felt as if I had something imaginative to say to the world.

Dream of: 23 May 1989 "Robinson Crusoe"

I was lying at night in a bed in a house where my father was living. After a while, my old Portsmouth friend, Steve Buckner, walked in and lay down in the bed beside me. I began talking, and I became interested when he mentioned that he had some marijuana joints. After I told him I would like to smoke one, he stood up and began looking for one. After he returned with four joints, he picked out the smallest one and lit it. We smoked it, and when we were finished, we lay back down.

Suddenly I saw a light under the door of the room, and I told Buckner my father had returned. Buckner said the light had been on before. I told him that was correct, but that I had turned off the light, and that someone had now turned it on again. Although I was afraid my father would smell the marijuana, I thought my father knew Buckner was there with me and I didn't think my father minded Buckner's being there. Finally the light below the door went out, and I concluded my father had gone to bed.

I wasn't sleepy, and I suggested to Buckner that we tell each other stories. I began thinking about a story, and at first I thought I would place the story sometime in the 1500s, but then I decided to put the story in the present time.

I thought the story would be about a man who had been in a boat and had been blown overboard by a storm. He found himself on an island. Perhaps he would find another man on the island, just like Robinson Crusoe and Friday. Maybe he would even find some marijuana on the island.

When I thought about it, it didn't seem as if it smoking marijuana would be bad if I were alone on an island. So why did I think it was bad to smoke marijuana?

Before I began telling the story, I saw that Buckner had apparently fallen asleep and was quietly snoring. It looked as if he had drunk quite a bit of alcohol before coming there. That didn't surprise me, because I knew he drank a lot.

I noticed his marijuana was in a little box, but it didn't look like marijuana. It looked like nuts. One nut had already been broken open and inside its shell was still some of the nut which Buckner hadn't eaten. I broke the shell more, took out the nut and ate it. I saw two or three other small pieces of nuts which I also ate. They tasted good.

In the fall of 1987, my friend Salvador introduced me to Carolina, who was also from El Salvador. She also had crossed illegally into the United States. We began dating and on February 14, 1989, Carolina and I married.

Dream of: 31 May 1989 "Visiting New York City"

While in New York City, I was in a dormitory room visiting my old friend, Steve Weinstein, whose hair was dark and rather long. I mentioned to him that I had stayed the previous night in a room in New York, and it had only cost me about $10. I told him I had stayed in a small room, which with a number of other rooms, had been fitted into what appeared to be an auditorium. Mostly poor people had been staying there. There had been even cheaper rooms there for $4 a night.

When another fellow who apparently lived in the dormitory walked in, I mentioned that I would like to smoke some marijuana. When the fellow pulled out a baggie and laid it on the bed, I saw that he already had a small joint rolled up. In fact, he had perhaps five or six joints already rolled up.

Before we began smoking any marijuana, I stood up and locked the room's two doors, one of which had two locks. One lock consisted of a button on the middle of the knob which I pushed in. With the other lock, I had to push the whole knob in and then turn it.

The other fellow said those doors did indeed need to be locked so we wouldn't get caught there smoking any marijuana.

I asked if the marijuana was any good. When he said it was, we began smoking. I hoped the pot was potent so I could get high just by smoking a small amount.

I also had a fairly large joint of my own which had marijuana falling out of it. I even pulled some of it out.

After smoking some, Weinstein and I rose, left and began walking together around the city. I told Weinstein I hadn't smoked marijuana in over four months, but that I could only slightly feel the effects of the marijuana we had just smoked. That caused me to wonder exactly what it was that marijuana did to a person. I thought, "What it really does was it makes you so you can't think as well. It affects you so you cannot think as well. I kinda regret doing it, that I've done it."

As I talked with Weinstein, I asked him how he liked still living in a dormitory. He seemed satisfied. We talked about what we were going to be doing in the future, and he appeared to be thinking of returning to college. Concerned about my future, I was unsure what I was going to be doing. I was even thinking of moving to New York City. I really didn't like living in Texas.

I wondered what I would do about Carolina, and although unsure, I thought I would probably bring her with me to New York City. But I was unsure exactly what I would do in New York. I would only have enough money to live on for a month or two. I figured I would simply have to try to find a job. I did know that I was tired of living in Texas and that I would like to do something different.

Continuing on, Weinstein and I smoked some more marijuana together.

Finally we boarded Weinstein's white car and began riding around. Weinstein, not paying attention to where he was going, drove off the left side of the road into a ditch. After stepping out of the car and assessing the situation, I picked the car up by its side and pulled it out of the ditch as if it were practically weightless.

As I got back in on the passenger side, I saw that the door handle had been smashed. We again began driving along, and I noticed that some blue water appeared to be flowing in the road. In fact, the road almost seemed to consist of clear blue water which was quite beautiful. I commented to Weinstein about how blue and pretty the water was.

I felt quite lost. I didn't like what I was doing in Texas, but I was unsure of what else to do. There was a strong possibility that I would move to New York.

Ultimately I was most concerned with myself. My conscience seemed to tell me to be a better person, but I was still so weak-willed. 

Dream of: 07 August 1989 "Improving My Appearance"

I was sitting on the front fender of a car being driven along a city street which reminded me of the street in front of Dreamland Pool in Portsmouth. I was looking for someone from whom I could buy some marijuana, and although the man driving the car didn't know me, I had the feeling that he knew what I was looking for and that he would also like to buy some marijuana. Perhaps he thought if he helped me now by letting me ride on his car, I would help him find some marijuana latter for himself.


I was thinking of calling Mike Fugitt (a former schoolmate from high school), whom I thought was living in Portsmouth on Thomas Street. I had heard that he had some marijuana which he was selling. But someone had told me that if I called Fugitt, I should be sure to disguise my voice, so if Fugitt's line were  wiretapped, no one would know who I was. I thought when I talked to Fugitt, I should first make sure that he knew who I was and why I was calling. I should then find out whether I should come over.


I was standing in what appeared to be a mall or a department store, and in front of me, behind a sales counter, was Driscoll (a female Dallas acquaintance). Apparently she was working there. I mentioned Fugitt to her and she told me she knew that he had recently bought a large amount of marijuana. In fact, she informed me that she had already bought some herself and that she had some with her. When I suggested we go somewhere and smoke some, she seemed willing. She also pointed out another woman there in the store who had some marijuana.

The other woman was probably in her early 20s, and although I didn't know her, I thought I might be able to approach her and persuade her to smoke some marijuana with me. I looked at myself in a mirror to make sure I looked all right. I thought about perhaps tying a red scarf around my neck to improve my appearance. I figured I would probably simply try to pick up the woman and then smoke some marijuana with her. Afterwards I would probably just abandon her. I knew I would merely be using her, but I had done such things in the past in order to obtain marijuana, and I thought it was permissible.

My life began to seem like one long trial in which I was trying to escape a guilty verdict.

Dream of: 31 August 1989 "Incriminating Receipt"

I was living with George Musser (a burly Portsmouth acquaintance whom I briefly knew in 1970) in an apartment in an old but comfortable house. While Musser and I were sitting in the kitchen, I asked him if he knew where he could buy some marijuana. He sat at the kitchen table and thought for a while, then picked up the phone and called someone. When he got off the phone, he told me he could get an ounce of marijuana for $50. He said the fellow with whom he had talked had wanted $75 at first, but then had said he would take off a gram or two and sell it for $50. I thought the fellow was black, and my basic concern was that the marijuana be of good quality.

After I sat down at the table and gave Musser $50, he pulled out a receipt book and wrote me a receipt. When he stood up to leave, I asked him if he were on probation for something. He told me that he was and that if his probation were revoked, his punishment would be a $14,000 fine and an indefinite term in prison. That sounded serious to me, especially since I thought if he were arrested with marijuana in his possession his probation would probably be revoked.

As he started to leave, I told him to be sure to put the marijuana in the trunk of the car when he got it. I also told him to be sure to obey all traffic laws, and if he were pulled over, not to consent to having the police look into the trunk. He then left.

I walked into the living room, which was quite large with little furniture. It was large enough to exercise in, and I did a few feeble karate kicks to the side. Then I just did some leg lifts. I wondered why I hadn't just come in there to exercise to begin with instead of buying marijuana. The marijuana was really going to interfere with my thinking, and I had quite a few things I need to be doing, including some writing.

I walked back into the kitchen and looked at the receipt book which was still lying there. It occurred to me that if Musser were arrested, and if he told the police that I had given him money to buy the marijuana, I could be charged with some kind of delivery offense. I quickly opened the book and tore out the receipt, and along with my copy, tore it up. I walked into the bathroom to flush the receipt and the copy down the commode. Once I was in the bathroom, however, I discovered someone had thrown a magazine in the commode, and I first had to pull the magazine out of the commode. It now seemed as if four people were living in the apartment and the apartment didn't seem as nice as before. I threw the pieces of the receipt into the commode and watched them being flushed down.

Now it occurred to me that the impression from the pen might have gone through to the next receipt when Musser had written in the receipt book. I needed to check it. The police might try to use it if I were brought to trial.


I was in a courtroom where I was being tried in a marijuana case. I could see Musser in the audience. Apparently he was going to testify against me. I felt sick.

I loved the Gallia County Farm. An island of three hundred and eighty six hilly acres surrounded by Wayne National Forest. I hoped I would one day inherit the Farm and make it my home. My morals, however, presented an obstacle to my obtaining the Farm.

Dream of: 11 October 1989 "So Smooth"

While I was at a man's house, I looked through an overhead section of a closet, and found two fairly large cellophane bags of marijuana hidden under some clothes in one corner. I decided to steal the marijuana, quickly put it down my pants and left. Since some other people were also in the house, I figured the man who lived in the house wouldn't know who had taken the marijuana.


I was in the Gallia County Farmhouse. It seemed my mother was living there and a man who appeared to be her boyfriend was also living there with her. I was in a bedroom which was on the ground floor, where the living room was supposed to be. I remembered I had hidden the marijuana somewhere, but I couldn't remember where. I began looking for the pot; finally I looked out the window and noticed some tiny cellophane baggies of marijuana lying on the ground outside. It looked as if I had put the two large bags (which I had stolen) on the window sill and as if they had fallen outside, spilling out the smaller baggies. It also looked as if the bags had been run over with a lawnmower, probably by my mother.

I reached through the window and picked up about four of the little baggies, but then I dropped two of them down a hole near the window and I had to crawl outside to get them. Once I was outside I also retrieved some cigarette papers which were lying on the ground. I noticed I was smoking a non filter cigarette which I had smoked almost all the way to the end. The smoke was so smooth, I hadn't even realized I had been smoking it.

My life did not make sense to me. Yet I continued to think that not only must I make some kind of sense out of it, I must also convey that sense to the world. I did not know how to do that, but I felt as if my conscience were guiding me. Fortunately, at least some of the time, I listened to that guidance.

Dream of: 30 October 1989 "Thinking About God"

Sitting in a beauty parlor, I was conversing with my mother, who was having her hair done. Although my mother wanted to talk with me, I was feeling rather disconsolate and I didn't feel like continuing the conversation with her at the moment. When she insisted, I finally muttered that she and I had a problem because we never discussed our problems. She immediately retorted that she didn't want to talk about that. I said that was fine, because I hadn't wanted to talk about the matter in the first place.

Finally, with a small plastic bag in my hand, I rose, walked out the door and crossed the street. As I departed, it occurred to me that Birdie had also been inside the beauty saloon, and that Birdie had been the beautician working on my mother's hair. Remembering that I had lately been dating Birdie again, I thought she would be surprised when she realized I had walked out without saying anything to her. I hadn't even told her whether I would see her again later that day.

As I continued my course down the street, I watched my shadow on the ground, and noticed how long my hair had become, down around my shoulders. My long hair made me recall the other thing on my mind: selling drugs. For quite a while I had been contemplating selling drugs, but I hadn't yet decided to do so.

My old debauched buddy from high school, Mike Walls, crossed my mind. I thought about what happened to Walls when he smoked marijuana. For example, I didn't believe Walls thought about God when he was smoking. In contrast, when I used marijuana, God was usually the main thing on my mind. For some reason, I believed if I sold drugs, I would no longer think about God when I smoked marijuana. The idea didn't please me, because I enjoyed thinking about God.

I also thought about my father. Since I thought I might see him soon, I wondered what he would think about my hair being so long. I would probably say something to him like, "Long time, no see."

A woman in a pink dress crossed the street. She resembled Mireya (a woman from Columbia whom I had recently met in Dallas) but I couldn't tell for sure if the woman was Mireya. Although I wondered what she was doing there, I didn't say anything to her.

Was I delirious or imaginative? The answer was in the story. I needed to understand what a story was and to put that story into a comprehensible form. My pitiful life was the basis for the story and somehow I needed to make sense out of it.

Dream of: 07 November 1989 "Parrot Evidence"

I was sitting on a bed in what appeared to be a motel room, and was talking with my old Portsmouth friends, Randy Ramey and Mike Walls. I began telling Ramey about a trip which I had taken to California about six weeks earlier. I had stayed in California for three weeks, and I told Ramey the trip had been similar to the one he and I had taken when we had hitchhiked to California years before. I even told him I had seen many people on this trip whom he and I had met on our previous trip together to California. One of those people appeared to have been a person who had sold drugs on the streets when Ramey and I had been in California. On my recent trip, the fellow had been emaciated and in poor health.

On my recent trip, I had stayed with seven or eight different people whom Ramey and I had previously met in California, and I described to Ramey my experiences with the people. My recent trip had also reminded me both of trips to Europe and to Ohio, and I even mentioned that during the trip had I stayed a few nights in my Cabin on the Gallia County Farm.

When it finally occurred to me that Ramey might have some marijuana, I turned to him to him and asked him if he had any. At the same time I asked him if he had quit smoking marijuana. It seemed as if I myself hadn't smoked in a long time, and I tried to remember whether I had quit smoking.

After Ramey reached under the blanket on the bed where we were both sitting and pulled out a cellophane baggie containing a leafy substance, I held the baggie in my hand and looked it over. Some leaves in the baggie didn't look like marijuana and I was sure that some were oak leaves.

Upon closer scrutiny, the baggie appeared to also contain water, and in fact I saw four or five tiny fish swimming around in the baggie, apparently eating the leaves in the baggie. Curious, I asked Ramey about the fish. He told me that the fish were purposely in the baggie and that they were good for the mixture.

Finally Ramey took the baggie and poured the contents out onto what appeared to be some plastic on the bed. The substance in the baggie now looked like brown mud with leaves mixed in. I had my hand under the plastic and I could feel the fish moving in the mud on the plastic. After I asked Ramey if the fish would die, I concluded they would be all right.

Ramey pulled some leaves out of the concoction and put them in something. Obviously the  leaves weren't marijuana.


Ramey and a woman (both appeared about 30 years old) were sitting with me at a table in what appeared to be a restaurant. I could see outside through a window which was behind Ramey and the woman.

From the leaves which Ramey had earlier extracted from the baggie, he had prepared a purple liquid which looked like grape juice, with which he had filled up six or seven small glass goblets which were sitting on the table in front of us. Ramey told me the liquid was quite bitter, and bade me taste it. I picked up one glass and tasted the liquid. Although it was indeed bitter, it wasn't that bad.

Ramey told me the substance which had been used to make the liquid was a type of wheat, and he gave it a name which began with a "B." He mentioned that the substance was legal.

When I picked up my glass again and swallowed the entire contents, Ramey and the woman looked surprised, and Ramey indicated he wouldn't be able to drink from a glass like that because the liquid was so bitter.

Ramey told me the substance would begin to affect me quickly, and almost immediately I began to feel the effects. I first noticed my vision becoming blurred, and everything around me began to take on a purple tint. I quickly reached the point where my vision was so blurred, I could barely distinguish Ramey from the woman.

I didn't like the feeling. I wasn't sorry I had drunk the substance, because I had wanted to see what would happen, but I still didn't like it.

Finally I walked over to a bed in the room and sat down, thinking the feeling would soon pass.

Someone else walked into the room and began talking with Ramey. It almost appeared the person was interviewing Ramey, who described how the drug was widespread and legal. Since the drug apparently was made from wheat, making it illegal would have been difficult.

Ramey said he no longer smoked marijuana, and all he did was use this drug.


I was sitting in a courtroom, still feeling the effects of the purple juice which I had drunk earlier. I was sitting next to a client whom I was representing. Although I didn't realize it at the time, the person reminded me of one of my criminal clients, a fellow named Fox. About 20 years old, tall and thin, he had been charged with possession of drugs. He had been driving a car in which the drug had been found, but he hadn't had the drug on his person. I thought of this as the "automobile exception" to the possession rule of drugs. I thought if a drug were found in an automobile, then the prosecution must somehow link the drug to the person accused of possession.

Many other people were in the courtroom. I walked up to the prosecutor (who reminded me of the prosecutor on another of my cases in Arlington, Texas) and I told him we planned to try the case. I sat back down and we waited practically the whole day for something to happen with our case.

The effects of the purple juice had almost completely worn off.


I was now sitting on a bench behind my client, when the judge (sitting in front of the room and facing us) began talking about our case. Looking right at my client and me, the judge said that in this particular case, a parrot had been in the car when the drugs had been found. Apparently the parrot had talked and had said something which had indicated that my client owned the parrot and that the parrot knew about the drugs. The judge clearly stated he intended to use the parrot to link my client to the drug. The judge was telling us this much about the case in order to give my client a chance to accept the plea bargain which the prosecutor had offered us. In fact the plea offer was quite good.

When the judge stopped talking, I quickly walked over to the prosecutor, who said that if my client pled guilty, my client would simply receive credit for the time he had already spent in jail and that my client wouldn't have to spend any more time in jail. I told the prosecutor that I would prefer not to do that. I would prefer that my client be given deferred adjudication and be put on probation. Then he wouldn't have a felony conviction on his record.

I walked back over to my client and began talking with him about what he should do. I explained to him that the judge was going to use the parrot against him. At the same time, I began thinking I had read somewhere that parrots didn't really understand what they were saying. Although they could make sounds, they didn't comprehend the meaning of those sounds. Obviously, however, the judge was still going to use the parrot in order to link my client to the drugs. So, although I didn't want my client to plead guilty, it looked as if his pleading guilty was going to be necessary.

I could not see the meaning of life. I felt as if life had some kind of meaning, but I simply could not find it. I had hoped to find meaning in my writing, but even that eluded me.

Dream of: 10 December 1989 "Octopi And Porpoises"

I was with other college students in what appeared to be a college classroom where a film was being shown. The film showed some people talking about octopi and porpoises. It seemed as if there might be an animal which was a combination of the two. Some people in the film talked about one octopus which had been fed blueberry pie, and which might now be sick. When a picture of the octopus appeared on the film, I thought I could see its mouth. Then the film showed a man under water trying to catch another octopus. He grabbed one of its tentacles and slowed it down.

I decided to leave. I had my blue sleeping bag with me, which I decided to leave in the classroom until later. I folded it up and put it over to one side of the room.

I walked outside and began walking on the sidewalk in the middle of a large grassy oval which reminded me somewhat of the campus at The Ohio State University. As I walked, I realized I was carrying in my hand the last part of a joint which I had been smoking. I suddenly felt guilty about smoking the joint. My old high school friend, Steve Buckner, came to mind and I thought about how he had smoked both marijuana and cigarettes through most of his life. His father Mr. Buckner had even died of lung cancer. It was almost as if Buckner were trying to kill himself. Was I doing the same thing?

And what about all the people I had told about how I wanted to stop smoking marijuana? My old college professor, Rembert Glass, for instance. I felt quite terrible.

In January 1988, I moved out of the Dallas Zen Center and into a house on the far west side of Fort Worth, which I called "The Rock House" because it was constructed of large brown rocks, a type of house frequently found in Texas. The house was owned by the mother of my friend, Jon.

Jon and I had gone to law school together. He was about five years younger than I - a tall thin Texan with reddish hair. He was my best friend in law school and we continued being friends after we graduated. He began practicing law in Parker county, Texas (just west of Fort Worth) and he married his college sweetheart, Cathy. They did not live far from the Rock House and I sometimes visited them.

Dream of: 19 December 1989 "Not My Baby"

Cathy and I were in the kitchen of a house which appeared to be a mobile home. Apparently I was living with Cathy and her husband, Jon, in the house. I was showing Cathy a cup in which I had put quite a few marijuana seeds. I had intended to wash the seeds, because some marijuana was still mixed in with them, but now that I was looking at the seeds, I thought I might germinate them. I thought I would like to grow some marijuana, and now I had the opportunity to do so.

I saw a small problem with the idea. I knew talked with Pat Lang (an acquaintance) every week and told her my dreams. I had already told her I didn't want to have anything else to do with marijuana, but I also knew if I started raising marijuana, I was going to dream about marijuana. That presented a problem. I concluded I simply wouldn't read the dreams to her in which marijuana appeared.

I looked closer at the seeds and saw they were all white. When I picked up one in my hand, it was very soft, as if it hadn't developed. I handed the cup to Cathy so she could take a seed and feel it.

I told her I was uncertain the marijuana was going to grow from the seeds. If it didn't, I would try again with other seeds. Growing marijuana fascinated me so much I was sure I was going to do it, even though it might cost me a lot of time.


The next morning I was seated on a chair in the kitchen. Apparently I had slept there all night, and when I awoke, I discovered Cathy seated on my lap, completely nude. I was somewhat disconcerted, and I tried to remember what had happened between Cathy and me. Gradually I remembered that Jon hadn't been in the house for several days, and that Cathy and I had slept together and had sex. I still had visions of Cathy's naked body, a body which reminded me of someone else whom I couldn't remember.

Suddenly I remembered that Jon had returned last night and that he was probably in his room. I woke up Cathy and told her she needed to go to her room immediately. Gradually she awoke, and without saying anything and without getting dressed, she walked into Jon's room.

When she left, I noticed her black dog, Coco, was stretched on the top of the cabinets by the kitchen sink. For the first time I realized that Coco was Cathy's dog and not Jon's, and that it followed her everywhere she went. I called Coco and petted her when she came to me.

I was suddenly startled by the sound of Jon's voice in the next room. I looked and was able to see him. He was already completely dressed, wearing a sports coat and tie. Something about the clothes looked like those which an older man might wear.

It was immediately clear that Jon knew that Cathy had been with me. He was angry. That surprised me somewhat, because I didn't think it mattered to him whether Cathy slept with another man, but clearly it did matter to him. It looked as if he were taking off his belt to beat Cathy with it.

She ran to the kitchen and Jon followed her, his face disfigured with anger. I had never seen him like that. Clearly he knew everything. And he probably knew that during the days he hadn't been there, I had been sleeping with Cathy.

Cathy came to me for protection, but I didn't want to demonstrate to Jon that anything was between her and me. I asked him to give her another chance. I told him that Cathy didn't like me, but she said, "I don't know."

I knew that wasn't the right answer. I continued pleading with Jon not to be angry, but clearly he wasn't going to change. He made a motion with his hands as if someone were masturbating and said, "I know somebody who breast stroked her to sleep saying, she's my baby now."

I answered, "No she's not my baby."

At least I did work. I was not convinced of the worth of my work, but I was convinced that I at least needed to work at something.

Dream of: 10 February 1990 "Fields To Plow"

I was with three other men – my grandfather Liston, my old friend Randy Ramey and my friend Jon (Jon reminded me somewhat of Mike Walls). Liston was perhaps in his 60s, while Ramey and Jon were probably in their 30s. The four of us were sitting around in what at first seemed like a wooded area, but actually turned out to be the interior of a large old house. We smoked a bit of marijuana which one of the fellows had and almost immediately I become taciturn and introverted. I thought how pleasant it might be if we had a camp fire around which the four of us could quietly sit and contemplate. I didn't want to talk with anyone at the moment; I really had very little to say to these people. Actually I was only with them for companionship; verbal communication wasn't even necessary. We communicated on a level which simply showed we were compatible and related to each other. But the feeling actually wasn't very good, because even though we were companions, I still rather longed for someone with whom I could truly communicate.

After we had smoked the marijuana, we relaxed. I stretched my legs out in front of me on the ground, and Ramey sat between my legs with his back to me. I thought about how I knew the others there, and I slowly realized they were all fairly important in my life. Their importance had been confirmed by their frequent appearances in my dreams. I had kept track over the years of people who had appeared in my dreams – over 300 different people. I also knew certain people had appeared more often than others in my dreams. For example my father and my mother, and my ex-wife Louise had all frequently appeared. Ramey had also often appeared. I wanted to talk to him about it and I asked him how many people he knew.

I knew immediately that he thought my question strange, and that he didn't know how to answer. I wanted to explain to him how I kept track of the people who had appeared in my dreams, and how I therefore had somewhat of an idea of how many people I knew. I wanted to lead into how he was one of the more important figures in my life because he had appeared in so many dreams, but he didn't answer the question, and soon he appeared to have fallen asleep.

Meanwhile, my grandfather Liston stood and said he had to go plow some land out back. He left. Jon soon said he was going to go help Liston, and he likewise left. I certainly didn't want to go, and I gave leaving no thought. I also was sleepy, but after Ramey fell asleep, I stayed awake.

I soon noticed on a couch in the room a baggie which contained quite a bit of marijuana. I quickly picked it up and decided to take some. I dipped my right hand into the baggie, scooped out a handful and loaded it into my pocket. One joint was already rolled in the loose marijuana. At almost the same time, Ramey stirred and awoke. I picked up a Styrofoam cup, put some remaining marijuana in it, and quickly handed it to Ramey, suggesting we smoke more. He looked at me strangely; I thought he must have been wondering what his marijuana was now doing in a cup, but I didn't give him time to say anything. I quickly led him to the kitchen in the back of the house. I was anxious to begin smoking as quickly as possible.

As soon as we reached the kitchen, Ramey warned me that he thought he heard Liston returning. I quickly ducked into a large walk-in closet to hide the marijuana (I was now concerned Liston wouldn't approve of our smoking the marijuana). After setting the cup down in the corner of the closet, I saw the door had shut behind me. I heard Liston and Jon returning to the kitchen, and I picked up a broom – acting as if I had gone to the closet to fetch it – and I walked out of the closet. I looked out the back widow at the large field which Liston and Jon had finished plowing, and I said I was surprised they had finished so quickly. Jon said that was why he had gone to help. I was unsure exactly what Jon had done, but I was impressed that at least he had gone out there to help.

I wanted spiritual power, but I was weak. I would take a vow of one sort or another, then turn around and break it.

Dream of: 03 March 1990 "Eternal Friendship"

I was with a fellow (probably in his late 20s) with whom I had become close friends. He had short black hair and was somewhat shorter than I. Together we had gone into a building which seemed like either a bar or restaurant, and had descended to the basement where tables were set up for customers in different rooms. While my friend waited outside one room, I entered and scrutinized the faces of several men standing and seated around a table.

One of the men on the other side of the table reminded me somewhat of Gerald (a Fort Worth acquaintance whom I barely knew). Next to him was a fellow who I knew sold marijuana. I quickly spoke to Gerald and asked him if the fellow had any marijuana for sale at the moment and Gerald indicated that he probably did. Although the fellow with the marijuana and I had never met before, he seemed to know who I was and I thought he might sell me some. I spoke to him and we shook hands. Without further delay, I made my desire to buy some marijuana known to him and I asked him if he had any. He indicated he did, and in fact he pulled out a baggie with a small amount of marijuana in it.

I took the baggie in my hands and looked inside. The substance was dark green and almost had the consistency of powder. I thought it perhaps had been mixed with something else and might be of low quality. I asked the fellow how good it was and he indicated that it wasn't extremely potent, yet would still suffice. I asked if he had some he could sell me.

He told me he had some other marijuana which he called "Thai" which was extremely good which he could sell me for $300 an ounce. I thought that sounded expensive, but not unreasonable. Thai marijuana was reportedly highly potent, and it would probably last me a long time. But I didn't want to spend quite that much money, and I asked him if he could sell me a weight half ounce for $150.

He seemed unsure, and indicated it might be possible, but not at the moment. Since I wanted to smoke some marijuana right now, I asked if he would let me roll a joint from the baggie which I was still holding. He said I could, a cigarette paper was produced, and I prepared to begin rolling.

At that moment, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tall fellow with short black hair standing in the doorway. It seemed to me that he was spying on me and I thought he might be an undercover police officer. I immediately put the baggie of marijuana and the cigarette paper in the lap of the fellow who had given it to me, excused myself and left the building.


My friend (the black-haired fellow) was on a pay phone located on the outside wall of a building. Without his knowing it, I knelt down under the phone and listened to what he was saying. It quickly became clear to me that he was a police narcotics officer and that he had been trying to catch me with some illegal drugs. He was talking with someone else involved in the operation.

When I jumped up and confronted him, he hung up the phone. I was dumbfounded. I had felt so close to him and only recently we had made a pledge of eternal friendship to each other. Although I was terribly upset to learn that he was a narcotics officer, I still wanted to be his friend. I was finding it difficult to believe that all our friendship had been part of a trap. I thought that maybe we could continue being friends, and that I simply wouldn't use any drugs around him or tell him anything about them. But that idea also didn't seem workable to me. I was uncertain what to do. My thoughts felt quite confused.

I simply did not fit into society and I made little effort to do so. Yet I still wanted to be part of society. I still felt as if I had something to say which was worth hearing.

Dream of: 05 July 1990 "Conservatives In The Church"

After entering a church, I found a bed and television in a room where someone apparently was living. I lay down on the bed and pulled out a remote television control which I had been carrying with me. I used the remote to turn on the television, which I watched for a few minutes, but since I was concerned someone might discover me and have me arrested for trespassing, I rose and left.


I went to the Ressinger House (a two-story frame house in Portsmouth where my great-aunt Dorothy Ressinger and my great-uncle Adolph "Dolph" Ressinger lived when I was a child). It seemed to me I had left some marijuana in the house, and I wanted to retrieve the pot, but I didn't want to run into Dorothy or Dolph. After walking through the front door, I thought I could see Dolph far away in the back room. When I thought I also saw Dorothy, I quickly left, hoping no one had seen me.


I later returned to the Ressinger House and found Randy Ramey living there. He gave me a small baggie of marijuana, enough for five or six joints. I left with it, rolled some joints and smoked it.

A few days later I again returned to the House and found Mike Walls there with Ramey. They seemed to be my good friends, and I mentioned I would like to go to Florida with them. They seemed to think we should all just take off on a trip to Florida. When I asked Walls if he had any marijuana, he pulled out a rather large baggie of marijuana. Wanting to buy some, I asked him how much it would cost. He told me it was $250, which I thought too high.

Thinking I might just buy part of what he had, I asked if he would take $125 for half, and he said he would. I told him I only had about $25 with me, and he said that was all right, that I could pay him later, that he trusted me. I poured the marijuana out onto some paper and divided it into two stacks. I picked the seeds out of it, holding the paper and taping it so the seeds rolled to one end. I thought I might plant the seeds. I put my marijuana into a bag and prepared to leave.


I was on Waller Street in Portsmouth, next to Portsmouth High School. I had been walking around smoking quite a bit of marijuana. Quite a few cars were parked there, one of which reminded me of a car which Dale Phillips (an old Portsmouth schoolmate) used to own. At first I thought the car might even belong to Dale, but finally I concluded it probably didn't. I noticed another car which contained some very large sleeping bags, almost as big as the car.

Across Waller Street (where the funeral home normally stood) there now appeared to be a church. A gathering was taking place and I thought of going, but it appeared everyone there (most were in their late teens and early 20s) was straight and didn't use any drugs. I could see them sitting and standing around some tables. They all appeared to be clean and neatly dressed. Thinking I wouldn't fit in with such conservatives, I walked on by without stopping.

I learned to practice law, but I felt little sense of reward from doing so. I longed to be a writer. If I was certain of anything, I was certain that I needed to write something.

Dream of: 04 September 1990 "Intense Pressure"

I was sitting in a pew in a church. A man was seated on my right, and on the other side of him sat another man who resembled one of my bankruptcy clients, an abrasive fellow named Allen. The abrasive fellow began arguing out loud with the man next to me, even while the preacher was preaching. When the preacher stopped and looked in our direction, I indicated who was causing the problem, saying, "Its the man over there."

The preacher tried to talk to the man, but the man was simply out of control, furious about something. Nevertheless, the preacher continued talking politely to him. Finally it became clear that the preacher would be giving a service that day, but that people could return to the church on Saturday and pray. The preacher suggested it might be better for the angry man to return on Saturday to prayer service. The man would be able to talk at that time. The man seemed to calm down somewhat. It looked as if the man was going to depart and leave the church in peace.

I was sitting in a different part of the church when a woman (probably in her mid 50s) walked up. She resembled Betty Richhart (about 60 years old, the wife of Ron Richhart, a business acquaintance who often referred bankruptcy clients to me). She was carrying a lit marijuana joint in her hand which was unevenly burnt about half way down one side. Although she knew I hadn't been smoking marijuana lately, she asked me if I wanted the joint. I knew that I hadn't smoked any marijuana for about a month and I also knew that I had previously discussed smoking marijuana with the preacher. I didn't want to betray the preacher, but I thought smoking some marijuana right now (just for a little relief) wouldn't hurt anything. Nevertheless, I told her to take the joint away, that I didn't want any. She wanted to know if I was suffering because I wasn't smoking. I told her no, but then I added that sometimes I did feel some intense pressure, some intense pain. I told her I didn't "drag myself around in the gutter" just because of that. She seemed pleased by my comment. Then I added that if she left the joint there, I would definitely smoke it. She took it away, and I felt a bit of relief, but I also felt the strong urge to smoke.

Of course, not all my disaffection with society was misplaced. Millions of men and women were being brutally incarcerated simply because they chose to put a chemical substance into their own bodies. Laws allowing such barbarism were no better than the Nazi laws which had been used to incarcerate millions of Jews in concentration camps.

Dream of: 23 September 1990 "Controlling Man's Mind"

I had ridden a bicycle to Kentucky, across the Ohio River from Portsmouth, to a place where I had stashed some marijuana out in the country. As I approached the area, I remembered the marijuana was in a large cellophane bag, and there was about a pound of it. I also remembered the marijuana wasn't particularly good because it apparently had been mixed with something else. Since I had a small amount of much better marijuana back home, I debated whether to go for the marijuana I had stashed, or turn around and go back home for the better marijuana.

I passed an old man also riding a bicycle and then I turned onto a country lane. I was surprised to see a car pass me, and then I noticed another car nearby. Something seemed suspicious to me, and when I reached the place where I needed to turn to reach the marijuana, I turned the opposite way instead. The old man on the bicycle was near me and he said something about how lucky I was that I had turned that way. He and several other men then swooped down on me, pulled me from my bicycle, and began searching me, obviously for drugs. I protested loudly that I didn't have any drugs and that they had no right to search me. My protests didn't stop them, and the men continued emptying my pockets onto a table. By the time they had finished, perhaps a dozen policemen in blue uniforms were standing around me and helping. I was highly indignant and emotional. We all knew what they were doing was illegal, but no one seemed to care except me. I asked them how they could do that if they were policemen, but they seemed unconcerned. Finally I noticed Paul McCartney and John Lennon among the group, also dressed as policeman. They likewise obviously didn't think anything improper was going on. I looked at Paul and said, "And you Paul. I idolized you."

I said we all knew that Paul had used drugs. I asked him how he could now do what he was doing, but he didn't seem to think anything was wrong with the search. So I began talking to John. I tried to explain to him why it was wrong for society to be stopping people like this from using drugs. I said, "It is the individual man who controls man's mind, and not society."

I felt very strongly that the individual should decide what happened to his own mind.

Since the police had apparently finished with me, I began putting back into my pockets the things which they had taken out and had laid on a table. Among the items was some white powder which apparently was flour. I thought they had probably wondered why I had flour in my pocket and I thought the truth probably was that I had intended to use the flour to mix with cocaine. I scraped the flour together and put it in a small bowl. When I saw that a little white paper cup still had some flour in it, I poured the flour from the cup into the bowl. Only now did I notice a small amount of green marijuana in the bottom of the cup. I quickly grabbed up the marijuana, put it in my mouth, and chewed it. When I noticed a marijuana bud still in the flour, I likewise plopped the bud into my mouth. Apparently no one had seen the bud, and I was able to swallow it without being caught. But I had the feeling some of those present were thinking it suspicious that I was now chewing something.

My wife Carolina never (and I mean never) used any kind of psychotropic or illegal drug

Dream of: 11 October 1990 "I Might Return"

Mike Walls was showing my wife Carolina and me several baggies containing different kinds of drugs. I thought I might buy some. He showed me a baggie with a small amount of cocaine, and another which contained some marijuana. He wanted 410 for each baggie, and I was thinking of buying one. When I asked Carolina if it was all right for me to buy one of the baggies, and she excitedly replied, "No."

I began trying to persuade her that I should be able to buy one of the baggies. She finally said I could do whatever I wanted. However since she clearly didn't want me to buy anything, I finally decided not to buy.

As Carolina and I were leaving, however, I told Walls not to sell the drugs because I might return. I was unsure.

My conscience continued to send messages which I sometimes heeded. I still had not accepted, however, that my conscience was always right.

Dream of: 23 December 1990 "Dream Warnings"

My friend Cathy and I had gone to someone's house and were sitting around in the living room with seven or eight other people, three or four of which were seated on a couch. Finally I finally realized the people had some cocaine which they were dividing up into lines to snort. I debated to myself whether I would snort any cocaine if I were offered; I also wondered if Cathy would snort any.

They did offer some to Cathy and without hesitating, she snorted some. Suddenly I remembered I had had quite a few dreams where I had been in that same type of situation. Recalling that every time I had used cocaine in the dreams, I had regretted it, I decided I wasn't going to use any now. So when the cocaine was offered to me, I turned it down. I did however tell them I would smoke some marijuana, two or three joints of which were lying on the platter with the cocaine.

Another fellow picked up a joint to light, but before he lit it, he stuck a little bit of the white cocaine in the end of the joint. I thought that the cocaine probably wouldn't hurt anything and that I would smoke the cocaine like that.

The years flowed by and I marched toward my grave. I was still looking for meaning and still failing to find it.

Dream of: 19 February 1991 "Needing To Change"

I was a college student with a group of other college students. One student was a tall, attractive, brown-haired, well-built woman who had been having a serious relationship with me. The night before, both she and I had been at a party, and while there, I had smoked some marijuana. The woman didn't think people should smoke marijuana. She hadn't said anything at the party, but now she was letting me know that she no longer wanted to have anything else to do with me because I had smoked pot.

I thought about how the times had changed and how so many people had turned against marijuana. Journalists who had once written in favor of marijuana were now against it. The attitude of people in the whole country had dramatically changed against the use of marijuana. Still, I knew that many people still smoked marijuana, and that someone in the business of selling marijuana would have no problem finding customers. Many people still used marijuana, but they didn't want other people to know about it.

This woman, however, definitely didn't use marijuana and she didn't want to be around it - and she no longer wanted to be with me. That bothered me. I didn't know what to do, because I still wanted to be with the woman. As I talked with her, I thought if I promised her I would never use marijuana again, she might stay with me. I had made that promise before, and I had always gone back to using marijuana. However, I felt that this time I might be able to change.


The woman and I were lying on a bed, and another girl was lying between us. I crawled over the girl, lay next to the woman, and tried to kiss her. When she finally allowed me to kiss her on the lips, I knew she was going to take me back - on the condition that I would no longer use marijuana.


I was riding in the back of a pickup truck with the same group of college students and the woman. They were all rather rich and lived in the affluent hilltop area of Portsmouth. I was being taken to my mother's home, which was in a section of the hilltop called Indian Hills. I didn't know the address of my mother's home because my mother had just moved there. I lived next door to her in the smallest house in Indian Hills. I thought about how the other houses were bigger than mine. People like my old high school buddy, Roger Anderson, lived in larger houses, but I wasn't particularly concerned about living in a small house.

When we were close to my mother's home, the truck stopped to let me off. I climbed out of the truck and began walking up a pleasant lane shrouded with trees. As I walked along, kicking my way through the brown leaves on the sidewalk, I realized the woman whom I liked was walking with me. I also realized she was actually one of my old high school classmates, Cheryl.

When we were close to my mother's home, I suddenly realized that my wife Carolina (about 18 years old) was inside the house. I also realized I wouldn't be able to take Cheryl inside the house. Cognizant that I would hurt Carolina if I showed up with Cheryl, I thought, "I can't do that to her."

Even though I knew that I wanted to be with Cheryl and that my relationship with Carolina had ended, I couldn't bring myself to hurt Carolina. When Cheryl and I reached the door of the house, I could see Carolina inside through the window. Cheryl and I quickly turned around and began walking back down the street toward Cheryl's house. Looking back, I could see Carolina through the window putting on a blue jean jacket. Obviously she was going to follow us. She looked sad, but determined.

Cheryl and I began running, hoping to get far enough away from Carolina so she couldn't see us. I knew Carolina wouldn't directly follow us; but she would try to track us down.

Cheryl and I stopped running and began walking again. Abruptly Cheryl began talking to me about my using marijuana. I knew that the only time I had recently used marijuana was at the party the night before. I also realized I didn't need marijuana anymore; marijuana actually didn't do anything for me. What I really needed to do was change, and I could start changing if I stopped using marijuana. I told Cheryl that I didn't need marijuana, that I needed to change. She agreed.

I picked Cheryl up in my arms and began carrying her. I told her that part of the time I would carry her, and that part of the time she would have to carry me. She said that would be fine, but that right now I would have to carry her. I knew it would be hard to carry her for long, especially since Carolina was following us.


Cheryl and I were inside her house. I shouted, "Ho! Ho! Ho!"

I hoped that Carolina would hear me shouting and that she would refrain from coming into the house.

Cheryl and I walked to the door of her bedroom. I said, "Good-bye."

She looked at me puzzled and sadly said, "Good-bye."

She obviously wanted me to come into the bedroom with her.

Meanwhile, millions of people around the world were being locked up simply for possessing a controlled substance. I often felt as if I should do something to stop the cruel absurdity of locking up and torturing so many innocent people.

Dream of: 24 March 1991 "Jail In Lebanon"

As I was driving along in a car, I began wondering what it would be like to smuggle marijuana into the United States from Mexico. I had heard on the television that only about 15% of smugglers were caught. I was thinking about flying a small plane across the border in the Big Bend area of Texas. If I were followed by federal agents, I could simply crumple the marijuana and throw it out of the plane. Then the authorities would never be able to prove anything.

Up ahead of me I saw some police at an intersection. Since the police appeared to be stopping people who were pulling up in the right lane, I turned off on a little lane to the left. However, when I saw a policeman signaling me to come to him, I turned the car toward him and pulled up next to him.

He stepped up to my car, immediately pulled my black brief case out of the car, and ripped the briefcase apart to see if anything was in it. When he didn't find anything, he handed the briefcase back to me. He then looked at the front of my car; it sounded as if he said that something was wrong with my windshield wiper and that I was going to have to go to jail. But then I realized my windshield wiper wasn't the problem. Instead, the inspection sticker on my car had expired.

I told the officer that I had only recently bought the car and that I hadn't noticed that the inspection sticker had expired. He paid no attention to what I said, and he replied that anyone who swam on the beaches there in Lebanon would be a guest of the United States in jail. Only now did I realize I was in the country of Lebanon.

I continued talking to the policeman, trying to find out if there was some way I could take care of the problem without having to go to jail. I definitely didn't want to have to go to jail in Lebanon.

Living in such a repressive society pained me, especially since I felt a need to tell people who I was. Instead, I bottled up my true nature, not daring to express myself.

Dream of: 06 April 1991 "Hand Signs"

Two other men and I went to an office where an Hispanic man (perhaps 50 years old) was seated at a desk. The Hispanic man was a bit overweight, and dressed in a brown suit. The two other men and I had come there because the man sold marijuana, and we wanted to buy some. I and one of the two men with me knew the Hispanic man, although it had been a long time since I had seen him. The man who knew the Hispanic man began speaking with him, while the other man and I waited. Finally the Hispanic man said he wanted to see my driver's license and the driver's license of the man waiting with me. When the Hispanic man saw my license, he remembered that he knew me.

When I walked toward the Hispanic man, he was friendly and he said I could return the following morning for the marijuana. Apparently he had a lot, but he had to be careful to whom he sold it. The other two men and I then left.


The other two men were riding bicycles down the street, talking about the marijuana. They said the marijuana was gold colored and was powerful. One hit would make someone stoned. I told them the best marijuana I had ever smoked was green, and I remembered I had gotten stoned on just one hit.


My wife Carolina and I were in Portsmouth in a store where Blackstock (a former law school classmate) was living. He looked a little like Grierson (a Portsmouth acquaintance when I was in high school). Blackstock was talking with me about the marijuana we were going to buy. Since I didn't want Carolina to know I was buying marijuana, with hand signs I asked Blackstock how much the marijuana was going to cost. With hand signs he told me it was going to cost $500 for half an ounce. I thought that sounded like too much money, but I thought I would probably pay it. In fact I thought I might pay $1,000 for a whole ounce, since I thought it would last a long time. Nevertheless, it seemed incredible that people would pay that much for marijuana.

I was sitting on the floor, where I saw pieces of chocolate lying on a piece of paper. Blackstock ate some, but he didn't offer me any. The chocolate looked rich, and I wanted to eat some, but I didn't.

The issue of freedom remained dear to my heart. At least I felt free to write what I wanted, and in the writing, I seemed to see some direction for my life. Perhaps my writing could even influence people to protest against the atrocious laws which so unjustly deprived so many people of their freedom.

Dream of: 24 April 1991 "A Question Of Freedom"

Carolina and I were in the old tobacco barn on the Gallia County Farm. I was carrying a box full of marijuana leaves which looked like tobacco leaves. I had found and cut the marijuana there on the Farm, and then I had brought the marijuana to the tobacco barn. I explained to Carolina that I was going to put the marijuana there in the barn and I tried to think of exactly where to put it. I remembered that some tobacco was hanging in an attic in the barn, and I decided to put the marijuana there. I would climb up to where the tobacco was hanging, and hang the marijuana with the tobacco. That way the marijuana would be able to dry just the way the tobacco was drying. I grabbed an armful of the marijuana, climbed up into the attic and hung it up.

As soon as I got back on the ground, I saw a black police officer walking into the barn and I pushed the box with the rest of the marijuana under a table. The officer walked up to me and asked me what I was doing there. Only now did I notice that a marijuana leaf had fallen onto the ground. The police officer also saw the leaf and he told me he was going to arrest me. I begged him not to arrest me. He seemed friendly enough and he didn't seem as if he really wanted to arrest me, but he seemed to think he didn't have any alternative. When he finally said it was possible that he just give me a fine, I thanked him. He said he first had to make a call on a telephone which he had in order to determine if he could simply give me a fine.

He made a call on the phone, and as we waited for a response, he asked me why so many people used marijuana. I told him it was a question of freedom. I also mentioned that marijuana grew wild. He then mentioned the name of another poisonous plant which also grew wild. I then told him that marijuana didn't kill anyone.

As we talked, many other people began walking into the barn. I moved close to Carolina and told her she should leave, because I didn't want her to be arrested. Suddenly two other white police officers walked in and began snooping around until they noticed the box which had the marijuana in it. When they opened the box and saw just how much marijuana was in it, the black police officer said he would indeed have to arrest me.

In the confusion of so many people having entered the barn, I was able to mix in with the other people so the police couldn't see me. I saw a chance and I took off running. I heard someone (apparently the police) screaming, but I just kept running.

Much, if not most, of the time, I felt like a bad person. I was not a knight in shining armor. I was simply doing what I could to survive. And I did not feel good about it.

Dream of: 21 May 1991 "Golden Helmet"

I awoke about 6:30 a.m. at my old friend Steve Weinstein's New York City apartment where I had spent the night. I had arrived in New York the night before and was planning to visit Weinstein for a short while. We had gone to bed around 1:30 a.m., so I had only slept about five hours. I tried to remember whether I had come to New York to visit Weinstein, or whether I had simply stopped in New York on my way to Europe. I finally concluded that although I would like to go to Europe, I didn't have the time to do so right now, and that I would have to return to my home on Monday.

I stood and walked into the next room where some quilts were piled on the floor. I remembered that Weinstein had once made one or two quilts, and I thought how I would like to make one. It didn't seem as if making a quilt would be that difficult. I even imagined sewing the pieces of a quilt together and I envisioned a rather elaborate design.

After walking to the pile of quilts and stepping onto them, I realized that somebody was sleeping under the quilts and that I had stepped on the person. I quickly backed away, remembering that one or two women lived in the apartment with Weinstein, and concluding that they must be sleeping under the quilts.

I walked into another room of the rather large apartment and found an elaborate wooden bed on which I sat down. I must have made some noise because Weinstein soon walked in. As I stretched out on the bed, I told him I had probably gained 25 pounds since I had last seen him and I asked if he had noticed. Apparently he hadn't.

I hadn't had a chance to talk with Weinstein yet and I was anxious to find out how he was and what he had been doing. After I rose from the bed, Weinstein and I walked into the kitchen, where we were joined by my old Portsmouth friend Steve Buckner who had come with me to visit Weinstein. I could tell immediately that Weinstein wasn't happy that Buckner was there, and I regretted having brought Buckner along.

When I asked Weinstein to tell me what was different in his life since the last time I had seen him, he told me that his financial life had changed and that he was now earning $60 an hour. I was surprised and impressed. I thought of telling him that I now had $40,000 in the bank and that another $155,000 was owed to me, but I decided not to say anything about it. I asked him what he was doing with his money, and he told me he had lent some to a woman friend. He told me he would lend me some, at interest, if I needed it. When I asked how much he had lent his friend, he said $3,000. That didn't seem like much, and I thought he could surely afford to lose that if his friend didn't repay him.

What I really wanted to know was whether he had been writing anything. After he had finished fixing himself something to eat and had sat down at the kitchen table, I bluntly asked if he had written anything lately. He told me he was on the thirteenth line of an epic poem. That didn't seem like much to me, as I thought about the thousands of pages of dreams that I had written.

I finally stood up and walked outside. As I stood in front of Weinstein's building, I abruptly realized that Weinstein was actually living in a dormitory on a college campus. I walked over to the base of a large tree which seemed familiar to me, and I remembered that I had been there once before many years ago, and that I had put some fertilizer on the tree. I bent down and began digging a hole next to the tree, thinking I would once again like to put some fertilizer there. When I encountered some loose sand, I thought the sand was part of the fertilizer which I had so long ago deposited there. I dug for a while until I was about 30 centimeters deep. Then, to my surprise, I saw something shiny in the dirt, and I continued digging until I was able to extract a small golden helmet like a knight in the middle ages might have worn. The helmet was in good condition and I was quite happy with my find.

I continued digging until I saw some black plastic, like a black garbage bag. Picking the plastic out of the dirt, I soon found inside the black plastic a small baggie containing marijuana and some plastic pills. I then found a second baggie with more red capsule pills which I thought might be amphetamines. Some pills fell out and I gathered them up. I thought a college student must have buried the baggies there long ago and had forgotten them. I figured drugs were probably buried around many trees there on campus.

I then saw a larger garbage bag closer to the surface, only slightly covered with dirt and leaves. I pulled it out and concluded it must also contain marijuana, perhaps a pound or two. I could feel something hard inside the bag, as if it were a compressed brick of marijuana. I then found yet another second garbage bag which also seemed to contain marijuana. I gathered up everything in my arms, intending to take it all inside to show Weinstein and Buckner. I hoped no police saw me.

Writing was the answer. I did not know exactly what to write, but I knew I needed to write something.

Dream of: 07 July 1991 "Biology Class"

I had enrolled in a biology class because I had decided I would like to become a medical doctor, and to do so, I first needed to take several classes in biology. The class was the second level, and I had never taken the first level course, so it was rather difficult for me. But I liked the class and I thought I could do well in it.

On either the first or second day of class, four or five other students and I were brought together by the teacher to be given a test which consisted of examining four or five actual biological exhibits and then somehow making comparisons among them. One exhibit consisted of a pool of water with a plant growing in it. I walked back and forth among the exhibits and tried to grasp the concepts involved. I could feel my mind straining without much result, but I still felt intellectually stimulated by the test. Suddenly one of the other students came up with the correct answer, which turned out to be a series of letters. Only now did I discover that the test had been multiple choice and that the other students had seen different answers written down and had been able to pick one. I thought if I had been able to see the answers I could have picked the correct one, also.

I received about five pieces of paper which contained the information about the exhibits and the test. I taped them together into one long sheet.


I was in an apartment into which I had recently moved. I was filling quite good about myself, as if I were finally getting my life together after having made so many mistakes. I heard something outside, looked out and saw that Mike Walls (about 20 years old) had pulled up in front in a car. I was happy to see him. He seemed healthy and still had black hair. I went to the door, opened it, and signaled for him to come in. I was wearing a coat and since the room was rather cold, I walked over and turned up the gas heater so Walls would be more comfortable when he came in.

I then picked up a small vial which contained some dried leaves. I smelled the contents and concluded that some marijuana was in it and that Walls and I could smoke some. Part of why I was feeling so good was because I had quit using drugs. It didn't register with me that smoking marijuana would change that fact in any way. I thought the marijuana belonged to Steve Buckner, but I didn't think he would care if Walls and I smoked a joint out of it.

While thinking about the marijuana, I had completely forgotten about Walls. When he came back to my mind, I went into the front room and found him sitting there. I picked a cigarette rolling paper out of several which were on a tray on a shelf. It was a bit strange because it seemed as if the papers belonged to Walls' father and as if we were actually in Walls' house. I sat down at a kitchen table and Walls sat on the other side. I was completely naked from the waist down, but I didn't feel embarrassed in front of Walls. I talked to him about how much better my life was now. When I used to sell drugs, I had always thought I was going to make a lot of money on one big deal someday, but it had never happened. Now I was much better off without that kind of thought. However it suddenly occurred to me that Buckner was still trying to make that one big deal, and that Buckner was in the next room. I stood up and hollered to Buckner and he walked in. He also seemed young and healthy and he confirmed what I had thought, that he was still trying to make that one big drug deal which would set him up.

I knew that Buckner was well-educated and that he was also thinking of studying biology. I had my five papers which I had taped together on the table. I told him he should read it, that it was quite interesting.

Writing became important to me, but not important enough to focus all my time on it. Increasingly, however, I thought I would never find any meaning in my life unless I focused on writing.

Dream of: 30 July 1991 "Slender As Wires"

I was living with a man and his wife in their new house which sat on the side of a hill. The man resembled Preston, my oldest bankruptcy client. One day I arrived at the house while they weren't at home. I walked inside into the kitchen, picked up a cigarette and began smoking it. Some coins and some loose marijuana were lying on the stove where the man apparently had laid them after taking them out of his pocket. There were also a couple of regular sized joints, as well as what appeared to be smaller joints as slender as wires. I picked up one of the slender ones; it even felt stiff like a wire. It was already lit and smoke was coming off one end. I realized the smoke from the slender joints was to be sniffed through the nose, and not to be smoked through the mouth. So I sniffed some.

I was tempted to purloin some of the marijuana. I figured the man wouldn't miss it. I also thought I needed to leave because if the man and his wife came home, they would smell the cigarette and marijuana smoke and would know what I had been doing. I took one of the joints, and also put some of the loose marijuana in some rolling paper. As I exited, I thought I needed to talk to the man to see if he could buy me some marijuana. I had the money, but I didn't know where to buy the marijuana. Obviously he did. I would like to have some powerful marijuana, not just ordinary marijuana. But I didn't know if that would be possible.

However, since I still didn't want him to know I had taken any of his marijuana, I went outside and drove off.

It looked as if life might still hold some promise, if I could only learn to concentrate.

Dream of: 11 January 1992 "Acrobatic Feats"

I was in a spacious old dilapidated house in Portsmouth. I was talking to a group of elderly women who had come to see me regarding a legal matter.


I had left the house and then returned, this time carrying a large monkey wrench. The women were still there. I was dressed in working clothes, and the women were obviously curious about what I was doing. I didn't want to stop and explain to them; I just wanted to do some work on the house, which was in poor shape.


I was with my father, who was talking with me about staying in Portsmouth and working there on a permanent basis. I already had a couple ideas of what I could do to earn money there. My father had a business where food was delivered to different locations, and he suggested I could work in that. But to myself I was thinking there was no way I could make as much money working in Portsmouth as I could in Dallas, where I was making over $10,000 a month. I was sure I couldn't do that in Portsmouth. Still, I wanted to think about the idea.


I had gone to visit a gigantic brick house which my father apparently owned in the affluent hilltop area of Portsmouth. Across the street from the house was a little brick road and a brick shelter with a high ceiling. I was standing in the shelter and practicing doing some acrobatic feats. I had a cane and with the cane I would propel myself up into the air, where I would float around.

A priest had walked up and was watching me. When I had finished my tricks, he commented on how well I had performed them. He was correct; I was proud that I had performed so well.


While in Portsmouth, I was thinking of raising some marijuana to sell. Since I now owned quite a bit of property, I had to be careful that my property wouldn't be confiscated if the marijuana were found. It might be best to buy an old abandoned house, and then convert one room into a place to raise marijuana. Helicopters could detect halogen lamps being used to raise marijuana; so I would probably raise small amounts. I would probably raise fewer than eight plants to start out with to see how it worked out.

Not so easily, however, could I break out of my legalistic mind-frame. My future seemed to be already determined by my past.

Dream of: 01 May 1992 "Reasonably Prudent"

I was in a large law class being taught by a man (probably in his 40s). The students were given the task of writing a report and were given several different topics from which to choose. I choose a topic dealing with marijuana, and began writing in red ink.


The following day, after I had completed one page of the report, I returned to the class. When I looked around and saw that other people had written two- or three-page reports, I felt as if I needed to write more.

I had divided my report into five sections, and had completed only four of the sections. I began working on the last section, at first using blue ink, and then switching back to red ink so the ink would match with what I had already written. Concentrating on search and seizure law, I was trying to think of some aspect of search and seizure law which would prevent a search from taking place. I couldn't recall exactly, but it seemed that if a person was in a place where it was "reasonably prudent" to be, then the person couldn't be searched. I also thought the test had something to do with whether the search was "capricious."

I began wondering if the teacher might ask me to bring some marijuana to the classroom as part of the assignment. I thought I would refuse to do that since I could be arrested. In fact I might even threaten the teacher with arrest for asking me to do such a thing.

I had difficulty facing facts. I sometimes thought of myself as a bad person incapable of change. Most of the time, however, I deluded myself into thinking that I was a good person and that I had high ideals. In reality I was mostly concerned about myself and my own welfare.

Dream of: 12 September 1992 "The Netherlands"

While driving a blue car in the Netherlands, I stopped at a gas station and walked in. After inquiry, I learned I could purchase marijuana there. I was shown the green marijuana, and wanting to try it before buying any, I rolled a joint, lit it, and passed it around among four other men. After about a third of the joint had been smoked, I was already strongly feeling the effects and was convinced of the potency of the drug.

Ten large plastic baggies of the marijuana were brought out to me. Together they contained one pound of marijuana. When the marijuana was laid in front of me, I was anxious to buy it, but I was also apprehensive that the whole deal might be a set-up and that as soon as I bought the marijuana I would be arrested. It seemed so strange to me that purchasing marijuana was actually legal in the Netherlands.


I was standing in a house where I was living in the United States. I was looking down into the back yard where I could see the blue car I had been driving in the Netherlands. I recalled having driven the car to the house, and I recalled I had hidden the marijuana in the trunk, but I had been so stoned, I couldn't recall if I had taken the marijuana out of the trunk. If I had taken it out, I figured I had hidden it under a large rock lying next to a shed near the car.

I walked back to the bedroom where I had been staying in the house. The house belonged to a relative, perhaps a grand-parent. There was an air duct on the ground and I pulled it up and urinated into the conduit below. I had earlier also thrown some nuts into the conduit. I realized a stench would develop when the nuts and urine began to decompose, but I couldn't do much about it now.

I wanted to go down and check the car for the marijuana, but too many people were around. The car belonged to my father (who seemed somewhat like my actual father and somewhat like Bill Clinton). He was preparing to go somewhere. and I needed to do something about the marijuana, because I knew if he were pulled over by the police for some reason and the marijuana was in the car, he might be arrested. I walked down to the car with him, and when no one was looking, I quickly looked under the rock. The marijuana, which looked like large walnuts, was there. I could relax about my father taking the car.


I was watching a scene where a young man had joined a labor union. The young man's father, Bill Clinton, was running for president. The labor union was opposed to Bill Clinton, and unbeknown to the young man, the labor union was going to try to use the man against Clinton. The plan was to have the young man admit he had used marijuana. The men in the labor union thought this would hurt Clinton. It was still unsure, however, whether the young man would admit he had smoked marijuana in order to hurt his father.

I became more haughty. Sometimes, however, by writing, I caught glimpses of myself.

Dream of: 20 September 1992 "Unacceptable"

I was in the process of buying some marijuana from a fellow in the living room of a house. Another man who was a friend of mine was with me. The fellow selling the marijuana had been showing us a baggie of marijuana. I wasn't paying close attention to what was going on and the fellow selling the marijuana walked outside for a few minutes, leaving the baggie of marijuana with my friend an me. When the fellow returned, he brought in a second baggie of marijuana and told my friend and me that he was going to have to give me the second baggie of marijuana rather than the first baggie. He then left again, leaving both baggies behind with us.

I walked over, examined the two hefty baggies of marijuana and told my friend that the second baggie of marijuana was unacceptable and that I wanted the first one. Apparently the fellow wanted to give the first baggie to another person outside, but I decided I wasn't going to allow it.

My conscience repeatedly warned me that my thirst for pleasure could have dire consequences.

Dream of: 28 September 1992 "Precarious Position"

While my friends Jon, Mike Walls and I were in the living room of a house, a woman (about 20 years old) walked into the room. She thought Jon had some marijuana and she wanted him to give her some. Even though Jon said he didn't have any marijuana, I also thought he had some, and finally he pulled out a joint. The woman seemed desperate to get it, and finally someone suggested that if she perform fellatio on all three of us she could have the joint. She hesitated, but finally to my surprise, she agreed to do it.

I was to be first; I took off my clothes and watched as she stuck my penis into her mouth, but I couldn't seem to feel much sensation. She rolled my penis over to one side, so it was still in her mouth, but on the outside of her teeth. As she gently put pressure on my penis with her teeth, I reflected upon the precariousness of my position if she would decide to bite down on my penis.

Nothing on earth equals the reward of following one's conscience.

Dream of: 09 October 1992 "Negative Impact"

My old friend Steve Buckner and I went to another fellow's home to see if we could buy some marijuana from the fellow. When Buckner and I  discovered that the fellow wasn't home, we walked into the home anyway. Since Buckner knew where the fellow stashed his marijuana, he found it, stuck some into a baggie and left $10 behind. I was unsure that Buckner should have taken the marijuana that way, but I didn't interfere. I even thought I might come back later and buy some marijuana from the fellow myself.

We returned to Buckner's house and began smoking. After a while, however, I realized that although I enjoyed the taste of the marijuana, I wasn't feeling any effects from it.

Suddenly a news report flashed on the television about someone who had gone to another person's house and taken some marijuana. Apparently the person who had taken the marijuana had then been arrested.

I reflected on how similar the news story was to what Buckner had done, and I began thinking about smoking marijuana in general. I really didn't enjoy marijuana that much any more and I questioned why I even bothered. Plus I was concerned that marijuana might be having a negative impact on my remembering my dreams. Perhaps it was time for me to give up marijuana for good.

To thine own conscience be true.

Dream of: 26 November 1992 "Dangerous Business"

I was sitting on the passenger side of a large semi-truck which a fellow who looked like Charlie Sheen was driving. Another fellow in his late teens was sitting in the middle. Since I wanted to get out of the truck as soon as I could - probably at the next stop sign - I began gathering together a few things which I had. As we approached the stop sign, I opened the door to hop out. When the driver only slowed down and didn't come to a complete stop, I screamed at him to stop. As the truck finally ground to a stop, I jumped out. When the truck pulled away, I heard the driver and the other fellow laughing, and I hollered out, "Sick!"

After the truck had disappeared, I walked into a small store where I noticed two small baggies of marijuana and some loose marijuana lying on a counter. Apparently the fellow behind the counter was selling the marijuana to another fellow on my side of the counter. When the fellow buying the marijuana wasn't looking, the fellow behind the counter scrapped some of the loose marijuana back to his side.

I observed the transaction. It appeared the buyer was paying $111 for the marijuana.


I was sitting at a table in a restaurant with two teenage girls. One girl (who appeared to be my girlfriend) had gone into business selling marijuana to a few of her friends. She had already made two or three sales.

Suddenly several black fellows walked up to our table and crowded in. As the black fellows sat down on the other side of the table, I saw that my girlfriend was scared and I pulled her around close to me. I knew the black fellows were trying to buy drugs from my girlfriend, and I told her this was what happened when someone started selling drugs. I recalled that I used to sell drugs to black people, but I had known who they were and I hadn't solicited their business. In contrast, although these black fellows obviously wanted to buy drugs, we didn't know who they were. I thought that the drug business was too dangerous and that my girlfriend shouldn't even be selling drugs to begin with.

I was living in the middle of something known as the Drug War, a very real war which the United States was waging against its own people.

Dream of: 26 December 1992 "Attic Hiding-Place"

While several people and I were sitting in the kitchen of my father's huge Gay Street House in Portsmouth, we all began smoking a marijuana joint. I passed the joint around once and when other people came in, I passed it around again. As the room filled with smoke, I at first wondered if somebody was going to offer a hit to a tall well-built man with black hair (who appeared to be in his 40s) who was standing by the stove. Then I noticed the man was wearing a police uniform. He was wearing shorts, but they were police shorts. He looked around, then left.

I immediately became worried that he might return and try to arrest everyone, so I decided to try to hide up in the attic. I knew a place up there where I could crawl under the floor of the attic and hide. I hurried up to the attic, but when I reached it, the attic seemed to have changed and I couldn't find the place for which I was looking. I continued searching for the hiding-place, fearing the policeman would show up in the attic at any time.

There was no escape from my conscience. Fear, however, sometimes prevented my doing what I knew I should do.

Dream of: 22 January 1993 "Plan of Escape"

I was in a rather large house somewhere in the country. I appeared to be in a room of the fixed-up basement. As I talked with a thin short-haired fellow (perhaps 30 years old), I quickly realized he dealt marijuana on a rather large scale. Although I had never met him before, we quickly took to each other and were soon discussing his business. I was impressed that he sold marijuana in large quantities, but at the same time, I was rather disappointed in him that he would be wasting his life doing that. I told him that he could have been anything he wanted and that it still wasn't too late. He could go to college and become anything. But he didn't seem interested. Instead he spoke about how much money he was making. He said that about a couple years ago he had gone from $200,000 to $350,000 in just 10 days. I interpolated that by now he must have millions of dollars.

Several other people were also in the room; some seemed to be working on preparing some new marijuana which the fellow had acquired. I finally noticed someone had lit up a joint and I saw three people standing next to each other smoking it. I walked over to them, anxious to smoke some myself. Another rather squat woman followed me. After all three of them had smoked, the third person started to hand the joint back to the first person. I interrupted and asked him to give it to me. He did and I took an extremely long drag off it. I wanted to pump as much smoke as I could into my lungs. When I was finished, I noticed the paper from the joint was stuck to my lips and was difficult to pull away. But I did so and I handed the joint to the woman who had followed me, who was obviously anxious to smoke some, too.

I then began daydreaming about what would happen if the police were to come. I imagined I might go up into the attic and try to hide. I might find some insulation between the rafters and hide under it. Or if the insulation was cellulose, I might crawl into it and cover myself. Or I might climb out onto the roof and sit on top of a gable. Perhaps I might even take some marijuana with me. I might be able to carry as much as 50 pounds. If I could get away with that, I could sell the marijuana later and become rich. If there was a tree overhanging the roof, I could climb up into the branches and hide. I could wait until the police left, then come down. Or if other trees were nearby I might even be able to climb to another tree and get out of sight. I could then drop to the ground and escape through the woods.

Seeing the deficiency of others was much easier than seeing deficiencies in myself.

Dream of: 29 September 1993 "Hypocrisy"

I was with three other men who belonged to a drug enforcement agency (I also belonged to the agency). We were all in a house on a gigantic farm which belonged to Jane Fonda and Ted Turner, whom we were trying to bust. While in the living room, watching the others search through the house for drugs, I wondered if the agents would be able to confiscate the entire farm if they only found a minute amount of marijuana.

I finally walked outside, sat down with the men, and began talking with them. The men's hypocrisy offended me because all three had formerly used drugs. I had even smoked marijuana before with all of them. When I asked one man how many times he had used drugs, he admitted he had smoked pot 56 times. I was surprised that he had kept count. The other two admitted that they likewise had used pot before. When they asked me how many times I had used pot, I estimated I had probably smoked pot about 150 times.

I thought to myself that I wished they would change their minds and not try to bust these people. I was also thinking if they did find a lot of dope and did try to bust them, I was going to pull a gun on them and steal the dope. I would tie them up and leave them there.

I had already arranged for my old friend Steve Buckner to pick me up in a train or a helicopter, and I had already formulated a prearranged plan to escape with the drugs.

Still absorbed in my own selfish desires, I nevertheless understood that I had a role to play on the battlefield of history.

Dream of: 02 March 1994 "Living In The Past"

I was in the House in Patriot, in the past, probably around the year 1840. I thought I would probably live for another 50 years and I knew that both the Mexican War and the Civil War would take place in the coming years. I was grateful that I would be too old to fight in the Civil War because the war was going to be so terrible.

Several other people were in the room, most of whom looked as if they were asleep. When a man showed up, someone mentioned that the man had some marijuana. As soon as he walked in, everyone seemed to wake up, and 20-30 people walked into the living room/kitchen area and sat down. I sat down on the floor, while the man sat down in a chair on my right. Another fellow, one of the main people in the group, sat on my left, so I was in the middle of the two main people, while all the others were scattered around the rest of the room.

The man who had arrived pulled a cloth out of his pocket, opened it and showed that he had about 15 joints wrapped inside. After he handed the cloth to me, I laid it on the floor, opened it up, and looked at the joints, all of which were badly rolled. I opened up one joint which contained very dry marijuana. I intended to fix the joint, but I tore it. Then I noticed that two rolling papers had been used to roll the joint. I took off one of the papers and just used one paper to re-roll the joint. The end result was not perfect, but was tolerable.

Someone threw some moist celery leaves on the pile of joints and said the celery leaves would help if I would add them when I rolled the joints. 

The fellow on my left had a little can which he had converted into a pipe with a little spout which contained some marijuana. Before I could light up the joint, the fellow on my left lit up his can-pipe and started to pass it to the fellow sitting right across from us. Before he could pass the pipe to the fellow, however, I reached out and took the pipe in my hand. I had been thinking that I might not smoke anything, because I hadn't smoked in a long time, and because I had been feeling bad about smoking pot. When I saw the pipe, however, I couldn't resist. I put the pipe to my mouth and began inhaling and inhaling. I wondered how long I could continue inhaling. Finally I stopped and handed the pipe to the fellow on my right.

I didn't feel any effects of the marijuana and I continued working on rolling the joint. I knew that the other people were waiting for the joint, that they had come into the room because they wanted to smoke.


We were all outside in the large yard beside the House. It was near midnight and this was a special night which had something to do with the independence of Texas. Someone was shooting off fireworks, and in the background I could hear Spanish singing. I felt somewhat bad, because I had left my grandmother Leacy sleeping inside the House. She was missing all the activity.

The two men who had been on each side of me in the House were also in the side yard. It was dark where we were, but I could still see everyone. They began moving around and talking loudly. They were actors and were trying to act out some kind of scene. Everybody was watching them. As I watched, I thought this must be what it had been like in ancient times, such as in ancient Greek, when the troops would go into the field, getting ready for battle. Actors would act out scenes around the campfire.

The two actors began moving from one side of the yard to the other, and the crowd began following them.

I hadn't smoked any more; I felt bad about the little that I had smoked and I wanted to get away from everyone. I just sat there as the others moved to the other side of the yard. Finally I stood up and the others began moving back toward me. I now saw some women in the group, one of whom was extremely attractive. She was probably in her late 20s and had black hair. I thought I would like to take her with me and leave. It somewhat seemed as if we were on the Gallia County Farm and I thought she and I might be able to walk off in the woods together. As the group came closer to me, I motioned to the woman to go around the side of the House. She complied; but the others also followed us, so we didn't get away from them.

Although I wanted to live far away in foreign lands, I seemed to by continually drawn back to Portsmouth and the hills of southeastern Ohio.

Dream of: 16 August 1994 "Flimsy Tower"

I was driving a car around Portsmouth, when I came to the corner of Offnere and Ninth Street where my sister's ex-husband James had bought a house. As I looked at the two-story house, I reflected how I had expected it to be constructed of red bricks, but instead, the house appeared to have some kind of brown siding on it. I stopped the car, parked and got out. After walking up onto the porch of the house, I could see a woman inside, who I thought must be James' mother. When I asked through the screen door if James were home, the woman told me that James was upstairs. Seeing the stairs right inside the door, I walked on in and headed up.

After finding James in one of the upstairs rooms, I talked with him for a few minutes. I told him how much I liked his house, especially the hardwood floors which were throughout the house. I thought to myself that the floors could be sanded down into good shape. As we talked, I noticed a cellophane baggie which appeared to contain marijuana lying on a table. I also noticed a wad of money on the table. Concluding that James was probably selling drugs, I asked him if he had any marijuana which I could buy. We kept talking, but he didn't answer my question. Finally, however, he rolled up a gigantic joint and lit it. The joint was about 15 centimeters long and about 2 centimeters in diameter. After James took a hit from the joint and handed it to me, I noticed the joint was burning down on one side.

I took a long hit. I inhaled and inhaled. Finally I passed the joint back to James, who took a hit and then passed it back to me. Although we had only taken two hits apiece, I was already beginning to feel the effects, and we stopped smoking. I still wasn't sure that I was actually feeling anything. I thought I wanted to smoke more – I hadn't had enough. I was also asking myself whether the marijuana was any good.

I also noticed James was completely naked. His nudity seemed strange, but didn't really bother me.

As we had been smoking, James and I had walked outside and from where we were, I could see the entire surrounding area. I noticed all the nearby houses had been torn down, although I could see some apartment buildings which weren't far away. I could also see a large green hill in back of James' house. I commented to James about how isolated he was there.

James mentioned that he knew someone who might be up on the hill, and that the person had some powerful marijuana. I thought he was talking about Thai sticks. We began walking toward the green hill. James wanted to show me the view from atop the hill so we could look down at his house and see what it looked like; he was obviously proud of his house. As we walked, I told him my mother had told me he had only paid $17,000 for the house. James responded that he had actually paid $22,000. I then remembered my mother had later corrected herself and had said that James had actually paid $22,000 for the house. It was such a large house, I thought he had gotten a good deal on it.

As we walked closer to the hill, we reached a place where the hill was straight up perpendicular. I had to grab onto some grass and hold on as I climbed the hill. When we reached the top, I saw a tower we could climb which had a small place up on top where we could sit. James, however, didn't want to climb the tower. Even though I realized we were already very high, I wanted to go higher, so I climbed up to the top of the tower. As I looked around, I felt rather frightened to be up so high, and I was concerned I might fall off. The tower was rather flimsy and I was worried it might collapse. Finally, I climbed down off the tower.

I was still interested in finding the person on the hill who had the powerful marijuana, but James indicated the person wasn't there now. So we headed back toward his house.

When we reached his house, I still wanted to smoke some good marijuana instead of the stuff which James had. I told him I would give him $10 for a joint of some good marijuana if he could get it for me. He walked into the next room and finally returned with some superb marijuana. As he gave me a joint and I handed him $10, Mike Walls walked into the room.

Walls began talking about a Portsmouth girl who apparently had once known me. Apparently she had been in in some kind of contest in which she had compared another fellow to me. I didn't know the girl, and I asked Walls how old she was. He said she was younger than I. I thought she must be somebody who used to know me when I used to live in Portsmouth.

I lit the joint which I had bought from James, took a deep hit, and passed it around. The joint didn't last long and we were only able to get a couple hits apiece from it, but I quickly began to feel the effects. I was somewhat concerned because I hadn't smoked marijuana in a long time, and now there I was smoking it again. I tried not to let my concern bother me, and I concentrated on just feeling the effects of the marijuana.

I could not explain why I would wage an implacable battle with my conscience, but often I simply seemed determined not to listen to my conscience.

Dream of: 05 September 1994 "Garbled Speech"

I was on the main street of a small town which looked something like Portsmouth, when I noticed Adams (a fellow whom I knew in Portsmouth in the early 1970s when he was in his late 20s) walking down the middle of the street. I knew the fellow was Adams, even though he couldn't be recognized by looking at him: his face was completely covered with black make-up, and four rows of very small lights were stretched horizontally across his face. It was an unusual sight to say the least.


I was at Adams' house, a cottage which seemed to be in Austin, Texas. I was going to spend the night, or perhaps even several days, there. Several other men were also in the house.

I had a back pack in which I was carrying seven or eight baggies of marijuana, as well as a baggie with several hits of LSD. I had bought the drugs before coming to Adams' house, and I thought that he and I would use some there. Since I had so much marijuana, however, I wanted to take most of it out and hide it. I didn't want to smoke while I had that much marijuana in the house. If the police came, we wouldn't have time to get rid of it. I thought I might drive out into the country, or to a park and bury the marijuana. Then I could retrieve it when I was ready to leave. Having so much marijuana made me nervous.


I was lying on a bed in the house when two men (both about 30 years old) walked in and sat down on the bed. One was my old Portsmouth dope buddy, Phil Lane. I hadn't seen Lane in many years and was happy to see him again. He spoke to me several times, but each time his language seemed garbled and I had to ask him to repeat what he had said. Finally, still unable to understand him, I told him something seemed to be wrong with his speech. When the other man cast a knowing glance at Lane, I recalled that Lane used to use drugs quite extensively, and I wondered if the drugs had affected his speech.

The other man said he wanted to do some of the LSD, and I was glad that someone else would also be using some of the LSD with me.


I was sitting at the kitchen table in the house. Two other men (each probably in his early 30s) were also sitting at the table. Each said they wanted to do some of the LSD. I poured what I had onto the table. About 25 small green tablets and about five larger blue tablets fell onto the table. One green tablet almost rolled off the table before it was caught. I told the others the green tablets were probably the most potent. When I asked if they liked deep trips and they said they did, I suggested they take the green tablets. I myself put two green tablets into my mouth, but as I was chewing them, I realized I already had at least one tablet in my mouth. Therefore I had taken at least three. The others also ate two tablets each. I told them to have another so they would have as many as me.

I wondered if I had taken too much.

If I would persevere, my conscience was telling me, I would prevail.

Dream of: 06 September 1994 "Traveling Across Country"

My wife Carolina and I had stopped at a restaurant, and once inside, had sat at separate tables. I sat at a table where another woman (about 30 years old) was already seated and I struck up a conversation with the woman. I told her that I was traveling across country, and that I intended to buy several pounds of marijuana at the place where I was headed. I also told her that in the place where I was going, marijuana was sold in restaurants. It seemed that we were somewhere in upstate New York, and I recalled that I had also heard that a few restaurants there sold marijuana, but when I asked the woman if she knew of any, she didn't. I felt comfortable talking with her about my business, and I didn't think she would try to turn me in to the authorities.


Somewhere around Chillicothe, Ohio I had been arrested for possession of a small amount (less than a joint) of marijuana. I was at the police station and was being handled by a person who seemed a bit like my old Portsmouth friend Roger Anderson and a bit like Altizer (my best friend in the fourth grade). The fellow soon explained to me that if I would sign a "waiver," the charges against me would be dropped. I recalled that I had already been arrested once that morning and had signed a waiver. The charges had been dropped in that case too. Apparently the law had evolved in Ohio so that charges were routinely dropped in low level marijuana cases. I thought that was good, and should lead to more people possessing marijuana.

When I was told I could leave, I did so. Only when I was outside did I realize I hadn't signed anything. Since I had been allowed to leave, I thought my signature hadn't mattered after all. This was the third time I had been arrested for possession of marijuana, and I had never been convicted.

I needed every bit of mental strength which I could muster to follow my conscience.

Dream of: 19 October 1994 "Rolled Tight"

I had gone to visit my old high school friend, Steve Buckner, who was living in a house in Portsmouth. Buckner (about 30 years old) looked thin and healthy. As we walked from one room to another, Buckner pulled a baggie of marijuana out of his pants. I had expected him to have some marijuana and I was happy to see it. He handed the baggie to me so I could roll a joint. As I took the baggie, I noticed some marijuana collected in a small bubble in the top of the baggie, and when I opened the baggie, I thought I might have spilled a little of that marijuana on the floor. Apparently Buckner also thought I had spilled some, because he came over and looked on the floor.

Buckner and I both rolled joints and when we finished we had three joints. I picked up one and lit it. I tried to inhale the smoke from the joint, but it was rolled so tight, hardly any smoke passed through. Finally I bit a little piece of marijuana off the end of the joint, hoping the smoke would come through better. I inhaled as deeply as I could, but still very little smoke came through. I finally handed the joint to Buckner. I picked up another joint and lit it, but again I had the same problem. I thought I might need to roll another joint, only more loosely.

Hard work was my only salvation.

Dream of: 30 October 1994 "Possible Arrest"

I had some problems which had been bothering me. I owned an office similar to the Commerce Street Office (my Dallas law office) and I wanted to sell it. In fact I described the office as the Commerce Street Office. At first I thought the office was worth about $70,000, but gradually I began to fear it was worth less. I needed to sell it because I had a two month option to buy another business, and the option was going to run out in a few days.

When the man who was going to sell me the other business came to visit me, I told him I couldn't buy the business unless I first sold the office. He professed to having some knowledge about the value of offices and he began writing a formula with chalk on a blackboard to try to determine what the office was worth. He was an imposing, but friendly man (probably in his early 40s). He indicated that I might be able to obtain an extension on the option to buy the other business. When he finished with his calculations, however, he came up with the number "5," which meant my office was worth considerably less than what I had first thought. I thought I knew part of the reason. The office which I owned was actually the conference room of the Commerce Street Office, and not the actual office. The conference room carried no rights to use of the kitchen and other rooms; thus it had less value.

I had a second problem. When the man had finished and left, another man whom I didn't know walked in and talked with me. He was probably in his early 30s, tall and well-dressed in suit and tie. He told me he had heard that prosecuting attorneys were going to come down hard on me regarding a certain car. I was stunned, but I thought I knew what he was talking about. After the man left, I pondered the problem. I recalled that Mike Walls had called me one day about a car which he apparently had stolen. I thought that the prosecutor would now try to say that I had given Walls some advice to get rid of the car, and that the prosecutor would now try to show that my advice had been criminal. I myself was unsure exactly what I had told Walls, but I feared Walls would try to protect himself, even if he had to implicate me, whether such implication was truthful or not. I needed to be prepared (in case I were arrested) to be able to quickly make bail. I should probably find a bondsman who would be able to help me.

I was also concerned that if I went to trial on the matter, questions of my prior drug use would arise. I had recently wanted to smoke some marijuana, and I seemed to recall having gone to Walls several times to buy marijuana. It would be difficult to avoid admitting that. Questions of having used drugs with Walls years ago would also arise. I could perhaps shift the problem to the prosecution by claiming that Walls was a drug dealer, which was true, but I was afraid such a tactic still wouldn't help me. The fact was that I had used drugs, and that fact would weigh against me.


I awoke on the Gallia County Farm and walked into the kitchen. It seemed that my grandmother Mabel was also in the kitchen. When I looked out the side window, I was surprised to see dozens of cars parked on the road and driveway, especially some shiny new Volkswagen beetles. After surveying the area, I quickly realized the Volkswagens were being manufactured on the Farm. I also knew this was exactly the new business with which I had hoped to become involved. I wondered how it was now possible that the business was already in operation. I soon figured it out.

A man stepped up to me and spoke. I knew who he was. He was probably in his late 40s and seemed related to me. He seemed somewhat like Maurice Minnifield (the character played by Barry Corbin in the television series "Northern Exposure"). The man explained that he had purchased the business in which I had been interested and he had opened it there on the Farm. He seemed to know about my problems, and without actually bringing them up, he politely communicated that my problems wouldn't allow me to open the business. He seemed to be saying that if I had been able to have started the business myself, he wouldn't have interfered, but since I hadn't be able, he had done what was necessary.

I felt no antagonism toward the man and more than anything I was impressed that he had been able to get the business going. Since I knew my father had also been interested in the business, I asked the man if my father were involved. The man pointed to a group of men down on the road. I could see my father in the middle of them, apparently directing them. Apparently my father was one of the bosses and was working hard in the actual running of the business.

As I looked out the window, I was careful to position myself so no one could see me. It was late in the morning, and I felt guilty about seeing so many men hard at work, while I was still in the Farmhouse. However I didn't want to go out and join them.

The man didn't seem concerned about my not working with the others. In fact, he seemed to place special value on me, and he quickly let me know that a special place was reserved for me in the business. I thought I might be able to handle some of the legal affairs of the business, perhaps even dedicating much of my time to it.

Although I was still concerned about the possibility of being arrested, I now thought the chances of arrest had been lessened.

The man seemed to think I had other possibilities. He even suggested I might want to run for political office, but I thought questions of my former drug use would prevent that.

Over the years I have not felt close to my family, yet I am closer to them than to anybody.

Dream of: 23 November 1994 "House On Fire"

My father, my mother, my brother Chris and I had moved into the House in Patriot (the former home of my maternal grandparents). Although it was late at night, and time to go to bed, I had a marijuana joint which I wanted to smoke and I tried to think of where I could smoke it. I thought I might go outside out back, or up in the attic, or somewhere else, but I didn't know where. I walked outside, and as I stood there, I looked up and saw white smoke coming out of the attic. I looked at it closely, then ran back inside. I didn't think anyone inside knew about the fire, so I ran upstairs, hollering, "Fire! Fire!"

I found my mother sitting on the floor talking on the phone, apparently with the fire department. I ran back downstairs, where I found my father confused and uncertain what to do. I also noticed my crippled uncle George in the room. I ran to the back two rooms, but there was no light and I couldn't see. I thought the fire must have already burned the electric lines. I needed to find a flash light. I figured if I could find the fire with a flashlight, I would be able to put it out. I hollered out that I needed a flashlight, but no one knew where one was.

I headed toward the door, thinking I would go over to the Swivers' house across the street. As I headed out the door, my uncle George asked me if I were going to Gallagher's. Apparently people named Gallagher now lived in the house where the Swivers used to live. I replied, "Yea."

As I headed toward that house, however, I noticed that on the other side of our House (in the house where the Saunders house used to be), there now appeared to be a cafe with a neon light. I turned around and headed toward the cafe. A man, a woman and a couple children were standing outside and more people were inside. I thought I would run in.

As I ran along, I had my arm through something which seemed like a white jacket, but which also seemed like a Styrofoam life preserver. It was on my back and I couldn't get out of it. It was very uncomfortable. I wanted out of it before I entered the cafe. I thought I would look ridiculous with it on my back. I was also worried because during the confusion, I had stuck the joint in my pocket and I was still carrying it. I hoped no one would try to search and arrest me.

Despite everything, I dashed into the cafe, explained that our House was on fire, and asked if anyone had a flashlight so I could find the fire. I told them we had just moved into the House next door.

My conscience was telling me a fitful elaborate story which I struggled to understand.

Dream of: 15 December 1994 "Propaganda"

I was in a taxi, headed for the Logan Street House. The taxi driver was a thin fellow, possibly in his late 20s. When a light appeared behind us, he thought it might be from a police car and he sped up. He tried to outrun the car and sped down Kinney Springs Street. He asked me where to turn and he slowed down as if he were going to turn on Franklin Avenue. I said, "No. Keep going."

When we came to two streets close together, I said, "Take the next one."

After he turned to the right on the street I had indicated, I told him to turn into an alley, but he failed to make the turn and instead came to an intersection with another street. The police car pulled up right in front of us, blocking our way. I thought that the taxi driver had been stupid and that he could have escaped if he had just gone down the alley as I had told him.

The driver stopped and after getting out of the car, pulled out some papers and a bunch of money. The policeman walked up to the car and looked at the money as if to ask if he were being offered a bribe, but the policeman was good-natured, and didn't make a big deal out of it. Another fellow had walked up to the car with the policeman. This fellow was also tall and slim and in his late 20s. I thought the cop had just finished picking up the fellow for jay walking. As everyone stood outside the taxi, I became impatient, having only two more blocks to go. The cop told the taxi driver that he could get back in the taxi and drive me to the Logan Street House.


I was in the Logan Street House, where I was being confined by a court for some misdeed which I had committed. A man came to the House to show me a video of people using drugs and how damaging the drugs were. One scene showed how rock and roll performers had shot needles into their veins and damaged their bodies. I saw pictures of men smoking a marijuana joint which looked like a brown cigarette. A commentator talked about the damage to the lungs.

Although I knew drugs could cause the pictured damage, I was determined not to be influenced by this propaganda. If I were going to stop using drugs, it wouldn't be because I had been brainwashed with this video.


Still in the Logan Street House, I was sitting on a couch with Mike Walls on my right, while several children were running around the room. I was thinking that my confinement would be finished that evening, at which time I planned to go to Walls' old house on Thomas Street where Phil Lane was now living. I thought Walls and I would be able to get some drugs from Lane.

Walls had a small device which resembled a gun. After he pointed it at a couple of the children and fired, the children fell over dead. Although I didn't think Walls should have killed the children, their deaths didn't much bother me. However, in retaliation, I stood up and picked up a similar device. I aimed it at Walls, focused and fired. The shot instantly killed him.

I sat back down, feeling somewhat bad because I had killed my best friend. Although I felt a certain loss, the feeling wasn't overwhelming, and I thought I would quickly recover.


Still sitting in the room, I now found a black fellow in his late teens lying on the couch. I was planning to take a trip with him, a trip which I didn't want to take. I was uncertain what the trip was for, but I thought it might be to procure some drugs, perhaps in Africa, perhaps in South Africa. Whatever the trip was for, I thought it would probably be illegal.

I told the black fellow that when I arrived at our destination I wanted to hire a couple black body guards; he said I would be able to. I wanted the guards because I was concerned that since I was white, I might be attacked while I was in Africa.

I heard someone else talking about typhoid in Africa. They called it "tye." I knew typhoid would also be a concern; this was going to be an extremely dangerous trip. However I had decided to go anyway, even if it was dangerous, and even though I knew there was a good chance I wouldn't survive the trip.

Slowly I learned that I would be a teller of stories.

Dream of: 19 January 1995 "These Dreams Told A Story"

I was in a large hotel in Ohio where I planned to later meet my father and spend the night with him. I walked into the hotel lobby and was surprised to encounter Paul Gannon (a fellow from Portsmouth whom I knew for a short while around 1970) and another fellow whom I knew. Although Gannon (dressed in a gray suit) looked older than I remembered him, I immediately recognized him and asked him what he had been doing over the years. After some effort I dug out of him that he had spent seven and a half years in prison. I was surprised he had been in jail for so long, and I wondered what his offense had been; probably something to do with drugs.

When I asked Gannon and his companion whether they had any marijuana, they led me to a small closet, which we all three entered. The other fellow pulled out a baggie containing about an ounce of pot. When he extracted a large clump of marijuana from the baggie, I held out my hand and he dropped the clump into it. Ecstatic, I told him he couldn't imagine how grateful I was. I told him I hadn't smoked pot in a very long time (to myself I was thinking it had probably been six months, but I really couldn't remember). I didn't know what the pot would do to me when I smoked it, but I knew I was going to get very high very fast.

Even though the other fellow already had a lit roach which he was puffing on right there in the closet, I couldn't smell anything. I hadn't even noticed at first that he had been smoking.

Looking at Gannon, I wanted to tell him that I sometimes dreamed about him, that I had dreamed about him at different times over the years. I even thought I had dreamed about him quite recently.

I also wanted to know more about his having been in prison. He spoke again of the experience, and said he was going to put it in a "store." I knew he was using slang to say he was going to write a book about having been in prison. Realizing he was talking about writing a book, I said, "I write my dreams."

Both Gannon and the other fellow seemed interested by that, and I finally confided in Gannon that he had appeared in some of my dreams over the years. I said, "These dreams told a story."

I thought the dreams in which Gannon had appeared, taken as a collection, told a story, but I admitted I didn't really understand the story. I knew Gannon was a musician and music had been a theme in the dreams, but the dreams had generally focused on drugs.

Looking at the marijuana in my hand, I asked them if they had any cigarette papers. Although they didn't, I noticed a pack of Marlboro cigarettes lying on a counter and asked them if I could have one; I thought I could take the tobacco out of the cigarette and put marijuana back in, even though I didn't like making a joint that way. The roach which the other fellow was smoking appeared to have been made in that fashion and smoke was leaking from a small hole in the side of roach: the leaking smoke illustrated the problem of making a joint from a cigarette.

Gannon and the other fellow said they were in a hurry to go somewhere, so we walked out of the closet. However, I still wanted to talk more with Gannon and I asked him if we could meet later that evening. He seemed to think we could, and I asked him where he wanted to meet. As he headed toward the elevator, I suddenly realized I might have to spend time with my father that evening, and I told Gannon I was uncertain I would be able to meet with him (Gannon). Gannon gave me the name of the hotel where he was staying. I didn't hear the name clearly, but I thought Gannon had said, "Castilla" and I figured it was probably a hotel in the neighborhood.

After Gannon had stepped onto the elevator and left, I remained standing, holding the marijuana, thinking I wanted to go to my room and roll it up. I thought about how different it was in Ohio, how easy it was to get dope there and how no one seemed to worry about it. Gannon certainly hadn't seemed worried, even though he was probably on parole. That somewhat amazed me; if he were caught with pot he would probably be sent back to prison.

In the history of mankind, no one had explored his mind the way I was doing. I was going where no man had gone before.

Dream of: 19 February 1995 "A Distant Planet"

I was living in a small unattractive house. No one else was in the house, and I was looking over the living room. Several puzzles which had been put together were lying on the floor. Several others which were in the process of being assembled were also lying around on the floor. I thought I needed to pick up the puzzles and put them in boxes. I had some plastic lunch boxes, and thought I might put the puzzles in the boxes.

When some children came into the room, I was afraid they were going to mess up the puzzles. One small boy had a small box which looked like a puzzle on each side. I thought the box was his and I wasn't going to take it from him, but I didn't want him or the other children to mess up the puzzles on the floor. Finally I was able to usher them all out of the room.

When I sat back down, I also noticed several cereal boxes sitting on some shelves in the room. I noticed how colorful the cereal boxes were, and thought I might like to save some. I thought I had recently seen a cereal box with a picture of Jean Luc Picard (the character played by Patrick Stewart on the television series Star Trek: The Next Generation) on the front. That box would have been a good one to have saved. As I looked at the boxes on the shelf, I saw one which seemed to have some "Star Trek" as well as some "Star Wars" characters in it.

The characters were arranged in two rows. In the front were characters from earlier shows, and in the back were characters from a new series. I remembered having seen the new series, and not having been impressed. The new series seemed to involve two men who were living together on a distant planet.


My old high school friend Steve Buckner and I were lying on the floor of the living room, each covered by a sleeping bag. Buckner was now living in the house with me. I was thinking that it was peculiar for both of us to be sleeping together like that, and I hoped no one would come in and get the wrong idea.

I was also thinking about how I had seen Buckner eating a sucker. He had had a small bowl which looked like a commode, and which I thought he actually used as a commode, into which he would dip his sucker to get it wet, and then stick it into his mouth. I thought he flushed the commode each time before sticking the sucker in it, but the idea still disgusted me. I couldn't remember precisely if I myself had ever tried dipping a sucker in a commode, but I knew it wasn't something I would normally do.

When I heard someone come into the room, I looked up to see who it was. It was a fellow whom I recognized as someone whom Buckner and I knew. The fellow was probably in his early 20s and rather heavy set. He had black hair and was wearing a tee-shirt. He immediately pulled out a marijuana joint and asked if we allowed smoking in the house. Both Buckner and I immediately sat up and said we did allow it. The fellow lit the joint. Buckner quickly moved to my left to get closer to the fellow, and I thought to myself how Buckner always tried to get in a position to have more of a joint.

After Buckner took a hit from the joint, it came to me and I took a deep hit. I hadn't smoked any pot in a long time, and I eagerly waited for the effects, but I didn't feel anything. When Buckner stood and walked into the next room, I realized we had already finished the joint. The fellow stood up and walked over to a window and looked outside. Something in his actions made me start to suspect that he might be wired, and that he had been sent by the police to spy on us. Perhaps the police had taped our entire conversation.

As I watched him, I saw him pull out some small headphones which were attached to an electronic device. When he started to put the headphones on his head, I rushed over to him, grabbed him around the neck with my arm and pulled him down over the back of a couch. As I hollered to Buckner to come, the fellow gasped out that he was only using the headphones to talk with his mother. Apparently the device was some kind of telephone. But I didn't believe him, and I waited for Buckner to come.

In my 40s, I was no longer a child, and I had serious work to accomplish.

Dream of: 28 March 1995 "A Legal Product"

Another fellow and I had gone to a residential area to sell some marijuana. Each of us had a baggie with about a quarter of an ounce of marijuana. I had once before sold marijuana there, but it had been quite a long time ago. We were in separate cars, and after we arrived, we went to different spots to sell the marijuana.


I was thinking about what I would do if I saw a policeman. I would first try to tear open the baggie and dump the marijuana. If I were stopped, I would refuse to answer any questions. I was uncertain whether I would say, "I refuse to answer any questions on the ground that it may tend to incriminate me" or simply "I refuse to answer any questions."


After I had sold my marijuana I got into my car and went to an electronics store containing mostly computer equipment. The other fellow was supposed to meet me there, but after I had been there for a while and he didn't show up, I became concerned.

The store was filled with young people (in their early 20s) buying computer products. I thought about how the other fellow who had been with me had developed a computer product which he could sell in this store. And it was legal! I hoped he would come soon so I could show him how he could make money doing something legal.

I realized that all the people in the store were college students and that we were in Austin, Texas. The place felt so vibrant, much more energetic than Dallas. I thought I would like to live there amidst all that energy. Of course I realized Dallas also had its good points. The people in Dallas were more serious. These college kids might be enthusiastic about something, but their enthusiasm might not last.

Although I am free to choose my actions, I am bound by the consequences of those actions.

Dream of: 01 April 1995 "Up in Smoke"

I was traveling with several other fellows, who, like myself, seemed in their early 20s. We had stopped at a small store along the way and had walked in to look around. The store only had one room about five meters by five meters, and moving around was difficult because so much stuff was sitting all over the floor. I couldn't distinguish most things well, but I thought it looked as if hundreds of hand guns were arranged in rows on the floor. I thought I might like to buy a gun for myself, especially since such a huge selection was available. I had trouble moving around the hand guns because some strange looking wire and metal sculptures were standing at different spots amidst the guns, and negotiating a path past the sculptures was difficult.

Finally my attention was drawn to a shelf on one wall which was filled full – about a meter and a half high – of small statues of cowboys (some riding horses). The statues (pilled on top of each other) were about 10 centimeters high and looked as if they were made of hardened clay. I thought I would like to see, and perhaps buy, one, but I didn't dare touch them for fear the whole batch might fall.

One fellow with whom I had entered the store was talking with a man standing at the only counter. A vast variety of knives was arranged on the wall behind the man. My companion had pointed to one large pocket knife and had said he would pay up to $10 for it. I thought to myself that $10 surely wouldn't buy the knife. The owner of the store was obviously a collector, and the knives were no doubt quite valuable.

Clearly the owner collected quite a few different types of things. On a wall right beside me I saw a large variety of hatchet heads. Some even looked as if they might have been made by Indians. Various tops of small torches were arranged on another section of the wall. That collection was particularly interesting because I had never seen anything like it.

When we were ready to leave, the other fellows began discussing the trip, and although the details were unclear, I realized they were going transport some marijuana from this point forward. I wasn't certain how much marijuana was involved, but I vaguely thought the pot was going to be carried in a brown paper sack. This project seemed rather risky and disturbing to me. I was uncertain whether the owner of the store could hear their plans, and I was uncertain whether he was even involved. At any rate, I now felt uncomfortable about continuing on.


I was standing outside the store. One other fellow and I had decided not to continue on the trip. Three of the others had gone on without us. They had left in a small, old-fashioned, two-winged airplane which was painted bright red. I could hear the sound of the plane's engine in the sky, but I couldn't see it. Suddenly I could clearly see the plane high above us just before it went into a bank of billowy white clouds.

Just when I thought that was the end of it, I saw the plane reappear back out of the clouds. I realized the pilot (who I knew was quite a show-off) was saying good-bye to us, and in his own way was chiding us for not having continued on with the others. I thought he might even buzz so low over us that we would have to duck down.

Instead of buzzing us, the plane began doing a series of spectacular loops. I was amazed as the plane flew around in several circles and I wondered what the other two passengers must think as they flew upside down in the air. The pilot seemed in control, but since I still didn't have full confidence in him, I thought to myself, "I would be scared to death to be in that plane."

On the last loop, I noticed the plane seemed to stall just as it was pulling into a vertical position with its nose straight up in the air. It seemed to stop in mid air and hang there. It began falling toward the ground, still in the same position, seemingly unable to pull itself out. I was uncertain whether the maneuver was all part of the show, or whether there was actually a problem. The speed of the plane's descent picked up and finally it became clear that the pilot had lost control, but just when the plane was only about 100 meters from the ground, it slowed down and stopped in mid-air.

At that point, the plane was only a short ways from me. I could clearly see the details of the plane as it simply hovered in mid-air, its nose still pointed straight up into the sky. I was amazed by what I was witnessing. The plane was clearly in serious trouble, and I didn't know whether it was going to be able to pull out. Suddenly, without warning, the plane flipped over on its back and fell straight down to a hard concrete lot, landing upside down in a tremendous crash with pieces flying off everywhere. I knew no one could have survived that crash.

My mother was sleeping in a neighboring building and I thought of hollering to her to come out. Having heard the crash, she appeared at the door and hollered out, "Did you see it?!"

I called back, "Yes," and I ran in the direction of the crash. I could see no fire, but a white smoke, perhaps dust hung over the wreckage. What would I find there? Would there be pieces of any of the cowboy and horse statues which one of the fellows might have bought in the store and taken on the plane? Would there be marijuana scattered about? If so, I hoped it wouldn't be connected in any way to me. I cautiously continued toward the wreckage.

Only by first admitting that I had a problem could I possibly be able to solve it.

Dream of: 25 April 1995 "Depressed"

I was riding in the back seat of a car. My old buddy from early college, Randy Ramey, was driving the car, while a black man sat in the front passenger seat. Both Ramey and the black man were probably in their late 20s. It was night and we were in a rural Scioto County, Ohio. In my lap I had a brown bag filled with marijuana. I had paid $360 for the marijuana, which weighed just under a pound, probably about 14 ounces.

I handed the bag to the black fellow and told him to roll a joint. I hadn't yet smoked any of the marijuana and I was anxious to try it. I was planning to sell the marijuana to the black fellow, and as he rolled the joint, I pondered how much I would charge him for it. I finally decided I would probably just take out an ounce for myself and charge him $360. I liked the black fellow and I didn't want to charge him too much.

I realized that having the marijuana in the car with us like that wasn't smart, especially if we were smoking it. I told Ramey that if a police car pulled up behind us that he (Ramey) shouldn't stop, but should keep going until we passed a curve out of sight of the policeman so we could throw out the marijuana without its being seen. Then we could come back for it later. I knew that such a plan would be dangerous, because the police might have figured out what had happened and set up a trap. We would have to be careful.

At the moment, however, my principal concern was smoking the marijuana, and I impatiently waited for the black fellow to light up the joint.


The following morning I awoke in a bed at a nice large house where my mother was living. She was sitting on the side of the bed when I awoke. She looked thin and tall, as if she were only about 40 years old. She immediately began talking to me about a problem which I had which she said I refused to admit. She used an unusual name to describe the problem, and I asked her if she were trying to say that I was "depressed." She said that was it.

Although I protested to her that I wasn't depressed, to myself I realized there was some truth in what she was saying. I couldn't exactly describe the feeling that I was having, but I realized I wasn't feeling well, and the word "depressed" seemed to describe the feeling as well as anything. However I didn't admit that to my mother.

Instead I arose from the bed and told my mother I was in a hurry to leave. I recalled that the previous evening I had told the black fellow to come by my father's house the next morning to pick me up. I now realized that the fellow might already be at my father's house and that I needed to hurry over there. I knew my father would think it strange if he saw that I was hanging around with a black fellow, and I didn't want to have to explain that to my father.

I recalled that the previous evening, Ramey, the black fellow and I had discussed going to Mexico for a few days to party. I wasn't sure we were actually going to go, but it sounded as if it would be fun if we did, so I didn't want to miss the black fellow.

Still quagmired in the past, I at least maintained hope of finding a new me in the future.

Dream of: 11 July 1995 "The Massage"

I had gone to the house of a fellow who lived in the country near Portsmouth, and while there, I had decided to let him give me a massage. I remembered the last time I had been in Portsmouth someone had told me that Adams (a fellow I used to know in Portsmouth around 1970) had a house outside of town and that he now gave massages for about $50. When I now arrived at this fellow's house, I thought he might be Adams, but I quickly saw he wasn't. He was tall and thin with blond hair, and looked as if he were about 30 years old.

I lay down on my stomach on the floor of his living room. As he sat down on my butt, I told him I had never had a massage in all my life. I wondered (and I had the feeling he also wondered) if my bones might therefore be brittle and might possibly break with too much pressure. Nevertheless he began applying pressure with his hands to my spinal cord. He continued for a while, then stood up. When he came back in a few minutes and again applied pressure on the spinal cord of my upper back, I felt a crack, and I gave a low moan.

As absorbed as I was in the massage, I didn't notice that other people had walked in and sat down on some couches in the room. When I finally did notice, I saw three couples of men and women sitting there. All looked as if they were in their early 20s. After a while, one fellow said he recognized me. He went on to explain to the others that I used to sell marijuana in Portsmouth years ago. He said that I would sell to anyone who asked and that the first time I had sold to him I hadn't even known who he was. He had just pulled up to me in a car and asked for some marijuana, and I had thrown a baggie full to him.

I knew what he was saying was probably correct, and I recalled that in my late teens I had been wild; I had done many things that now seemed almost incomprehensible. Yet after all these years, I still liked to smoke marijuana and the mention of marijuana made me remember that I had heard that the fellow who was working on my back might have some marijuana. Indeed, a joint was being passed around, and after lifting up my upper body, I held out my hand so the joint would be passed to me. When I took a hit, I immediately had the feeling it wasn't very powerful, and someone else said as much. I took another hit, but still didn't feel anything.

Now my attention was drawn to the three women sitting on the couches. All were attractive and all were wearing low-cut blouses so much of their breasts was visible. In fact, one moved once so the nipple on one breast could be seen. I had the feeling these couples came there to party and switch partners. I thought I would like to take part in such activity. I knew I didn't have a partner with me, but I thought they might let me participate anyway.

In the meantime I lay back on my stomach and the fellow continued with the massage. I now noticed he was putting small staples into my spinal cord. I could clearly see what he was doing, even though I couldn't feel anything. I didn't object, even though I wondered about the wisdom of putting staples into my body.

I was however beginning to feel something different. I realized I could feel his penis pressing against my back; but I knew nothing sexual was taking place. What I was feeling was quite different. I was feeling as if some kind of power which I had never experienced was being released from my body. It was if another being was coming out of me. I had never quite had that particular type of feeling and I was a bit awed by it.

Suddenly I felt as if the massage were over and as if I were actually in another place. I wondered if I had paid the fellow anything for the massage; I was afraid I had left without paying. But then I realized I wasn't in another place at all. I was still lying on the floor and the fellow was still giving the massage. I must have fallen asleep for a moment and had simply thought I had left. I would still be able to pay him after all. I wondered if $20 would be enough.

I was certain of one thing: another form of intelligence besides my own was at work on my mind. I finally defined that other form of intelligence as my conscience.

Dream of: 08 August 1995 "Pact With God"

Mike Walls (in his mid 20s ) was busily preparing a meal in a large white kitchen. Walls was fit and slender, and his hair was still black instead of gray.

As I watched Walls cook, I was still recalling the bizarre episode of the previous night, and comparing notes with Walls about it. The night before, Walls and I had been in a room with our old friend Steve Buckner and the three of us had probably used some drugs. During the course of the evening, Buckner and I had noticed Walls had stretched out on his back on the floor, and when we had examined him, we had discovered that Walls had died. Uncertain what to do, we had simply left Walls lying on the floor for about an hour. When Buckner had finally walked over to Walls to move him, he had noticed a slight movement from Walls.

Without hesitation Buckner had set to work and had quickly removed the top of Wallis' skull. Buckner had accomplished the procedure in a way which had reminded me of a similar operation I had seen performed by the character Dr. Michael Hfuhruhurr (the character played by Steve Martin in the movie The Man With Two Brains). After Buckner had tinkered with Wallis' brain and had replaced the top of the skull, Walls had returned to life.

Now, the next day, as Walls and I were alone in the kitchen, I wanted to know more of what Walls had experienced while he had been dead; I asked him if he could remember anything which had happened during that time. Walls replied that he could only recall that while he had been dead he had made a "pact with God." Since I knew Walls lived a fairly debauched life, I thought to myself that if he had actually been able to make a pact with God while he had been dead, he would be wise to adhere to his side of the pact.

When Walls had finished cooking, six or seven men lolled into the room and sat down at the long table in the center. One man was Walls' father and two or three of the other men were Walls' older brothers. It was Walls' duty to cook for the other members of his family (Walls didn't have a regular job), and in exchange he was allowed to live in the house.

Walls had prepared a large plate of dark hamburgers and fried potatoes, as well as some salmon cakes. When everyone at the table began greedily eating without saying anything, I knew I could also eat if I wanted, but I decided not to. Besides, I thought when we were finished there, Walls and I were probably going to smoke some marijuana, and I preferred not to have eaten anything if I were going to smoke.

In the meantime I picked up a magazine lying on a magazine rack, and began reading it. The magazine had a western theme, symbolized by a picture of a large gray wolf on the cover. Inside the front cover of the magazine was a full page reproduction of the cover of another magazine – a western comic which had first been printed in 1945. A reproduction of another old comic was also on the first page of the magazine. The magazine itself was rather old, and I knew I had a more recent copy at my home. In fact, I now remembered I also used to own this very magazine which I was reading, but I had given it to Walls many years ago. I thought I might ask Walls if I could borrow it so I could look through it again.

Even though the men were still eating, Walls soon informed me that he was finished in the kitchen, and that he and I could leave. When I began looking for the brown leather jacket which I had been wearing, I realized the jacket actually belonged to Walls. Nevertheless, I donned the jacket, momentarily snagging my hand on the inside lining, but finally pulling it on.

As we were about to leave, I asked Walls if he knew where I could buy some marijuana. Of course he did. I told him I wanted either a half ounce or an ounce – I was unsure how much. I hadn't bought any pot in such a long time, I didn't know how much it cost, but I didn't think I wanted to spend more than a hundred dollars.

When we walked outside onto the street, I quickly realized we were in downtown Portsmouth, on the corner of Chillicothe and Sixth Streets. Another fellow soon joined us, and I could see another woman crossing the street toward us who would also become a part of our group. Both newcomers were our friends, and together we formed a conspicuous-looking foursome, obviously set apart from the people around us. Especially striking was the way we were dressed. Walls, for example, carrying an ebony cane, was clothed in a rakish black suit and a black derby hat. The woman (probably in her 20s) was attractive and appeared elegantly defiant in her long black cape and black hat. I myself (instead of the leather jacket) was now wearing a gray fur coat which draped to my ankles. Although the coat was quite different from my usual attire, I quickly adapted to the feel. Our attire was in stark contrast to the clothes of everyone else on the street, especially to the business suits which some men were wearing. But however conspicuous we were, no one stopped and stared.

After we had walked a few more steps down Sixth Street, Walls began pointing at and counting the doors of the buildings, trying to determine which building to enter. Finally he pulled up in front of a luxurious-looking building with a rich wooden facade. Once he had determined this was our destination, we entered and began climbing some stairs to an upper floor.

I knew this was the place where we were going to buy the marijuana. Once we reached the door to the habitation which we were seeking, we were immediately let into an attractive and spacious apartment. I had originally thought this apartment might belong to Duff (a former acquaintance from high school); but now I doubted that, because I saw a fellow whom I didn't recognize sitting in the room and smoking from a water pipe. As the fellow stood up and walked out of the room, he told us we could smoke from the pipe if we wanted. But I didn't feel like it; I only wanted to test the pot which I was going to buy, wary the pot in the pipe might be different. However, I did stop and think maybe I should at least try the pot in the pipe – it might be even stronger than what I was buying.

Before I could make up my mind, I heard a noise emanating from outside in the hall. Alarmed, I instantly realized that the police were outside and that they intended to raid the apartment. With no hesitation, I walked straight to an open window at the back of the room and looked outside. Although we were on an upper story, I quickly slipped through the window and grabbed onto some black metal bars attached to the side of the building. I began lowering myself past the next floor, and then swung underneath an overhang on the following floor. Sheltered by the overhang, I was now out of sight of anyone who might look out the window from where I had exited.

I then  slipped back inside through another window on the lower floor, and found myself in a hallway with doors to apartments all up and down the hall. From the distance I could hear the voices of police; I concluded they would be coming to search this floor. I needed to enter one of the apartments as quickly as possible. Noticing a small pane of glass had been broken out of the door nearest me, I thought I might be able to reach my hand inside the door and open it. That wasn't necessary, however: I simply pushed the door and it yielded to the pressure.

Crossing the threshold, I found myself in a small bathroom. I quickly slipped into the large shower, looked up over my head and saw several large ceiling panels, each about a meter square. I reached up, pushed back one of the panels, climbed up into the ceiling, and sat in the corner over the shower. After shoving the ceiling panel back in place, I also found a piece of white plastic which I wrapped about me. If the police pushed back any of the ceiling panels, they wouldn't see me with the plastic around me; only if they shoved back the panel over which I was sitting would they discover me.

I doubted the police would go to the trouble of removing ceiling panels. They would probably soon end their search and leave. But when would it be safe for me to emerge? Would surveillance of the building be maintained? And how long could I survive without eating? Maybe I could climb over the ceilings and drop down into a neighboring apartment to look for food. I might stay up there as long as three days. Then it should probably be safe enough to come out.

Clearly I was not a war-like person, yet the imagery of war seemed to call me.

Dream of: 07 September 1995 "Premonition"

Another fellow and I were walking along Route 52 in Sciotoville, headed toward New Boston (which lies wedged between Sciotoville and Portsmouth), when straight ahead of us we saw that a police officer had pulled over a car. Since I was carrying a mug of beer, and I didn't want the police officer to see it, I set down the mug behind some trash by the road. When we reached the officer, he stopped me and asked if I had been drinking or smoking anything. I lied and said I hadn't. He then walked over to the trash pile and picked up the mug of beer I had put there. I thought he was going to arrest me, but he let me go, and he even pointed to a house on the other side of the road where I could go.

I headed toward the house, a large white frame with several stories. Immediately upon entering the house, I encountered a woman coming out of a bathroom. She stood naked right in front of me. When I stepped toward her, she turned her back to me, and I began rubbing it. When I reached around and touched her pubic area, she pulled away, but when I tried again, she let me touch her. I had an erection and almost climaxed in my pants, but I restrained myself.

I asked the woman several times if she knew where I could buy some marijuana. Finally she told me a fellow who lived on the next floor sold pot. Since I hadn't smoked any grass in a long time, I was uncertain I wanted to smoke again, but I thought I would smoke some if I had the chance. I left the room, walked upstairs, and entered another apartment. There I found the fellow (probably in his late 20s) whom I was seeking. He had long blond hair. He was in the process of moving out of the house and his apartment was almost empty.

When I realized he was leaving, I followed him downstairs and out into the yard. Suddenly a plane flew over and something was dropped from the plane. I realized this was the pot being dropped off. The pot had been stuffed into white condoms, and about 100 of them fell to the ground. I thought there was probably about five pounds of marijuana all together. When I told the fellow I wanted to buy a dime, he threw me a large condom of pot which probably contained about two ounces of pot.

I thought I might want to buy more pot later and I asked the fellow where he lived. When he pointed at another building in front of us, I asked which floor. He said it was the floor which had furniture on it. Apparently all the other floors were vacant.

I thought now I might go back and see the woman, but at the same time I began thinking about war, and I had something of a premonition that a war was going to break out. I recalled having seen a story about how women were often raped during war, and I had a premonition that the woman in the house was going to be raped. I thought I should go back and tell her she was going to be raped by six men.

It began to seem as if I could best understand myself through stories, even though I still did not understand exactly what constituted a story.

Dream of: 05 October 1995 "Inventing A Story"

I was sitting on the floor of a room which resembled the Waller Street Room (a room in rooming house in Portsmouth, where I lived for a month in 1977). Mike Walls was also in the room, as well as Jeff Hurley and Rick Weinman (both had been my classmates in junior high school; Jeff drowned in the seventh grade).

I had come to Portsmouth several days earlier, and the four of us had been together constantly during that time. Mostly we had been smoking marijuana. When we had started smoking pot after I had first arrived, I had thought that smoking pot once might be alright, but once I had started, I hadn't stopped.

Walls had a rather large pile of pot lying on the floor and even now Walls handed me a pipe filled with pot. However the pot in the pipe wasn't lit; instead, a lit joint was stuck down into the pot. When I took a hit off the pipe, trying to pull smoke from the joint through the pipe, nothing came through. Finally I took the joint out of the pipe and tried to take a hit off the joint, but the butt end was all torn up so that taking a hit proved difficult. I did finally manage to get an unsatisfactory hit. I passed the joint to Weinman and he passed it on until the joint was passed around the room several times.

I was surprised we had ended up wasting so much time smoking pot. I had been talking with Weinman by phone before coming and I had thought he had been using his time for something else: specifically, playing music. I hadn't even known he smoked pot, but since I had been there, it seemed that smoking was all we had done. However, I still hoped to connect with them musically. All three of them had musical talent and had belonged to rock and roll bands. I had hopes that I might also be able to play music and that the four of us could form a band. The problem was that I didn't know how to play anything.

However I did have my flute with me and I pulled it out. I knew that Jeff also played the flute, and that he was somehow able to play the flute like a guitar. When I asked him how it was possible to play a guitar chord on a flute, he said he would simply play three notes in a row on the flute. I placed my fingers on the flute and tried it a few times. It didn't seem difficult and I thought I could get the hang of it. I even thought if Jeff and I were to stay in that room for a year and if he would teach me, I could master the flute.

Finally we all stepped outside and walked around. I told the others I hadn't gotten high even once from all the pot we had smoked. I wanted to return to the room and smoke more until I got high. I thought maybe the only way I could get high was to mix some alcohol with the pot. It seemed I had some inner need of intoxication which I hadn't yet reached.

As we continued walking, I realized only Walls and I were left. In fact, I began to think I had imagined the whole episode with Jeff and Weinman. I abruptly realized that Jeff couldn't have been with us because Jeff had died many years ago, back when I was in junior high. He had drowned one summer in a swimming pool when he had dove into the pool and hit his head on the bottom.

I thought more about Jeff. He had been a lot like me and he even looked a little like me. We both had blond hair and basically the same kind of physique. I had always liked Jeff and I thought we could have been good friends, but I recalled that Jeff had become close friends with Wood (another junior high classmate), who had lived much nearer than I to Jeff. I wasn't close to Wood, and I now recalled I had never even offered any condolences to Wood after Jeff had died. Wood had always seemed somewhat withdrawn after Jeff's death.

The more I thought about what was happening, the more it seemed as if I had not only imagined the earlier episode, but as if I were still inventing what was taking place, as if I were making up a story. I had crossed a street and left Walls on the other side. As I continued with the story, I could still see Walls, but what concerned me more now was that Walls had a large lion (which I called a tiger) for a pet, and the lion had crossed the street to come over to me. I lay down on my back and the lion circled around me. The lion was supposed to be tame, but I could sense that it was going to attack me. Although I knew I was just making up everything in my mind, I still didn't want the lion around me, and I hollered at Walls to call his tiger.

I also knew Walls had a small .22 caliber hand gun. Finally I saw how the story would end. The lion attacked me by biting my leg, and Walls shot it (although I didn't actually see Walls shoot the lion). My attention was now focused on my leg, which (although I felt no pain) was bleeding from a long gash. I pointed out to Walls that I was going to need 20 stitches. I thought that 20 stitches was probably an exaggeration, but I did indeed need medical attention.

Since Walls seemed unconcerned with my injury, I invented a man and his wife and child who came walking down the street. I knew them and I asked for their help. Although the man didn't seem particularly concerned, he said he would take me to a hospital. Since his car was parked at some distance, I had to limp along toward it. He didn't offer to help me. I thought of leaning on him, but I didn't want to do that. I thought I might have to crawl part of the way, but even though I was having trouble walking, I never felt any pain.

I could now see how the story was going to end and I put together the last scene. I was looking at a hospital with perhaps 20 floors. I focused in on one window in one of the upper floors. That was the window to the room where I was lying. I would stay in that room in the hospital until I recovered from my wound.

Of course a cruel unjust war know as the Drug War was being fought all around me and if I wasn't an active participant in the war, at least I had no doubt of which side I stood on.

Dream of: 21 December 1995 "Cruel Laws"

I was planning to move into a small frame house which I had recently bought for only around $10,000. Before I could move in, however, I bought a second, much nicer house, and I decided to move into the second house instead. I went over to look at the first house, still uncertain exactly what I would do with it; I thought I might rent it to a woman I knew, a woman who reminded me of one of my bankruptcy clients. I would be able to get more than $300 a month in rent from the house, and if the woman didn't pay, I would simply evict her.

As I walked through the house, I saw that it was in disrepair and that it needed quite a bit of work; I was glad I wasn't going to live there. I already had people working on repairing the house, and when I walked upstairs, I found most of them working up there. I also found a matronly woman walking around with an air of authority. The part of the house where we were was in terrible condition, and even appeared to be charred from a fire, but the woman said there was a better section of the house downstairs where a fellow was still living. Apparently he even had an indoor tennis court in his section.

As the woman continued walking around, picking up some things which apparently had been left in the house, I quickly figured out that she was planning to sell the things by holding an auction. I kept my eye on what the woman was picking up, and I saw some plates which I thought I might be interested in having. Then a second set of plates was found, and one was handed to me to look at. I was definitely interested in these plates, which were very strange indeed. On the top of each plate were nine or ten small figurines which were part of the plate. The plates were obviously ornamental since eating food from plates with figurines on them would be quite difficult.

I looked closely at the figurines on the plate in my hand. They all looked like figures from Halloween, and one in particular drew my attention. The figure looked like a man, only he had a pumpkin where his head should be, and he seemed to be standing on stilts. He looked like a character from the movie Nightmare Before Christmas.

There were four plates and I wanted them all. The problem was a small black girl (perhaps 10 years old) who was scrambling around the house: I could tell she also wanted the plates. I thought she would be bidding against me, but I was determined that I would get the plates, and I began thinking about my strategy. When the bidding at the auction started, I would let the little girl bid first. She would probably bid something like a quarter, and probably no one else would bid against her. Just at the instant when the bidding was about to be closed and the little girl thought she had bought the plates, I would bid a dollar. The little girl would be so surprised and dumbfounded, she wouldn't know what to do, and I would have the winning bid. I felt a little ashamed of what I would be doing, especially since I thought the matronly woman might think my buying these things was beneath my dignity, but I really wanted the plates, and I was going to do it.

Before any auction took place, however, the woman and I climbed out a window onto the roof of part of the house. From where we were, we could see down into the back yard, where perhaps a dozen people were busily cleaning up the yard and working on the house. They were making rapid progress. I recalled that my mother had told me that she would come and help me work on the house if I needed her. I was grateful for her offer, but I knew that it would take her an awfully long time to do what these people were doing so quickly.

Suddenly as we stood there on the roof, I could feel the roof beginning to move. Obviously the structure was so weak that this part of the house was giving in under our weight. The roof fell so slowly, I wasn't afraid. More than anything I was marveling at the way the roof was falling. The roof was staying level, but was moving in a downward direction, something like a Ferris wheel. And what was most strange, when we got close to the bottom, the roof came back around, as if it were coming back under itself, so I ended up in a room – a room which seemed to be the same room whose roof I had just been standing on.

What I found in the room was both strange and alarming. Seven or eight black men were in the room, talking to each other. They were saying that the rock and roll singer , Prince, had just been in another part of the house, in the next room over. That sounded exciting to me; but it sounded as if Prince had already left, so I didn't think I was going to get to see him.

I sat down on the floor and quietly looked around. Although I didn't see any furniture, I did see one white boy (about 15 years old) also sitting on the floor on the other side of the room. What most surprised me was the realization that the boy was Ron Stevens (a former schoolmate from junior high). But it was beginning to make sense also that Stevens would be there.

I had met Stevens around 1966 when we had both been in the ninth grade. I had admired Stevens, who ran with a much rougher crowd than I was accustomed to. I had had my first drink of beer with Stevens, and he had shown me how to shoplift for the first time.

Now I could see how he fit into this house. All these people were rebels or outcasts from society. And I also saw that I felt at home with these people. I really didn't feel at home in society in general. I felt much more at ease with people on the fringes of society, people who were rejected by the normal people in society. I had first started feeling this way many years ago, at the time when I had first started hanging around with Stevens. And I knew that here in this house, the other people, almost all of whom were black, would accept me because I, like they, wasn't a part of normal society. Of course if they didn't accept me it could be disastrous, because they were all very strong.

I began talking with one of the black fellows. Several other black fellows were also sitting around us. I knew that one, just to my left, was named Luther Vandross, but the one with whom I was talking reminded me a bit of Charlie Samuels, (a former black schoolmate from high school), a rebel. He was sitting down and leaning back, as if on a recliner. As my conversation with him progressed, I realized we were no longer in the house, but were riding along in the back of a pickup truck. Another white fellow had also gotten on the truck and was talking with the black fellow. I followed their conversation, becoming increasingly interested in what they were saying.

It quickly became clear that both the black fellow and the white fellow were lawyers. They were each probably in their early 30s. It was also clear that the black fellow was a defense attorney and the white fellow was a prosecutor. The black fellow was dressed very casually, while the white fellow was dressed properly in his suit, white shirt and tie.

The white fellow showed some papers to the black fellow, papers which were supposed to offer proof that marijuana was a dangerous drug. The white fellow was going to try to use the information in the papers to have the laws against marijuana stiffened so that people convicted of possessing marijuana would receive harsher punishments. I knew that I myself had recently read this so-called proof that marijuana was a dangerous drug, and I knew that the proof was a complete fabrication. To me, this white fellow was another sign of just how baleful society could be – to fabricate lies about how dangerous marijuana was and then to punish people for using it. These people were the worst enemies of freedom, and I hated them. I knew the laws against marijuana for what they were – cruel and ridiculous.

The white fellow was suggesting to the black fellow that they might soon have a case where the papers would be offered, and that the two of them would have to fight out the issue. I thought to myself that I was also an attorney. I wondered if it might be possible for me to work with the black fellow on such a case. I knew it was important to me that our freedom to do what we wanted with our own bodies not be eroded any more than it already had been. I would be willing to spend some time fighting against such tyrannical repression.

I also recalled that when I had read the papers, copies of which the white fellow was holding, the name of Luther Vandross had been mentioned in the papers. I finally broke into the conversation of the two men, and mentioned that Vandross' name had been in the papers. However neither man seemed to pay me much mind. The white fellow soon finished saying what he had to say, and he got off the truck, leaving the black fellow and me to talk to each other.

The black fellow immediately chastised me for bring up Vandross' name. Vandross himself (sitting right next to us) didn't seem concerned, and I defended myself by saying that Vandross' name had been in the papers, so the white guy already knew about it; I hadn't told him anything new. To myself I thought that Vandross had once been a lawyer, but that he didn't practice law anymore. However I thought if the black fellow and I began working on the marijuana case, Vandross might join in to help us.

The black fellow seemed assuaged by my explanation, and I could detect that he was finally beginning to warm up to me. In fact he started to mellow out considerably, so mellow that he took one of my hands and put it on the outside of his left pants pocket. Through the pocket I could feel what seemed to be a time release pill. And he told me that was what it was. However, it wasn't the kind of pill he wanted. He said he wanted some amphetamine. I told him if I had any amphetamine, I would certainly give it to him, but I knew that I myself didn't take amphetamines. I recalled that I had taken amphetamines when I had been a teenager, but I had learned not to like them.

The black fellow became more and more garrulous, and he seemed as if he might be slightly intoxicated. He began talking about drinking and he said that sometimes he would get drunk on just one beer. He was a very strong man, but he was admitting to me that he wasn't the powerful man that most people thought he was.

As he rambled on, he told me there were seven things he liked to do when he got drunk. The first four involved being with teenage girls. It seemed strange he was telling me this and I wondered how young a girl he was talking about. I thought it would be all right if he were talking about an older teenage girl, but if they were too young, he might have a problem.

As he continued to talk, becoming more and more friendly, I realized something new: he and Vandross weren't lawyers – they were singers. In fact they had both once been famous, and each had at one time had a number one song. I tried to remember the name of the song the black fellow used to sing, and then suddenly he began singing it. He sang, "You don't have to spend the night ..." I thought that must have been the title of the song.

I was surprised at how well he could still sing. Obviously he had an innate talent which he hadn't lost over the years. Suddenly a thought came to me. I knew both the black fellow and Vandross were both washed-up has-beens, but I wondered if it might be possible for the three of us to get together and form a band. I could write the songs. I thought I had some untapped talent in that area. And both of them obviously had talent. It was an exciting idea.

The truck was getting close to my destination. I remembered I was headed to my mother's house, a small frame house in New Boston, sitting on the lot which my father owned in New Boston. I wondered if letting these two black fellows know where I lived was a good idea. I didn't know them well and I still didn't know if they could be trusted. They might come back and kill me. But I quickly decided if I were going to form a band with them I would have to take a chance: I would let them see where I lived. They would need to know that.

At least I could join my voice to the chorus denouncing the barbaric drug war in America.

Dream of: 31 January 1996 "Justice In America"

I had gone to Howard Stern's radio station to pick up a new car which I had won in a contest. When I arrived and was let in, I began walking around the station and was amazed by its size. The station was spread out in many rooms on several floors. As I walked from room to room, looking for Howard, I encountered several different people, and I realized some worked for Howard, and were people whose voices I had heard on Howard's radio show.

Unable to find Howard, I continued walking around until once again I found myself back at the entrance. Someone gave me directions, and once again I set out walking, but I must have soon taken a wrong turn, for I found myself outside on the back side of the building where I was surprised to find some kind of grain business in operation, with trucks backing up to three large grain silos and being filed up with grain.

When I once again finally found the entrance to the building, I discovered I had walked into a small auditorium filing up with people, mostly young. Several people were smoking marijuana, and I wished I also had some. I thought perhaps someone there would sell me some.

I could see the stage down at the bottom of the seats. I was surprised the auditorium was in the building. It was actually quite nice. Still interested in finding Howard, I walked up to the top of the stairs and went through a door. I continued looking until finally I found Howard.

He greeted me and was extremely friendly, not at all caustic. We were in a room with about a half dozen other people who worked for him. He had a marijuana roach in his hand and asked me if I wanted any. The roach was so small I was unsure there was any marijuana left in it. I said, "Can I?"

I had asked the question in the sense of asking whether there was anything left in the roach which could be smoked, but Howard thought I had asked the question as if I were begging for the roach. He handed the roach to me and I took a hit.

I began walking around the room, finally running into a fellow who said he was the musician Jackson Browne. He told me that he didn't write songs anymore, but that he did write stories. He also mentioned that he smoked pot. I thought I might like to get to know him. I thought he could read what I wrote, and I could read what he wrote. Plus, the idea of his being a celebrity appealed to me. I thought about my Dallas friend Eloise LaGrone, and how I would tell her I knew Jackson Browne. I couldn't remember what kind of lyrics Browne used to write. I thought I would have to get his albums and listen to them. My only concern was that he smoked pot. I didn't know if the pot affected him so much that he couldn't write well.

I walked back over to Howard. Someone had a marijuana plant, and Howard and I held the plant up between us as someone took a picture. I liked the look of the plant and thought it was appropriate to have my picture taken with it.

When I joined back in with the others, I realized one black-haired man (about 40 years old) was unknown to Howard. I immediately became interested in the man and I quickly decided he must be a narcotics agent. Although Howard had only smoked a little pot, his being busted would be a big deal. I began questioning the man, who had an explanation for why he was there. Nevertheless I became convinced he was police. Finally he pulled out some kind of talking device and spoke into it. Then he said he had to go and he quickly left. Now I was positive he was the police.

I told the others the police had probable cause to come in and search because the man had seen the joint that Howard and I had been smoking. I kept repeating the phrase "probable cause" to try to get my point across. I told everyone they should leave immediately.


Howard and I were in a small blue sports car which he was driving. At first I thought only he and I were in the car, but then I realized three of his friends were in the back. As we drove through the city, I expected to be stopped at any time. And sure enough, up ahead, I saw a vehicle pull across our path to block us. I could just imagine what would happen next. We would all be taken out of the car and asked to line up on small bleachers out on the street. A large crowd would gather and I would yell out, "This is justice in America!"

I would also scream, "The drug war is against the people!"

I knew the drug war was ridiculous. I also knew that many people agreed with me and that someday the war would end and drugs would be legalized. In the meantime the barbaric war continued.

The possibility existed that I could best face my own problems by helping society face its problems.

Dream of: 17 February 1996 "Problems Facing Society"

My old friend Steve Weinstein, a fellow named Robert, and I were sitting in a room and talking. (I first met Robert in the sixth grade at Highland Elementary School in Portsmouth). Our conversation turned to my early history in Portsmouth, and as we talked, I tried to remember some of the students who had attended Highland with me in the sixth grade and then later had gone to Portsmouth High School. I mentioned that Robert had gone to Highland and he confirmed that was true. I said I thought Wendy had also attended Highland. I recalled Wendy, a blue-eyed blonde, as being one of the prettiest and most popular girls in high school, and I thought I remembered her also from Highland, but Robert said she hadn't gone to Highland. My memory was so fuzzy, I couldn't contradict him.

I remembered another girl from Highland, but I couldn't recall her name. However, she stood out in my mind because even in the sixth grade she had been an excellent artist. I could still remember the almost life-like pictures of horses which she used to paint. I was sure she must have gone on to become a successful artist, and I thought that at some time through the years I had even heard such a report. Suddenly her name came to me and I blurted out, "Vickie Nestor!" But both Weinstein and Robert looked at me puzzled, and indicated they had never heard of Vickie Nestor. I thought that was rather strange.

I also remembered another fellow (Barry Lange), but I couldn't recall his name. I knew that Weinstein had been friends with this fellow during high school and that Weinstein would clearly remember him; but since I couldn't remember the fellow's name, I tried to describe who he was. I told Robert and Weinstein that the fellow had lived in a part of town near the river. I also said the fellow had been able to do just about anything he wanted because his parents were usually gone. I said that the fellow's father had gone out to Las Vegas to live as a gambler and that his mother had worked as a "riverboat queen"; but then I said that I was just making up the part about his mother being a riverboat queen, and that I was just using that term to describe the wild, free life which she had led.

Still, neither Robert nor Weinstein could figure out who the fellow was. Then I remembered one other thing about the fellow, and I thought this was the kind of thing which would have stuck in their minds, so they would remember him. I remembered that the fellow used to have parties at his house, and that Penny Bressler (a girl I had known in Portsmouth around 1972) had come to one of those parties and had had sex with six different fellows. But even after I told Weinstein and Robert about Penny, they never indicated they knew who the fellow was, and we moved on.

I thought for a moment that Weinstein himself might have gone to Highland, but then I recalled he had probably gone to Roosevelt Elementary School, so I didn't bring it up.

As Robert also tried to remember who had been in the sixth grade class at Highland, he mentioned there had been a play that year and he tried to remember who had been in the play. I told him I didn't recall a play, but then I added that I hadn't been at Highland during Christmas of the sixth grade, and that the play might have taken place at that time.

As the conversation began to wane, I looked around the room, and began to recall where we were: we were at the local probation office. I recalled Weinstein and I had come there with a fellow named Scott, who had only recently been put on probation. This was Scott's first visit to the probation department. Scott's appointment was supposed to be at half past the hour; but although we had arrived on time, no one had been ready to see Scott; so Scott had left the room to go to the restroom.

As Weinstein and I waited, I noticed a table with some papers on it; I saw a copy of the Wall Street Journal. Thinking I would read a little while I waited, I picked up the paper and flipped through it. Something quickly caught my attention: a map of the United States. The map of the country was divided up into sections, like states, but the names of the states weren't on the sections. Instead I saw such words as "Legalization" and "Marijuana" on the different sections. I quickly concluded the map was part of an accompanying article about legalization of drugs and I decided to read it.

At the same time, Weinstein had walked up and was looking at the paper over my shoulder. I pointed to the map and to the article and told him this was the number one issue facing the country today. He somewhat scoffed at what I had said, clearly thinking I was going too far by believing legalization of drugs was the most important issue in the country. I wanted to try to explain to him my thoughts on the subject, how I thought so many of the problems facing society would be eliminated if drugs were legalized.

Although he obviously disagreed, he did seem interested in the subject, and he said he would like to read the article. I wanted to read it myself and I didn't want to give it to him, but finally I relinquished that part of the paper, keeping the rest of the paper in front of me.

We continued to talk about legalization. Weinstein expressed his doubts by saying something like LSD could be harmful for a person if too much were taken. I quickly began talking. I told him that of course anything could be harmful if too much were taken. Even food of the most healthful kind could be harmful if a person ate too much. Anything in excess could cause problems. I didn't disagree with that. I told him I didn't even disagree that something like marijuana was somewhat harmful even in small amounts. I wasn't arguing the issue of whether drugs were harmful; I would concede that. My argument was that the laws against drugs did far more damage than good, and the laws against drugs were the root of some of society's worst problems.

As I talked, I noticed Scott's probation officer had come out of her office and was standing in the room. The room was rather capacious and had built-in wooden file drawers all around the walls. I thought the drawers must contain the files of all the people on probation.

The probation officer was an attractive woman (probably in her early 30s). She was obviously upset because Scott wasn't there. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 10 minutes before the hour – Scott had been gone for more than 20 minutes! I couldn't imagine what he could have been doing in the rest room for such a long time. I headed for the door thinking I must go and find him.

Just then he walked in. He was a thin lanky fellow (probably only in his early 20s) shorter than I. He was dressed all in gray and had a burr haircut. He almost looked like a prisoner. I immediately walked over to him, began chastising him and lightly slapped him on the back of his head with my bare right palm.

As I continued to criticize him for being late, I stopped and took a look at myself. I was acting like some kind of authoritarian. I didn't used to be that way. How was it that I was pushing this fellow around, even slapping him on the back of his head that way? Obviously I had somehow changed, and I didn't particularly like what I saw.

Although I was too retarded to understand it, I believed my conscience was communicating to me a story which would lift my spirit from the ground. 

Dream of: 22 April 1996 "Gump"

I had just met a woman with whom I had been communicating somehow for quite a while, but whom I had never actually met in person. I had come to her house, and although my visit wasn't completely unexpected, I could tell that she was surprised and somewhat disconcerted to see me. Although she was friendly, she seemed preoccupied with something, as if I might have interrupted something else she was supposed to be doing right now.

The woman (probably in her mid 40s) had very black kinky hair which fell to her shoulders. In some way she reminded me of my Dallas friend Eloise LaGrone (who is in her late 40s and has kinky brown hair) and at times it even seemed as if two women were in the room – the woman and Eloise. This woman, like Eloise, seemed financially independent, and like Eloise, could do whatever she wanted with her time and her life.

I had the feeling the woman and I had some matters which we needed to discuss, but for some reason, we couldn't seem to get to them. Soon I noticed my old friend Steve Weinstein also in the room. Then another fellow (about 30 years old) showed up – a tall unkempt fellow with long scraggly hair (brown like mine) – who was a friend of the woman.

Without having been able to really talk with the woman, I walked outside with Weinstein and the scraggly fellow. As the three of us walked along outside, the scraggly fellow mentioned that when he would walk like that, he was in the habit of picking up aluminum cans when he would happen to see them. That interested me, because I thought picking up cans was an excellent idea. Since I often took walks myself, I had told myself before that I thought it would be a good idea to take a plastic sack along with me and pick up discarded aluminum cans which I might happen to see along the way. Of course I had never actually done it, probably mainly because I thought people would look down on me if I did so. But it was refreshing to think someone else thought the same way.

As we walked, I saw an aluminum can on the ground, and I pointed it out to the fellow, who snatched it up. Next I saw a black garbage bag lying over to the side in the grass. I kicked it with my foot, and saw that it also contained several aluminum cans. I quickly called the fellow's attention to the bag and he immediately knelt down beside the bag and began going through its contents.

As I watched the fellow down on his knees, pilfering through the garbage bag, I quickly found myself losing any respect I had harbored for him. True, I had thought picking up some aluminum cans might be a good idea – but this was going to far. This fellow was really into it; he was determined to possess every can he could find, and I quickly found myself repulsed by the whole scene.

Weinstein had walked on ahead of us; I hurried to catch up to him, but just as I was about to reach him, I saw yet a another fellow standing near Weinstein. This fellow was just as unkempt and scraggly as the first fellow, and he also had long disheveled hair (only black, like Weinstein's). I immediately felt apprehensive when I saw the new fellow, so instead of walking right up to him and Weinstein, I decided to glide in and hover over their heads. I knew I had the power to float if I concentrated on it, and I willed myself to rise off the ground, slowly circling in to where Weinstein was.

When I reached Weinstein, he had something in his hand; I quickly realized he was smoking a marijuana joint. I hovered in closer, just above him, and he handed the joint to me. Still in the air, I took the joint from him and took a hit. I had the distinct impression that Weinstein didn't want me to pass the joint to the other fellow who was still standing nearby, and that in fact Weinstein wanted to get away from this fellow. So I quickly pointed myself in another direction and began floating away. Weinstein followed and after a short distance I came back down to the ground and began walking beside him.

We had actually been on a small hillock, or perhaps on top of a levy, and we headed down its side. When we reached the bottom I looked back up and saw the other two fellows had met up and were standing next to each other. I was anxious to get away from them, but I thought we should at least say something to the first fellow, especially since the black–haired woman had introduced us to him. But I couldn't remember the fellow's name. I asked Weinstein what the name was, and he replied, "Gump."

I hollered back, "Gump, we'll see you later."

Gump hollered back at us, saying something about making a reservation to see him. Weinstein hollered back at Gump, saying we didn't need a reservation. Weinstein and I hurried on.

Unjust laws damage society just as bad habits damage men.

Dream of: 17 May 1996 "Injustice"

Some other people and I were riding in a car along a highway. When I had boarded the car, I had noticed that one of the people in the car had put a considerable amount of marijuana into a cardboard box in the trunk of the car. Although I had had nothing to do with the marijuana, I was somewhat concerned that I would be riding in a car transporting marijuana.

As we rode down the highway, we were soon pulled over by the highway patrol and everyone was ordered out of the car. As I was getting out, I saw that not only my car, but dozens and dozens of other cars had also been pulled over, and I remembered that my car was part of a caravan of people headed to a gathering. The people were mostly the long-haired peaceful type. I had the feeling that about 400 people had been pulled over.

To my chagrin, as one fellow was getting out of a car, I heard him confessing that there was enough marijuana in one of the cars to make four thousand joints. I couldn't believe he would be so stupid as to make that kind of confession. I was concerned that the police would now have the probable cause they needed to search the car in which I had been riding. If the search took place and the marijuana were found, I might be implicated, because although the marijuana hadn't belonged to me, I had been riding in the car.

The driver of my car, a fellow with long blond hair, was right in front of me. The marijuana in our car belonged to him. I quickly stepped up behind him and began whispering in his ear. I told him that no matter what, he should not consent to having the car searched. I tried to impress on him the importance of his not consenting to a search, but I couldn't be sure my warning had sunk in. Abruptly a police officer told me to stop talking.

As I backed away, I thought to myself that everything depended on the driver's refusing to consent to a search. As an attorney I had learned that the worst thing a person transporting drugs in a car could do was to consent to having the car searched. If drugs were present, and consent to search were given, any discovered drugs could be used as evidence. However, if consent weren't given, and the police had no reason to search but searched anyway, it might be possible that the drugs wouldn't be allowed as evidence. If drugs were actually in the car, a person had everything to lose and nothing to gain by consenting to the search.

As for myself, I was unsure whether I would consent to a search of my belongings which I had in the car. Since I had no drugs, I had nothing to gain by refusing. If I refused, my refusal would probably only antagonize the police and make them more suspicious. In retaliation, the police – whom I knew couldn't be trusted – might even plant drugs on me. I was uncertain what I would do.


I was in a rural jail where all 400 people who had been on the road had been taken. With some of the other prisoners, I was led into a room where several men were standing by a wall, scrutinizing us. I was told that one of the men was a judge; I stepped up to him. He was probably in his mid 50s, overweight, and dressed in street clothes. I was made to believe that he wasn't the judge who would be presiding over the case, but only the judge who would set bail. I quickly asked him what the bail would be; he replied that it would be $12,500 for each person.

I could hardly believe it. I blurted out that in Dallas – where I came from – bail for such an offense was only $750. He looked back at me blankly, as if he didn't understand what I had said, or as if what I had said didn't make any difference. However, he seemed willing to let me speak, so I continued. Although I didn't really think it would do any good, I tried to reason with the man. I asked him how he could take part in such injustice. I wanted to know what had happened to the idea of freedom in American society. Was not freedom supposed to be one of the cornerstones of this country? I asked the judge if any of the 400 people who were locked up there had hurt anybody. I was trying to point out that possession of marijuana shouldn't be a crime at all, since using marijuana was simply a personal choice which each person should have the freedom to make, and that that choice only affected the person making it.

I also launched into an argument about the damage arresting so many people was doing to society. Where were all these people going to be held and who was going to pay for all the jails? What sense did it make to continue to devote so much effort to simply locking people up?

Somewhat to my surprise, the judge, as well as some other officials standing near him, was actually listening to what I had to say. It seemed that their stolid minds had never actually stopped to consider the consequences of the drug laws, that they had just automatically continued to arrest and incarcerate people without actually considering why. But now that I had spoken, it seemed as if they were actually thinking that maybe what they were doing wasn't completely correct.

Of course it was also clear that they still intended to hold everyone in jail and enforce the laws, however unjust those laws might be. When I asked how long it would be before a trial would actually be held, I was told it would probably be a year. Since I thought none of the prisoners would have enough money to make bail, I thought they would just have to wait in jail.


I was alone in a side yard beside the jail. A wire fence about three meters tall surrounded the yard, but no guards were in sight. I thought this might be my chance to escape. I hesitated, unsure I wanted to take such a risk. If I escaped, I would be a fugitive; I would have to live on the run. I was uncertain I would be able to handle that, but suddenly I knew I had to try it. I began climbing up the side of the fence, but just as I made it to the top, I heard a voice call out to me. Looking around in the direction of the voice, I saw a guard sitting in a tower. I hadn't noticed him before. Then I saw another guard. Clearly I couldn't escape now; I began backing back down the fence. When I again reached the ground, they ordered me back inside the building. I wondered if my punishment would now be increased.

Much of the recklessness of my teenage years can undoubtedly be attributed to my inability to cope with the muscular dystrophy of my angelic brother Chris, who died at the age of 16 in 1974 while living at the Logan Street House.

Dream of: 24 May 1996 "Upgrade"

I was standing outside a house which vaguely seemed like the Gallia County Farmhouse. My ex-brother-in-law James and a couple other fellows were also standing there; the three of them were about to get into a car. Recalling that James used to smoke a lot of marijuana, I wondered if he were now going to go get some. I hadn't smoked any pot in a long time, but I would like to try some again. Or maybe he was even going to get some LSD. It had been even longer since I had taken any acid, but I thought I might even like to try some of that. However, James and I had never socialized much, and he had always seemed a little secretive; so I didn't think there was any chance that he would ask me to go with them. Thus I was surprised when – in a friendly way – he told me to get in the car.


I was sitting in a house with James and the other two fellows. It seemed that indeed James was trying to score some pot, and I wanted to wait until he had the marijuana so I could try it. Suddenly, however, I realized I wasn't going to be able to wait because I had something much more important which I needed to do, something that had slipped my mind, but which now came back to me.

I recalled that when I had ridden off with James, I had forgotten that I was supposed to be taking care of my crippled brother Chris. Since Chris had muscular dystrophy and he couldn't care for himself, I needed to return to him immediately. I found it hard to believe that I had been so negligent as to have simply left Chris by himself.

I wasn't completely sure where Chris was, but I did remember that one of the fellows with James had taken Chris to a place where someone was presently supposed to be watching Chris. I hoped the fellow might offer to drive me to Chris, since the fellow had a car and I didn't. However, if the fellow didn't offer, I wasn't going to ask him. I would simply take a taxi. Looking out the window of the room where I was, I could see a city street with several taxis on it; I could easily go out there and catch one.


I had already picked up Chris (who looked 7-8 years old, but also somehow seemed as if he were only 2-3 years old). He and I were now riding in a car with several people who seemed to comprise a small family. Chris was in the front seat with a woman who seemed like the mother of the family.

As we rode down a long stretch of country highway, I realized I had traveled about 40 miles to reach the place where Chris had been. Our return journey would be another 40 miles back. I was glad I hadn't taken a taxi, which would have been expensive.

It was unclear in my mind exactly where I had picked up Chris. However, I did have a memory of being at a grocery store where there was nobody except Chris and the family who was now in the car with us. While at the store, I had also done some work, mostly moving things around; and to some extent the family in the car had helped me. These facts were all relevant because a girl in the car suddenly mentioned that I hadn't yet paid her for the work she had performed for me.

I turned and looked at the girl (16-17 years old). Although I was sitting in the back seat, she was sitting in a seat behind mine. I began a discussion with her, trying to clarify what she was talking about. I recalled that I had indeed paid her for some work at the store. As I recalled, I had given her $16, even though she had done nothing more than make me a peanut butter sandwich.

But she made it clear that she wasn't talking about the work which she had done at the store; she was talking about the fact that she had shown me where the store was, and that she thought I should pay her $40 for just doing that.

I was irate that she would try to charge me for just showing me where the store was; I forcefully told her I wasn't going to pay her anything. But then, just as quickly, I pulled out my billfold and turned back to her. I angrily told her I was going to pay her $10 for her services; I began counting out some $1 bills from my billfold, but I was having trouble counting, and when I finally spotted a $10 bill in my billfold, I pulled it out and handed it to her. I turned back around and, still angry, began telling the girl's mother what had happened, how the girl had charged me first for working at the store, and then had charged me for just showing me where the store was.

I thought that the mother would surely sympathize with what I had to say and that she would berate the girl, but the mother didn't seem to care; or if she did care, it looked as if she would probably incline toward the girl's side. These facts all made me realize I needed to reassess my position there in the car. And in so doing, I realized I needed to get Chris out of the front seat and bring him back with me. These people weren't my friends, and they probably didn't really care what happened to Chris. I needed to get him immediately.

I leaned over the front seat and began trying to pick Chris up. As the woman helped me, I sensed that she indeed was glad to have me take Chris. I had difficulty getting a good hand on him – he was so unwieldy and he couldn't move much himself – but finally I managed to pull him over the seat to me. He was wide awake and looking all around, but he never said a word. He was only wearing a pair of white under shorts; I wondered if he felt embarrassed since everyone else was fully dressed. But he was unconcerned; he seemed unconcerned about almost anything.

When we finally all settled down again, I pulled out a little pamphlet – an advertisement for computers – and began leafing through it. Oddly, the letters and numbers on the pamphlet began rapidly changing, as if somehow the paper was able to pick up new information. This seemed to be a rather remarkable technological advance. How was such a thing possible? Apparently even a simple magazine could now be computerized.

This made me think of my portable computer. I had had the portable for over four years, and it was already obsolete. I probably needed to buy a new portable. But maybe I could simply upgrade it. My portable was a 256; could I upgrade it to a 356? Then if I added a modem, I should be able to go anywhere and still be on-line. With the new technology, would it be possible to pick up satellite signals direct without hooking into a telephone? I was unsure it would work, but it was worth pondering.

The right of privacy, man's most basic freedom, is the right most viciously assaulted by the forces of evil.

Dream of: 31 July 1996 "At The Library"

After my father and I had walked into a library in Austin, Texas, we had parted inside the library, each going his separate way. I found a sofa next to a long table and sat down. Soon, two scruffy-looking fellows, one of whom was black, walked up and sat down near me. Listening to them talk, I soon realized they were trying to sell drugs to people in the library. No one was paying much attention to them, and no one seemed particularly concerned by what they were doing. I figured the drug laws in Austin were probably much more lenient than in the rest of Texas.

After watching quite a while, I finally spoke to the black fellow, who was probably in his 20s. I thought I might like to buy some marijuana, if he had any, and I asked him if I could see what he had. He responded that it would take him an hour and a half to retrieve the pot and return. When he asked me how much I wanted, I told him half an ounce. He said a half ounce would cost $50; that seemed like a fair price to me, but I couldn't wait for an hour and a half, because my father would want to leave. When I told the fellow I couldn't wait, he told me to just wait a few minutes and that he would be back. He then walked away.

He returned in no time at all, quickly pulled out a little baggie and opened it. I looked inside and saw some dried leafy substance, but I could tell immediately that it wasn't marijuana, and that he was trying to sell me some bogus substance. I told him I wasn't interested.

Two or three other fellows sitting nearby began showing me their wares; they all had the same kind of bogus grass. I told them all that I wasn't interested and finally they all left. However, one had left a white plastic sack lying on the table; I had the feeling the sack might indeed contain some marijuana. I looked at the sack and was just about to pick it up, when another fellow walked up and sat down on top of the big sturdy table.

I looked closely at this fellow. He was probably in his late 30s, strong, healthy, and dressed in an immaculately pressed white shirt. I thought I recognized him and when I asked him where he worked, he replied that he worked for the Justice Department. Now I knew who he was: a lawyer for the feds. I had met him before, and I had the feeling he was someone with whom I could carry on a conversation, but I also realized something else: I was definitely not going to be able to go near the white plastic sack.

I began talking and I asked him what he thought about the laws against marijuana. For myself, I thought the laws were completely unjust and I didn't have any respect for a man, such as himself, who would be involved in enforcing such repressive laws.

When I asked my question, he visibly squirmed. From his actions, I could tell that he himself was uncomfortable with the laws, but I could also tell that he hadn't really thought much about it. He was simply involved in mindlessly enforcing the laws as they were written, without considering the consequences.

I could see however that there might be an opportunity to reason with the man about this. Since he at least seemed willing to listen, I began talking in a firm and reasoned manner.

I was willing to admit that if marijuana were legalized, more people would use marijuana than if it were illegal. But the arguments in favor of legalization of marijuana were overwhelming. As I spoke, my first argument dealt with the violence that was connected to marijuana. I argued that the violence associated with marijuana wasn't due to the drug itself, but to the laws against the drug. The police initiated the violence against the users of the drug when the police resorted to violence to apprehend and arrest people. Besides that, the violence associated with gangs or dealers was also due to the laws against marijuana; if marijuana were legal, the profit would disappear and the gangs would no longer be fighting.

My second argument dealt with the danger of the impurities in the drug. I pointed out that not only marijuana, but other drugs were often impure because they were illegal and there was no way of checking impurities. The impurities in many drugs caused so many overdoses, not the drugs themselves. And again, these impurities resulted from the drugs being illegal.

But it was my last argument which I thought was most important: freedom. I argued that each person should have the freedom to determine what he or she did with his or her own body. It wasn't the place of government to interfere, much less to actually arrest and incarcerate people for exercising this freedom.

As I had talked, another black-haired fellow who also worked as an attorney for the Justice Department walked up. I could tell that this fellow, unlike the one to whom I was talking, wasn't reasonable; he was only interested in trying to arrest people and incarcerate them. Apparently this fellow was also aware that there was some question about the plastic bag. It seemed as if he had had his eye on it. I now realized more than ever that I must not have anything to do with the plastic bag.

Sensing that it would now be best for me to depart, I rose and took my leave. I walked around the library, looking for my father, but I couldn't find him anywhere. Concluding that he must have already gone to the car, I headed for the exit.

Once outside, I saw that the library was situated on top of a hill, with a long set of concrete steps leading down the front of the hill and ending in the parking lot at the bottom. I headed down the steps, quickly realizing they were very steep, almost vertical. It was almost like climbing down a ladder; I had to lean back and hold onto the steps behind me with my hand. I thought I must look awkward; I finally heard some people sitting on the side of the hill laugh at me.

Suddenly I realized I didn't have to climb like that; I knew how to float. I could just jump out and float to the bottom of the hill. And that is exactly what I did. I jumped off the stairs, gently floating all the rest of the way to the bottom of the hill.

I lightly set down and immediately began looking for my father's car, but I couldn't find it anywhere. I began to worry that he might have left me. If that were the case, I was going to be extremely angry. From Austin we had been planning to drive to Dallas, and that was a long ways. Suddenly I saw my father walking toward me. I was happy to see him, and he didn't look at all angry that I had made him wait so long.

Probably my biggest problem was doing what I said I was going to do; I was unable to even trust myself regarding important matters.

Dream of: 03 August 1996 "Trust"

I had entered into a agreement with three other people – a woman and two men – to work together on a project, perhaps something illegal. All the others somehow seemed a little dangerous to me. At the time we had entered into the agreement, we had had several ounces of some rather weak marijuana which we had wanted to stash away until the project was finished. We had divided the marijuana into four equal parts (less than an ounce in each part), and had then placed each part into a separate quart canning jar and tightened a lid on each jar. We had then taken the marijuana and hidden it in an old log cabin which I had built many years before, hiding each jar in a different place in the cabin. We had then all agreed that once the project was completed, we would all go and retrieve the jars of marijuana.

We were now drawing close to the end of our project, and I was talking with the woman about our agreement. One of the other men in the project was also present, but he wasn't saying anything, just watching the woman and me talk. The woman was probably in her mid 30s, tall, thin, with long chestnut hair. As I stood in front of her and listened to her talk, I could hardly believe what she was saying. I was shocked to hear her blatantly lie and shrilly deny that we had ever had an agreement. Now that it was time to divide up the marijuana, the woman was obviously reneging on the whole project. I could see by the determined look on her face that arguing would be useless – she was going to deny everything.


I was at the cabin. I was also thinking about something which I wished I had said to the woman while I had been with her. I thought how such a thing often happens – how I would be talking with someone and then only after we had parted would I realize what I should have said.

What I should have said to her dealt with trust. I had been having some thoughts lately about trust, about how difficult it was to have, and how important it was. I had concluded that trust was essential in any kind of business relationship. In fact, I had concluded that trust was the most important part of the relationship. I knew that "trust" was a nebulous term, but it was still a term which I understood. I wished I had brought all this up when I had spoken with the woman, how trust was actually the most important aspect of what we had been doing together, how trust was important in and of itself, and how I felt that she had broken that trust. I wished I had said it all, but at the same time, I thought the woman had shown herself to be untrustworthy, and it wouldn't have made any difference what I would have said.

The only question now was what duty I still had in the agreement. Now that the woman had said that the agreement didn't exist, was I still bound by the promises which I had made? I didn't think so. The woman had perfidiously broken the agreement, and I was no longer bound. Now I was simply going to get what I felt legitimately belonged to me. If the woman was going to cancel the agreement, I was going take one of the jars of marijuana.

The cabin was a one story affair with several rooms and a basement. The cabin had obviously been abandoned for a long time and was in sad disrepair. I thought each of the four of us had been assigned a specific jar, and I remembered that my particular jar had been hidden under some things in a corner of one room. I entered the room where I thought my jar of marijuana was located and went to the corner. There was an old round water heater standing there and a pile of pink fiberglass insulation. I thought my jar was underneath the insulation, and even though I knew fiberglass could get stuck in the skin, I pushed back some cobwebs and began reaching through the pile of insulation until I finally found the jar and pulled it out. I was somewhat surprised that I was able to find it since I thought the others might have already come and taken the jars. I now thought maybe they had just come and taken the other jars and had left mine there.

Suddenly I heard someone talking, coming through the front door. I was uncertain who it was, but I knew I didn't want to get caught there, especially with the marijuana. Thinking quickly, I slipped the jar in between a couple sheets of the fiberglass, and I quickly retreated over to the stairs to the basement. As I hurried down the wooden steps, I wondered what I would say if the others had come.

At the bottom of the stairs I turned and hid behind a wall. I tried to hear who was talking, but I couldn't tell for sure who it was. Whoever it was, I certainly didn't want them to find me there.

If my conscience had not repeatedly portrayed my foibles to me, I shudder to think where I would have ended up.

Dream of: 20 August 1996 "Whispering My Dream"

I was sitting in the lounge area of a large building such as might be found on a college campus. One wall of the lounge consisted of windows through which I could look out onto a green park-like area. The purpose of my visit to this building was to take part in a reunion of people in my life, people whom I hadn't seen in many years. The reunion was in the nature of a high school class reunion, but the people weren't limited to people with whom I had gone to high school

Sitting next to me on the couch was my high school classmate Roger Anderson, whom I hadn't seen in a few years. (Anderson also resembled my attorney friend from Dallas, Wheat, whom I hadn't seen in more than a year. I recalled Wheat had had a child since I had last seen him, and as a woman walked by with a small boy walking beside her, I realized the boy was Wheat's child. The boy was already walking, and I had never even seen him.)

Before we had sat down, Anderson and I had been walking along a hallway in the building, talking to each other. I had been happy to see him and as we had talked, I had suddenly remembered Anderson had appeared in one of my dreams the previous night. I had immediately begun telling Anderson the dream, knowing it was my wont to tell people when they appeared in my dreams. My narration of the dream had continued all the way to the couch, where we now sat.

We had sat down right next to each other and I had moved close to Anderson, whispering the dream into his ear. Besides not wanting anyone else to hear the dream, my telling of the dream seemed to have more impact when it was poured straight into his ear. At one point Anderson even lay his head down in my lap so I could just bend my head over and whisper the dream to him.

When I had finished the telling of the dream, and we were still sitting next to each other, I happened to look down and notice my pants were unbuttoned and unzipped. I quickly zipped them back up and buttoned them, furtively glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. It didn't appear anyone had, and I was glad, because I certainly didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea and think I was doing anything with Anderson other than telling him my dream.


I was still in the same lounge area, but now I was sitting with a woman from my past: Cathy, with whom I likewise was once friends, but whom I hadn't seen in quite a while. (Cathy also somewhat resembled another person from my past: Mary Biester, an attractive attorney with whom I had been friends many years before in Dallas.)

Just as I had done with Anderson, I was now telling Cathy one of my dreams in which she had appeared. The dream was quite long and as I told it, I could see that Cathy seemed to become impatient. I wasn't sitting as close to her as I had been with Anderson, and I was definitely not whispering the dream into her ear. I was simply trying to relate it to her as faithfully as I could.

When I finally finished telling her the dream, I thought we would then start talking to each other. However to my surprise, she immediately stood up and with an expression somewhere between anger and disgust, she said, "So long."

I stood befuddled as she walked away. I asked myself what I had done wrong. I couldn't even now remember myself what had been in the dream which I had just told her, but I had the feeling the dream had something in it which had offended her. That made me stop and think about what I had been doing. Maybe I was carrying this business of telling people about my dreams of them too far. Indeed, as I now thought back on it, perhaps that was part of the reason why so many friends disappeared from my life. At a certain point, perhaps I had offended everyone through my dreams. But I couldn't recall any specific instances where that had happened, and the idea seemed pure speculation. Nevertheless, I thought I should be somewhat more guarded in the future about telling my friends the dreams in which they had appeared.

As I now looked around me, I was confronted with yet another disappointment: the reunion appeared to have ended. Everyone seemed to have already left before I had had a chance to talk with the rest of them. I didn't know whether they had all simply moved together to another location where I might be able to find them, or whether the party was over. I thought I would like to look for them, but I didn't know where to go.

I began walking down a hallway, thinking I would probably just leave, but just as I reached the end of the hall, I saw a room with a bar in it, something like a nice lounge bar in a hotel. This seemed strange to me that a bar would actually be set up in a college building, but I hadn't been around a college in a while, and I thought it must just be a sign of the times.

There was no wall on the side of the bar facing the hall, and I could see all around the bar. I didn't intend to go in, and I was just about to walk on by, when something caught my attention and caused me to stop and pause a moment: standing right in front of me, just inside the bar, was a mesmerizingly attractive woman. She was blonde, dressed in a short white dress, and probably not more than 20 years old. She was probably about five foot six inches – about six inches shorter than I. She was petite but had an exquisite figure. She wasn't flashy, she was simply naturally attractive. I couldn't take my eyes from her.

It was early in the evening and dancing had just started out on the small dance floor. I looked at the woman; obviously she wanted to dance; just as obviously – there was a dearth of men in the bar. Two other young women were also with the woman in white, but they were rather plain compared to her, and I didn't pay much attention to them.

It didn't take long before I found myself inside the bar, facing the woman and talking to her. She quickly made it known to me that she wanted to dance, and although I protested that I wasn't a good dancer, she insisted until finally I had her in my arms on the dance floor. I was awkward, stumbling, missing my steps, but it didn't much matter. She had such a wonderful personality and she didn't seem to mind my clumsiness. She didn't even seem to mind when I started spinning us around in circles, an action which I soon had to stop because it was making me dizzy.

I couldn't dwell upon my embarrassing dancing ability, because I was too engrossed in the feel of her body in my arms. My sense of touch seemed heightened, giving me the most intense pleasure just by being able to touch her back and her hand.

We talked some as we danced. She asked me why I was there, and I told her I had come for the reunion. It was clear that she had heard about the reunion, and I saw her give me a questioning look. I immediately thought I understood the look. She was thinking I must be quite old if I were going to the reunion. I immediately hoped she wouldn't think I was too old for her. I knew that in fact I looked much younger than I actually was. I wondered, now that we were so close to each other and she could get a better look at my face, whether she would be able to detect my actual age. But I didn't seem to have to worry. Although I could feel her scrutinizing me, she showed no sign of rejecting me, and she seemed satisfied with me as I was.

When we finally stopped dancing, I noticed the club had begun to fill. As we walked off the dance floor and into a section where tall round tables had been set up, I also noticed the clientele was quite different from me. It looked as if most people were about 20 years old, and many appeared to be of a rough character, such as young motorcycle hoods. I was somewhat apprehensive, especially since I seemed so out of place, but it appeared no one was bothered by my being there, and I thought I would be able to handle a problem if it arose.

It didn't take long for it to arise. As we walked past the tall round tables, I managed to brush up against some young dude wearing a blue-jean jacket with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders, and his arms covered with tattoos. I immediately knew I had a problem, but I kept walking. However when I heard the fellow call out to me, I turned around and faced him. He rose from his chair and walked up to me. He was obviously upset, and I thought it was because I had brushed up against him, but it soon became clear that something else was bothering him.

On the back of my left hand, in blue ink, I had written down my home telephone number, the last four numbers of which were "1413." This fellow standing before me was now incensed because I had written the number on my hand, and he repeated the number several times. I immediately became alarmed because I realized this man, a potential maniac, now had my home phone number. I tried to dissemble, explaining to him that the number wasn't mine, but that it belonged to someone else, and I had merely written it so I could remember it. But I had the feeling he wasn't buying it, and it looked as if I had unwittingly put my private life in jeopardy.

However, as I talked to the fellow, something else seemed clear. Although he was dressed like a lunatic and although he had covered his body with tattoos to make him look even more threatening, he really wasn't dangerous. He was just a young fellow who liked to look that way. For all I knew, he might even be a college student. At any rate, I didn't feel any immediate threat from him, and I only felt the need to disengage myself from a rather annoying situation.

At the same time, I felt somewhat intrigued by this young man, and his mate who was still waiting for him at the table. Thinking I might like to talk with them both a little more, to learn a little about them, I hit upon a solution: I asked them if I could buy them a beer. This seemed like a pretty expensive bar, and these two characters didn't seem to have much money. They reacted just as I had hoped they would: with effusive gratitude. The three of us headed for the bar.

The place was really crowded now, and I had to jostle my way through the crowd. I had lost sight of the girl, indeed I wasn't even thinking about her anymore. I was only concerned with getting the drinks. Once at the bar, the two roughnecks ordered: one ordered a Coors and the other ordered a Coors Light. What pussies, I thought to myself, to order a Coors Light. What kind of hoodlum orders a "light" beer.

For myself, I would have none of that. I wanted a beer that was strong, and I asked the bartender if he had a beer called "Red Dog." He reached into a small refrigerator and pulled out a large bottle, probably containing a quart of beer. The bottle had a most peculiar shape, starting with a long neck down to a wide flared-out bottom. It didn't appeal to me. I just wanted an ordinary beer bottle, and I began looking around in the refrigerator until I found exactly what I wanted: a brown bottle of Red Dog beer.

I asked the bartender how much everything was and he said it was twenty-two dollars and something. That sounded expensive to me, but I pulled out my wallet and began looking for some money. I thought I had some twenties in there, but I knew if I didn't have any cash I could simply use a credit card. In fact several credit cards fell onto the bar as I searched for the cash, which I finally found and handed to the bartender.

At the same time, I began questioning what I was doing. It occurred to me that this wasn't my first trip to the bar. I couldn't remember exactly, but now I was sure I had already bought one round of drinks either for these two fellows or for someone else. It was all starting to add up. Surely there were a lot better things which I could do with my money than spending it on drinks in a bar. But it was too late now; I was already moving ahead. And besides my thoughts seemed a little disoriented and confused. I was spilling stuff from my wallet on the bar, and I had even pulled things out of my pants pocket and laid them on the bar. Almost subconsciously I noticed a small baggie of marijuana in the pile of things I had laid out there. And only gradually did I realize I also had a long brown marijuana joint in my hand which I had been continually sucking on. It occurred to me that this was certainly an unusually open place, where I could just smoke marijuana right out in public or lay it out on the counter. The bartender obviously saw what I was doing and he didn't seem to care. A black man standing next to me on my right also clearly had been paying attention to my smoking pot, and he didn't seem to mind. Or did they?

Suddenly, as if regaining consciousness, I realized what I was doing. Smoking marijuana wasn't permitted in there. My thoughts had obviously become so distorted by the pot, I had lost complete consciousness of what I had been doing. Only now, as I grabbed up the little baggie of marijuana, did I realize that the bartender was on the phone, probably talking with the police, and that the black man standing next to me was probably an undercover cop, getting ready to arrest me.

My only chance was to make it to the restroom and flush everything. To do that, I realized I must keep playing as if I were in my drugged stupor and as if I still didn't know what I was doing. If the black man figured out I had regained my senses, he would immediately arrest me. I gathered up my things from the bar, as if I were still intoxicated, turned around and mumbled something about needing to go to the restroom. Fortunately the restroom was right behind us, and before anyone could stop me, I headed for the restroom door. Just out of the corner of my left eye I could see a policeman coming toward me, but I made it to the door and inside before he reached me. I quickly rushed into an empty stall and shut the door behind me. I was trying to remember how much marijuana I had on me. I knew I had the joint and the small baggie with about a tenth of an ounce of pot, but I also had another baggie with about a quarter ounce of pot in another pocket. I must be sure to flush everything if I were going to avoid arrest. I rapidly began dumping the pot into the commode.

I maintained that I wasn't afraid of anything, yet an abiding, deep-rooted, pernicious, undefined, inexorable fear permeated by being.

Dream of: 29 August 1996 "Paranoia Is My Favorite Feeling"

I was riding around in a pickup truck in Portsmouth. Two other fellows were in the cab, one of whom was driving. We finally pulled over and while the driver stayed behind the wheel, the second fellow and I climbed out. Almost immediately, a woman who apparently had been standing there on the street, climbed into the cab, and began positioning herself so she could have sex with the driver. Curious, I also climbed back into the cab, remaining close to the door on the passenger side, so I could observe the action.

The woman had positioned herself with her back to the man behind the wheel, putting her hands on the seat right next to me, with her head right in front of me, looking at me. It occurred to me that the woman might be placing herself in a position so that while she was having sex with the driver, she could also perform oral sex on me. I became slightly aroused at this prospect of mιnage a trois, but there was just something so distasteful about the whole scene, I turned and slipped out the still open door.

I only stood on the street a moment before the woman also came out of the truck. The driver was finished with her and had tossed her out.

The driver himself next climbed out of the truck, joining the second fellow and me on the sidewalk. I followed the other two as they turned and walked into a building which abutted the sidewalk.

I realized we were in a part of town where I had rarely ventured, the black section, a section I had always referred to as "the village." The central part of the village consisted of government-subsidized apartments almost entirely occupied by blacks. The building into which the three of us now walked appeared to be part of the housing project, but not a place where people actually lived. Instead we appeared to have entered some sort of public community center where people could meet with each other.

The place was just one big rectangular room, and actually had more the feel of a cheap bar than a community center. About 20 people were in the room, all young tough-looking white fellows, with not a black in sight. The men seemed to be milling about as in a bar; some seemed engaged in some kind of activity such as pool, although no pool tables were in the room.

I felt at ease with these fellows and soon found myself having a good time being with them. They were clearly of a lower class, with none having more than a high school education. I was obviously the only person there from the better part of town, but still I liked being with them. They seemed to know more how to have a good time than the people with whom I usually associated.

As we stood around, a flaky-looking fellow walked near me and dropped something on the floor. I looked at what he had dropped and saw that it appeared to be some kind of white chalky substance, irregularly shaped something like a piece of cauliflower, a few centimeters in diameter. But the thing was obviously no vegetable; clearly it was some kind of drug. I had the feeling that the drug had just been made and that it was straight from the lab. It was lying right in front of me, but I didn't pick it up. I didn't want to have anything to do with it. I didn't mind that the other fellow had the drug, but I didn't want to be connected with it. Nor did I want to have anything to do with the fellow, who appeared to have no idea that a drug like that could be dangerous.

Although the white drug didn't appeal to me, I did think there might be some other type of drug which might interest me. By now I had realized that the two fellows with whom I had come had already left. I wasn't terribly concerned about this, but I thought I would be best advised to get to know the people in the establishment a little better. Up until then I had been fairly reticent, but now I thought I should become a little more outgoing. And it occurred to me that one way to do this might be to smoke some marijuana with them, even though I knew I hadn't actually smoked any pot in years. Obviously drugs were acceptable there, and all I needed to do was to find where I could get some weed. I could then offer some to the others, who would undoubtedly be thankful for my generosity.

One fellow standing near me caught my attention as someone who might be able to help in this endeavor. He looked exactly like Tony Banta (the character played by Tony Danza in the television series "Taxi"). I sauntered over to him and asked if it might be possible to buy some marijuana around there. He immediately told me he could get me some for $5. That certainly seemed like a reasonable price and I asked how many joints we could hope to get for $5. When he said we would be able to roll three or four joints, I pulled out a $5 bill and handed it to him. He took off in a flash.

I was surprised at how quickly he returned. I thought he must have just gone outside and met somebody in front of the building, perhaps some black drug peddlers; he certainly couldn't have gone much further. He sat down at one end of a long table, and all the other men in the room, 20 or more, also took seats at the table.

The Danza look-alike handed me the pot. It was in two small cellophane packets, each packet looking as if it might hold enough for a couple joints. He also handed me what I at first thought was a joint which was already rolled. But looking closer, I saw that it was a small bundle of marijuana stems, about the size of a joint, which had been neatly wrapped together. Obviously those couldn't be smoked and I wondered why anyone would have gone to so much trouble.

We set to work rolling a joint. Everyone's attention was focused on me, and I thought now might be the time for me to say something noteworthy. Up until then I had said nothing witty to set myself off as an interesting person. But the only thing I could now think of was to ask if everyone was sure that there were no undercover cops in the place. I thought that such suspicion would naturally be expected of me since I was an attorney and that I would be naturally concerned about such matters. I was now especially concerned, since for a moment I thought I saw someone wearing a police hat standing near the door. But upon second look, I saw I had been mistaken. I thought I also needed to be suspicious of people in the room simply because no one else there seemed to have given much thought to the possibility of the police coming. I pointed out to the others that anyone sitting at the table with us might turn out to be a nark.

By now a joint was ready and I had it in my hand. Still thinking of the possibility of a cop being present, still trying to be witty, I raised the joint toward my lips, turned to the Danza look-alike and quipped, "Man, I get paranoid when I smoke pot. I love it. Paranoia is my favorite feeling in the world. Give me a light."

I thought this prattle sounded particularly impressive, especially since I had used such a long word as "paranoia." These fellows were probably not accustomed to hearing such big words.

As I raised the joint toward my mouth, waiting for a light, I saw that my hand was actually trembling from anticipation and fear. I purposely exaggerated the shaking even more, to try to put a comic effect upon my paranoia. It worked because people began laughing at my action.

I wondered to whom I would pass the joint after I took a hit. It was my intention to share the pot with everyone at the table. But whether I passed it to the left or to the right, the person I didn't pass it to would feel slighted. I was uncertain which way to go.

I did follow my conscience more often than not ... I hoped.

Dream of: 01 September 1996 "Exciting Times"

My old friend Randy Ramey and I were riding through the streets of Portsmouth in a car which he was driving. In an excellent mood, happy to see Ramey again, I asked him if he ever thought about when we had been teenagers and used to hang around together; he said he did. I told him those had been the best times of my life, and I thought back nostalgically about how utterly wild we had been. Now, almost 25 years later, it was almost incomprehensible the things we had done. Life had been a party, and our main concern had been to keep the party going constantly. For a couple years we successfully avoided responsibility, and our main energy had been focused on having a good time. We sustained ourselves with sex, drugs and rock and roll, and all had been in ample supply.

I knew Ramey's life had diverged dramatically from mine. During those wild couple years I had dealt some marijuana and LSD, even making several exciting and frightening runs to Mexico to pick up pot, but I knew that in 1972 I had phased out of the drug business and had never sold drugs again. It seemed to me that Ramey, on the other hand, had never stopped dealing drugs, and that he was still in the business, now on a larger and much more dangerous scale. Just being with him now brought back the memories of the excitement of dealing drugs, an excitement the likes of which I had never found an equal.

We pulled up to a house and got out of the car. Ramey had taken me into his confidence that I was going to be meeting some of his high level suppliers. I was surprised that Ramey would be introducing me to these people, but obviously he trusted me, knowing I would never turn him in.

We were admitted into the house, into the living room, where three strong healthy men were standing. Since they immediately wanted to know who I was, I introduced myself. They weren't pleased that Ramey had brought an unknown person to their house, and I tried to assuage their fears, assuring them that I could be trusted. I explained that it was I in fact who had introduced Ramey to dealing drugs those many years ago, and that even though I hadn't dealt any drugs in so many years, I understood the need for secrecy.

Surprisingly, the men seemed satisfied with Ramey's judgment and allowed me to stay. I sat down on the couch and watched them as they discussed a project on which they were working. They were planning to smuggle some marijuana from Mexico. Standing in the room was a large wooden clothes cabinet which stood about two meters tall, and consisted of six or seven large drawers. They had pulled out one drawer and were showing Ramey that they had moved the back wall of the drawer forward, leaving a space at the rear of the drawer of about 30 centimeters in length where they were going to stash the marijuana; they planned to do this with all the drawers. I didn't say anything, but I was thinking they would certainly need to be very careful in preparing the drawers. They would have to make sure that when they did all the carpentry work on the drawers, there wouldn't be the slightest indication that any changes had been made in the structure of the drawers. It seemed risky to me, but it just might work.

Once they had shown Ramey the cabinet, the men decided they needed to go somewhere and take Ramey with them. Again I was surprised when they told me that I could stay there alone in the house and that they would soon return. They left and I settled down on the couch, left to my thoughts.

My grand duty was to discover and describe myself, however painful that discovery and description might be.

Dream of: 06 November 1996 "Vina"

I was sitting on the floor of one of the upstairs rooms of the Gallia County Farmhouse. My old friend Steve Buckner was with me, and I was happy to see that he had come to visit me on the Farm. My happiness was short-lived, however, because as I looked out one of the large windows of the room, I saw that a pickup truck loaded down with furniture and belongings had pulled up behind the House, and I knew that in the truck were some members of my family who were moving some things up to the Farm. I also knew that I was going to have to help with the moving, and that Buckner and I would be unable to simply spend the day loafing. I began picking up some papers lying on the floor in front of me, papers on which I had been working, and I began arranging them in five or six separate stacks, each stack with a number, starting at number one and then going on up to five or six. I was especially concerned about keeping these papers in order, so I could return to them later and finish my work on them.

Buckner and I both stood up; I was resigned to going downstairs to help my family move in the furniture. I knew the Farmhouse had had little furniture in it since my grandmother Mabel had moved out a couple years before; so it was time to bring some things in. I only wished I didn't have to do it right now.

Buckner also didn't seem anxious to work on moving in the furniture, and he told me to follow him. When I did so, we passed through a door, and I found myself standing in the upstairs of the house in Portsmouth where Buckner had lived when we had been in high school more than 25 years before. I knew Buckner had had the whole upstairs of his house to himself, and I immediately recognized that we were in his bedroom.

We both sat down on the side of his bed, and Buckner indicated we could just lie back in the bed and masturbate, but he even went further and made a gesture with his hand, as if to indicate that we could masturbate each other. I backed away from the bed, disgusted by the idea that Buckner would be suggesting such a thing. I had never known of Buckner to show that kind of inclination, and I was shocked. But almost as soon as I had backed away from the bed, I saw that Buckner was only kidding. He had just been testing me to see how I would react. He seemed satisfied with my disgust, and I saw that I had passed his little test.

I suddenly thought I might know why Buckner had brought me there: he had probably come to get some marijuana. I quickly asked him if he had any, and he told me there was some in the next room. He then stood, walked into the next room with me, and pointed out a baggie lying in plain view on a bureau. I picked up the baggie, looked inside and saw that it contained a small amount of pot – enough for one or two joints. Buckner told me to roll a joint, and he added that the pot was extremely powerful. I was glad to hear that this stuff was potent, instead of hearing that he had some low-grade pot that would just have given us a short high and a headache.

Buckner walked back into the bedroom and I set about working with the pot. I poured it out onto a stiff piece of paper, intending to separate out the seeds and stems. As I tilted the paper to let the seeds roll off, I realized I had far more pot than I had originally thought; there was enough for a good many joints. I found a coffee cup and began putting the good clean marijuana into the cup, filling the cup up almost to the top.

At the same time, as I was filling up the cup, I heard Buckner talking in the next room. It sounded as if he were talking with someone on the telephone, and I heard him mention the name "Jeannie." I concluded that he must have a girlfriend, and that he was talking with her on the phone. It sounded as if she lived nearby, and I thought he might be asking her to come over. Finally I distinctly heard him say, "Give me some money."

From this statement and others I inferred that the girl came from a wealthy family, and that she had been giving Buckner money on which to live. That was a little surprising, even though I knew Buckner didn't have a job or any visible means of support. What surprised me most was simply that Buckner had found a girl who was actually willing to give him money.

With my cup of marijuana in hand, I walked back into the room where Buckner was. I was surprised to see that he was lying on his back on the bed, and that the woman with whom he had been talking was lying in bed with him, with her back toward me. I was puzzled as to how she had arrived there; I thought she would have had to pass through the room where I had been in order to come in. I concluded that there must be another doorway of which I was unaware.

I had the feeling that the girl would be rather homely; but when she finally turned over on her back and lay beside Buckner so I could view her face, she was quite attractive, in an artificial, made-up sort of way. She was probably in her early 20s and had reddish-blonde hair which puffed up above her head and back down to her shoulders. She had bright red lipstick and was dressed in a long dark-blue, almost mauve nightgown.

As I stood at the foot of the bed, looking on, they continued their conversation, with the girl basically ignoring me. I felt a little uncomfortable standing there, with little or no notice being taken of me, and finally I asked the girl her name, but she just ignored me and continued talking with Buckner. I thought she wasn't going to even acknowledge my presence, but finally she turned her face toward me and said, "Vina."

I understood at once that "Vina" was her name. I had never heard of anyone being named "Vina," and I thought the name was rather strange; nevertheless I introduced myself, saying simply, "Steve."

With that, she seemed friendlier and more well-disposed toward me, although she continued talking to Buckner. It was evident that she was quite taken with him, that she would probably do anything he asked, and that she was indeed supporting him. At first I thought she must just be some bimbo whom Buckner had found, but then I began to see that she was actually quite intelligent. Gradually she began turning some attention to me, and I wove myself into the conversation. We broached the subject of what she did with her life, and she indicated that she was independently wealthy and that she didn't have to work, but that she did sometimes tell fortunes. She had a peculiar means of doing this: she said she would take a damp cloth and put it on someone's forehead; then, by looking at the shape of the cloth and the wrinkles in it, she could tell a person's fortune.

As the three of us continued our conversation, attention focused on Buckner and he began talking about what he had been doing during the last 10 years; apparently he hadn't done much at all, but he did mention that he had been to Iran and that he had been in prison there for a while, finally somehow managing to escape. As he told his story, I slowly began to realize it wasn't Buckner at all who was lying in bed, but an Iranian man who had escaped from Iran.

As I was trying to comprehend this fact, Vina picked up the story, and began explaining how some people who had escaped from Iran had done quite well in the United States. In fact they had done so well that they had ended up "on top." But she went on to explain that when an Iranian would end up "on top," he would soon be executed.

Sometimes sick and afraid that life had no meaning, I just wished I had some medicine which could take away the pain.

Dream of: 25 November 1996 "Un-Needed Medicine"

I was with two girls (both 18-19 years old); one was my sister (not my actual sister) and the other was black. We were in a small house, and we needed to leave to go to another location, but I had a couple problems with leaving. First, I knew the police had been following me in connection with some crime which they were trying to pin on me. Second, the black girl had some kind of medical problem, and she had some medicine which had been prescribed for her. The problem was that her medicine looked exactly like marijuana. It was even in a baggie and looked like about a half ounce of pot. Naturally I was concerned that if we had some kind of problem with the police, the police would find the medicine and conclude that it was marijuana.

Despite these problems, it was important for us to leave and go to the other location, so we began getting ready to go. I decided it would be best if I carried the baggie of medicine, and I crammed it into my left back pants pocket. The three of us then climbed into the car, with me driving, and we took off.

We hadn't gone more than a block when a policeman standing in the road flagged us down to pull over. I did so and the policeman immediately came up to the car and told us to get out. At the same time I saw that several other police cars were parked around us, and I realized the police had just been waiting for us. I recognized the policeman who had flagged us down: he was the one who had been following me. I was surprised to see that he had staked out the house where we had been. I hadn't expected him to be that close.

My first concern was the baggie of medicine in my pocket. I almost pulled it out, thinking I would try to explain what it was, but on second thought I concluded that pulling out the baggie wouldn't do any good, so I thought I would just wait for the policeman to find it. He told me to turn around and he began frisking me. I could feel his hands touch me, but I was surprised when he finished without having touched my left rear pocket. He had completely missed the baggie.

I turned back around toward him and I could see that he was disappointed that he didn't have any reason to arrest me. He made it clear that he would now search the house which we had just left, and that I would continue to be under surveillance. With that, the two girls and I got back into the car and I drove off.

I couldn't believe my good luck. I had already been thinking of what I would do if I had been arrested. I thought bail would have been around $1,000. I knew a bail bondsman would charge about $200, and I didn't want to pay that because I would never get it back. I would have one of the girls go to the bank and pull $1,000 out of my account. I would pay the $1,000 bail and get out of jail. Then once the chemical tests had been performed on the medicine, the charges would be dropped and I would get the $1,000 back. I might even have a law suit against the authorities for wrongful arrest.

Now I didn't have to worry about that. However, I did think I needed to do something with the medicine so I wouldn't have to face the problem again. As I drove along, I pulled it out of my pocket and looked at it. When I asked the black girl what she wanted to do with the medicine, she indicated that she didn't need it anymore, that she was no longer sick, and that I could do whatever I wanted with it. I realized I really had no need to keep it, and perhaps the best thing would be to simply throw it away. I remembered that my pet Dalmatians Chaucer and Picasso had been taking some medicine for some rat poison which they had eaten, but I had stopped giving them the medicine after it was clear that they no longer needed it. Just like the dog medicine, there was no need for the girl to continue taking this medicine, and I might as well toss it out. Getting rid of it would be a relief.

With that thought, I rolled down my window and tossed the baggie out the window just as we passed a city park. I thought if someone found it, they would probably think they had found some marijuana. They would be disappointed when they tried the stuff and found it had no effects; but it was harmless so it didn't matter. I still had a few pieces of dried leaf in my pocket which I cleaned out and likewise threw out the window. I was glad to be completely rid of it.

Sometimes I even experienced that elusive thing called happiness.

Dream of: 14 December 1996 "Harvard"

I was on the campus of Harvard, where I was planning to start classes. This was the first day and all the new in-coming students were supposed to attend an assembly at which I would give a speech because I was the designated "president-elect" of our class. I wasn't exactly sure what being "president-elect" meant, or how I had been chosen; I only knew that such was the case.

Several other people would also be speaking at the assembly, and I was supposed to simply stand and give a short speech. I continued walking around the campus, trying to figure out what I would say. When I walked past the place where the assembly was scheduled to occur, I saw people already starting to gather. The place looked like an outside auditorium. Only a few people were already there, and I kept my distance, still trying to decide what I was going to say. I thought the assembly would somewhat resemble a commencement ceremony, and I tried to think of the kinds of things which might be said at a commencement. As I began trying to go over in my mind the points I would try to make, I wondered if I should write down my thoughts so I wouldn't forget them.

I might mention that I had once before been on Harvard campus and that I had walked around there. In fact it seemed as if I had walked around there two or three times before. However I had never thought I myself would end up going to Harvard. I knew I had already gone to college elsewhere, but now the idea of actually taking classes at Harvard was exciting and pleasing. I was in an extremely good mood at the prospects of studying at Harvard.

I thought that in my speech I might say that I had come from humble beginnings, that my family had been very poor, and that I had never thought I would make it to Harvard. I might also bring up that I had received a scholarship from the National Endowment for the Humanities which would pay for my entire first year of studies – all my tuition, room and board. It seemed like the total amount for the first year was around $420,000.

I also thought that during the speech I would bring up the issue of the legalization of drugs. This was an issue which was close and dear to me, and I began trying to think about how I would broach the subject. I quickly decided that it would be best not to talk about the legalization of all drugs, that I should concentrate only on the legalization of marijuana. I thought I should say that during the next four years – the time during which all these students would be at Harvard – it was time for marijuana to be legalized.

I knew I myself didn't use drugs, and I thought perhaps I should also add that drugs were dangerous, but then I decided it wouldn't be a good idea to say that drugs were dangerous, because I didn't think that was actually a true statement. I however thought I should say something like, "But as long as you are here, don't do drugs, because it'd be punished severely." I would then point out that even though the students didn't actually take any drugs, they should still work toward the legalization of marijuana.

I didn't know how this speech would be received, and I didn't even know whether I should talk about drugs, but I thought the legalization of marijuana was still going to be essential in my message to the students.

Feeling as if the time for the assembly to begin was growing close, I walked nearer to the auditorium, where I could see the students already beginning to gather. When I looked inside, I was surprised that although some of the people were sitting down, most were on their feet and dancing. Everyone appeared to be in a happy mood because they were getting ready to start college.

Finally things began to quiet down, and people began taking their seats. An announcement was made that the first speaker should now come to the front stage, and that the first speaker was Jimmy Carter. When I saw Carter walking toward the stage, I realized the assembly was beginning and I hurried to a place behind the stage which was reserved for the speakers. As I reached the row of chairs where the speakers were sitting, I could see more clearly out into the auditorium, which now looked more like a huge outdoor stadium completely filled with people.

As I took a seat among the row of speakers, a woman asked me who I was. I told her my name, and that I was the president-elect. She indicated she understood who I was. I then asked her if she knew what I was supposed to say when I gave my speech. She seemed unsure, so I just sat there and listened to the other speakers, waiting my turn.

I listened to several different speakers make short speeches, and I tried to get an idea of what they were saying, still trying to decide what I would say. When one speaker spoke, he pointed to a tall black student sitting in the front row. I thought the student might be a basketball player. When black fellow was pointed out, he stood and began singing a beautiful soulful song. The song was short, and when he was finished the black student sat back down.

Continuing to look around me, I noticed to our right a wall made of glass. A tall strong-looking Hispanic man (probably in his mid 30s) was standing on the other side of the glass wall. He was dressed in work clothes which made me think he might be a window washer. I thought that when I gave my speech, I might point to the man, and mention my affinity to Hispanic people. I could mention that I spoke Spanish, and I might even holler out to the Hispanic man and speak to him through the window.

However, mainly I was still planning to concentrate my speech on the issue of drugs and the legalization of drugs. I felt that this should be a rather liberal body of people with whom to talk, and that the students should be receptive to the idea of legalizing marijuana. I hoped for a good reception.

I might also pepper my speech with accounts of the time I had been in jail for quite a while in Iran. Plus I thought I had been in jail on other occasions, and I could mention that. Talking about how a person could go to Harvard after having been in jail might prove entertaining. However, I wasn't completely sure it would be wise to bring up the fact that I had spent time in jail.

I also wondered whether I should mention that I had been to law school and that I was a lawyer. Thinking of this fact, I thought I might even practice some law while I was going to Harvard. I knew I wasn't licensed to practice law in Massachusetts, but I still had my legal knowledge which I could put to use. In my speech, I might even mention that if someone had a legal problem, he or she might ask me for advice. However, I wasn't sure it was a good idea to bring that up either.

My thoughts were interrupted as the man who was presently speaking turned around, looked at me and pointed to me. The speaker said something to the audience about the smile on my face. Only then did I realize that all the time I had been sitting there, I had displayed a big smile on my face, and that even now I just couldn't seem to stop smiling. But I felt so happy, and the smile just seemed to reflect how I felt. I was extremely happy, and I just couldn't seem to stop smiling.

Now everyone was looking at me and my smile. Even though I was happy, I didn't think I had a particularly pretty smile, and I thought perhaps the speaker was making fun of me. But slowly I realized that the speaker wasn't making fun of me, that he was simply pointing out that I was a happy type of fellow. When a couple other people also spoke up and said something about my smile, I thought I should say something back. After all, I was at Harvard now, and I couldn't just sit around and not say something. I was expected to contribute in some way. Finally, trying to be humorous, I blurted out, "You can't even smile at Harvard?"

I had tried to speak loud enough so the people in the audience could hear me, but there was no reaction at all. I hoped someone might laugh at my humor, but no one said anything. I quickly concluded I hadn't been very funny after all. I also noticed that when I had pronounced the word "Harvard," I had pronounced the word with the Midwestern accent with which I had grown up. I hadn't spoken the word the way someone from Massachusetts would have said the word. I reflected that I would probably soon modify my accent and begin talking more like the people in this area.

I wanted to trust my conscience, which clearly directed me to the road I should follow, but I was often mistrustful and floated down wrong roads.

Dream of: 16 December 1996 "Floating Down The Road"

My life had taken a confused, wayward turn. It seemed that my wife Carolina had left me, and only after she had gone did I realize how much I had really loved her. Without Carolina, my life seemed empty and I saw no hope of ever finding anyone else to love. I reflected that I had been in love several times in my life, and each affair had ended the same. It was as if I had finally run out of chances, and I didn't believe I would ever try to fall in love again.

In my disoriented state, I had moved to Columbus, Ohio. I had just arrived in Columbus the day before, and was still in the process of finding a place to live. Although I had spent the night at a small unfurnished apartment, it wasn't clear whether I had actually rented the apartment yet. So when some old friends showed up at the apartment, and when they wanted me to go with them, I was still uncertain whether I should leave, because I thought I still needed to complete the paperwork for obtaining the apartment. However, after talking with my friends, I realized I also had important business with them, and we all boarded a car and left; I sat in the front passenger seat.

The friends were Steve Buckner and Mike Walls who looked as if they were still in their early 20s. Also with them was a black fellow who was about the same age. I didn't know the black fellow well, but I felt an immediate rapport with him, and I was glad he was with us.

We began talking about our business. We were planning to ship a large amount of marijuana from Texas to Ohio, about 250 pounds. There would be 50 separate packages, and each package would weigh five pounds.

I was rather concerned about the operation, realizing the danger involved. The plan was still amorphous in my mind, and I needed to know much more detail about how the shipment would take place. I was also concerned about whether I could trust the others who were involved in the operation. I now realized yet another fellow was in the car with us, a fellow whom I didn't even know. Apparently Buckner and Walls knew him, and they had decided to bring him in on the deal, but I reflected that this was exactly the kind of fellow who could turn out to be a nark. I could be sure of Buckner and Walls, because I had known them practically all my life, but this new fellow was an unknown quantity, and I was nervous about him.

As far as Buckner went, I thought I should also talk to him about an agreement between us that if one of us should get caught, we wouldn't rat out the other one. I knew one of the biggest problems in these kinds of deals was that if one person was caught, he could tell about all the others.

I asked if anyone had any marijuana with them, and the black fellow pulled out a joint, lit it and handed it to me. I took a hit, and then another; almost immediately I began to feel the effects. It had been so long since I had smoked any marijuana, I had forgotten what it was like, but now I once again remembered that it was one of the most pleasurable feelings in the world. I suddenly felt extremely peaceful; my nervousness and fears vanished. The car seemed to be floating down the road instead of rolling along on the road. The countryside around me took on a beautiful, serene aspect.

I turned to the others and said, "I like marijuana more than anything in the world."

In dealing with mental phenomena, some things can be changed and some things cannot be changed. The challenge is distinguishing between the two.

Dream of: 31 December 1996 "Never Giving Up"

I had gone to a house in Portsmouth, a two-story frame house which was just west of Richard's News on Gallia Street. The house was full of teenagers and people in their 20s having a party. I wanted to be part of the party, but I didn't see anyone I knew. I began mingling and looking the people over. Finally I was happy to see my old dope buddy Phil Lane (about 25 years old) walk in. He was wearing a dull gray sweater and appeared to have bit of a limp. I walked over to him, threw my arms around him and hugged him tight, it had been so long since I had seen him.

Lane also seemed happy to see me, and we walked over to the side of the room and began talking. Almost immediately I remembered that he used to sell drugs, and thinking that he might have some marijuana, I said, "Do you have anything for me?"

After we talked a little more, and I clarified that I was interested in buying some pot, he said he had a couple joints on him. I really wanted to buy a whole bag, but willing to settle for a couple joints, I said, "OK."

I asked him how much he wanted, and he said he only wanted $1. I thought the price was too cheap, and I told him I would give him at least $1 apiece for the joints. After he pulled out the two joints and handed them to me, I began going through my pockets, looking for the money. I pulled out a $1 bill and a $10 bill, but I couldn't come up with another $1 bill. I gave him the $1 bill, but I thought I was going to have to tell him I would have to owe him the other dollar. I wanted to pay him the other dollar right then, but I just couldn't seem to find another dollar. As I continued to search for the other dollar, Lane wandered away into the crowd of people and disappeared.

When I finally began looking for Lane again, I realized he had left the party. His departure rather bothered me, because I had wanted to smoke the joint with him. I became even more concerned when I realized almost everyone else had also left.

I decided to smoke one of the joints. When I pulled out the joint and lit it, I realized I was now lying on a bed, and that a fellow whom I didn't even know was lying on my right in the bed, and that some other people were lying or sitting at the bottom of the bed. Once I had started smoking, the fellow on my right raised himself up and looked at me. Only then did I realize I might not be wise to be smoking in front of this fellow, since I didn't even know him. However, I quickly realized he didn't mind if I smoked, and in fact he indicated that he also wanted to smoke. I handed him the joint and he took a hit. He then passed the joint to the other people at the bottom of the bed.

I now saw three other people sitting at the end of the bed. Two were at the far end, and the other was sitting halfway between those two and me. I noticed that the fellow sitting half way took a hit off the joint both when the joint was going down and when it was coming back, so he got two hits while the others only got one hit. I reflected that he was pretty smart for sitting in the middle – that way he was able to get twice as much.

We continued smoking until only a tiny roach was left. When I had the roach, I stood from the bed and took the last hit from it. I knew I still had one more joint, but I wanted to smoke it by myself. I was also thinking about how it seemed that when people started smoking marijuana, they never gave it up. Everyone I had ever known who had started smoking marijuana had never stopped. Marijuana seemed the type of thing that once a person started, the person never stopped. I also thought about myself. Even though I had just smoked a joint, I wasn't really high, but I still had a craving to smoke more marijuana, and I wanted to smoke the other joint by myself.

Finally I walked outside and started walking down the street where I thought I could smoke the joint. I knew I had smoked pot on the streets of Portsmouth before. However, I reflected that I had been quite young when I had smoked on the street. It hadn't seemed like a dangerous thing to do back then, but now it did seem dangerous.

I continued walking until I came to a vacant lot about the size of a city block, a lot which had a wall almost two meters high all the way around its perimeter. I thought I would smoke the joint there, but then I noticed 25-30 people gathered in the lot, mostly young black men. I was immediately concerned about being there with the men, and suddenly everyone realized the entire area was surrounded by police outside the walls.

One of the black fellows jumped up and said the place was surrounded because three of the black men had guns. Immediately the three black men pulled out their guns, and one shot the man who had been talking. All three black men had Uzis, and they apparently intended to shoot everyone. I quickly saw an opening in one of the walls and ran through it. I found myself in a little unroofed corridor. At the same time, I heard the three black man begin shooting, massacring all the other men.

Realizing I needed to get out of the corridor and escape outside the wall, I looked for some way out. When I saw a regular sized glass window in an outside wall of the corridor, I grabbed something above the window with my hands, jumped up and slammed my feet through the window. I pushed myself feet-first through the glass and fell onto the ground outside the window. I could immediately sense that many police wearing brown uniforms were standing all around me, holding their guns on me. However, at that point, escaping from the killers inside was much more important than avoiding the police. I could still hear the machine guns inside, and I knew everyone in there was being slaughtered by the three men. I was lucky just to get out alive.

Although changes in my way of living might be in order, at least I was certain I would never change my conviction of the sanctity of man's right of privacy.

Dream of: 07 April 1997 "Right of Privacy"

I had just arrived at the house of a fellow I had known in my first years of college. At that time, I had gone to a party or two at his house, parties where marijuana and hallucinogens had been the order of the day. I had now come to visit him again, thinking he might know where I might obtain some drugs. When I arrived, I saw a fellow standing outside the front door, and before going in, I began talking with him. This fellow told me that my old friend wasn't home at the moment. But the fellow didn't stop there, and he began to fill me in on further details of my old buddy's life. The fellow revealed that my old friend had gotten heavy into dealing drugs, but that at present my old buddy was having a problem with a shipment. It seemed that my old friend had bought two tons of drugs somewhere in Southeast Asia, but he was having trouble bringing the drugs back to the United States, and the shipment was being held-up overseas. I was amazed by the whole story. Two tons seemed like a truly enormous amount of drugs, and it was difficult to believe that someone I knew was involved in dealing drugs on such a vast scale.


I was sitting in the back seat of a car. Several other fellows were in the car with me, and we had arrived at a house out in the country where we were still looking for my old friend, still hoping to obtain some drugs. As we eased along the forested road, and pulled up closer to the house, I began to have a bad feeling. I noticed some men standing off in the shadows amidst the trees, and it occurred to me that they might be lawmen who had staked out the house. I knew that I didn't have any drugs on me, and that there was no reason that I should be arrested, even if a problem did arise. Nevertheless I was worried. For all I knew, one of the other fellows in the back seat might have a bag of pot on him and might stick it down the back seat. Then the cops might try to say the pot belonged to me, and arrest me.

My fears soon proved to be well-founded, at least the fears that the cops were lurking about. Like blitzkrieg the cops suddenly swarmed in all around us, shouting and demanding that everyone get out of the car. We all quickly obeyed and stood in a little group outside the car. I was expecting the cops to start giving us a hard time and start frisking us, but instead, they assembled nearby in a little group and conferenced among themselves. It soon became apparent that they were far too involved in their present raid on the house, and they paid us little attention. All their energy was focused on busting the house.

Sensing that the cops weren't concerned about me, I became bolder. As the cops scurried around me, preparing for their assault on the house, I became angrier and angrier at what they were doing. Finally in an outburst I began screaming, "Nazis! Nazis!" One invective after another flew from my mouth. Here indeed was a cause close to my heart. To me there was little difference between a nark and a Nazi. Both were evil men intent on suppressing personal freedom. As I continued to scream, I tried to make it clear that it was the principle of freedom that I was talking about. At one point I screamed out, "I can do whatever I want with my own body!" I tried to point out that no one had a right to take this freedom away from me. It was my body.

I noticed that one of the cops was now watching me. It was quickly clear that he was the man in charge. He was a short slender fellow with black hair. He seemed interested in hearing what I had to say, so I aimed my tirade at him. I knew that just on the other side of the road was the country of China and I thought China would be a good example of what I was talking about. I screamed, "We might as well be across the road." By that I meant to say that just as the Chinese people weren't free, so we in the United States weren't free. It was very clear to me that if a person could be incarcerated for simply taking a drug, we could hardly be said to be living in a free society.

I had given this matter much thought. I knew that imprisoning people for possessing drugs was the strongest sort of affront to the principle of personal freedom, no less so than what the Nazis had done to the Jews, or what the communist Chinese did to their own people. I also knew that more and more people were beginning to realize the injustice of these laws. And in American jurisprudence, I knew the principle which I was trying to uphold. In my final outburst I screamed out, "That's called the right of privacy!" I also knew I wasn't the only person who realized the right of privacy was our most treasured right.

Knowing all of this didn't prepare me for what happened next. One of the fellows who had been in the car with me – a short skinny guy – suddenly walked over to the head cop, and in a blink of the eye, pulled out a knife and slashed the cop's neck open. The other cops were too late to stop it, although they quickly subdued the little fellow with the knife. Other cops quickly gathered around the head cop, picked him up, and began rushing him away.

I was flooded with emotion. I realized the little guy with the knife might have been stirred to action by what I had been saying, but that wasn't what I had been expecting. I hadn't wanted to get involved in that way. I was aghast. I had never seen such a sight. At least not in person. I didn't know quite how to feel. True, I despised the cops for being evil, and in a way I was happy to see any of them die, but at the same time, I really didn't want to see the cop have his neck cut like that. It was as if I had such strong conflicting feelings, the feelings canceled each other out, and I just felt numb.

As the injured cop was being carried away, he called out my last name. I didn't know how he knew my name, but apparently he knew who I was. He didn't seem at all angry with me, and instead in a calm voice, he called out that he knew someone with whom I could talk, someone who within a year could turn me back on the right path. I had the feeling that he was talking about some kind of mystic, perhaps Asian, who could straighten me out and help me see that my philosophy about drugs and freedom was in error.

I didn't know quite how to take this. Again I still felt numb. It was hard for me to completely despise this man: he seemed convinced that he was right, and he seemed to genuinely think that I could be swung around to his way of thinking, even though I knew that was not to be. It was inconceivable for me to think I would ever change my position. As far as what had just happened, I hadn't enjoyed seeing the man have his throat slashed open. It was terrible. But at the same time, I had to recognize that the cop had been trying to violate the right of privacy, and I couldn't deny that he had deserved what had happened to him. I was numb, but I still knew what I believed.

Even though I simply could not understand myself, I had an unrelenting desire for other people to understand me.

Dream of: 11 May 1997 "Intervention"

Hundreds of people were out in the street. There was either a parade or a big party in progress, and I was right in the middle of it. I was in Portsmouth, on Gallia Street, the main street that runs through downtown and ends up at the bridge over the Ohio River. I was right at the end of the street, and only a few feet from where the bridge began. The old Checkers hardware store, torn down many years ago, was still standing. My most vivid memory of that store was when I had been caught shoplifting in it when I had been about 14 years old.

Suddenly some men grabbed me and whisked me off. Before I could resist, or even think about resisting, they had hauled me off to a small room where about a dozen people were sitting around a long brown table. A man who seemed to be with the military or the police was sitting at the head of the table. He began talking to me and it quickly became clear that he was the person in charge of the situation. At first I thought I was under arrest, but as the man continued to speak, and I tried to concentrate on what he was saying, it began to appear that I wasn't actually being arrested. Actually it began to appear that it was more in the line of something I had heard of before, but had never actually witnessed: an intervention.

I now realized I knew all the people sitting around the table. I didn't know them well, but I could see that they all were quite concerned about me and worried about how I was leading my life. A black woman sitting to my left (I was still standing, having climbed up on something so I was about 30 centimeters off the ground) seemed particularly concerned about me. I hadn't known the woman long, and I didn't understand why she would be so worried, but she was.

I was finally able to realize that the main focus of this little gathering was to confront me concerning my lifestyle. I was willing to admit that I did indeed lead a reckless, even dangerous life, but I wasn't particularly concerned about it; I liked the way I lived and I hadn't given much thought to changing. The group seemed particularly concerned about my drinking habits. I knew it was true that I had been drinking more lately; but it wasn't something that I felt the need to change. Even now I was still feeling the effects of a couple beers I had drunk earlier. The beers made me feel more lively and free-spirited. I could admit that the beer might not be exactly healthy, but I liked to drink and I saw no immediate need to quit.

I also thought the group might be registering some concern about drug use. Anticipating what they might have to say, I said, "I haven't smoked any pot in ... almost a week. I was going to say three years, but then I remembered that I slipped a few times recently."

I found that my mind was a little foggy on this subject. On one hand it seemed as if I hadn't smoked any marijuana in three years, but then again it seemed as if I had recently smoked some, and I concluded I had smoked some about a week ago. At least I knew I didn't have any pot on me, and I knew I couldn't be arrested. The man in charge at the head of the table, if indeed he was a cop, would have no reason to hold me.

And holding me seemed to be what they wanted to do. That was the crux of the problem, because I knew I was going to be leaving very soon, heading off to London. Nothing anybody said there could change my mind about that – I was going to get out of this place and soon. It was an absolute necessity that I make it to London.

The man at the head of the table seemed to concede that he wasn't going to be able to hold me, and he knew I was going to be leaving for London. I was beginning to have the feeling that he was CIA, but I was also beginning to feel that he wasn't so much concerned with arresting me as with helping me. Finally, referring to my trip to London, he asked, "Will you need any friends?"

I quickly responded, "Yes I will."

The idea of having friends hadn't been heavy on my mind, but now that he had mentioned it, I realized I would indeed need some friends. I knew that after I landed in London, I intended to go to Ireland, where I had a very close friend. My friend in Ireland closely resembled Ben Stirling (an Australian with whom I had been in prison in Iran). I knew I could count on him.

The man at the table continued talking, telling me he would give me the name of a man in London whom I could also contact. I thought the fellow in London might also belong to the CIA and I had doubts about getting hold of him. But I somewhat trusted the man at the table, even if he was involved with the CIA, and I thought I probably would contact the fellow in London.

In January 1970, shortly after my parents divorced, I moved with my mother into the Grandview Avenue House, a large two-story frame house in Portsmouth. I was in the twelfth grade of high school. My mother stayed in the House for a couple years before moving on to the Logan Street House, and I spent much of that time in the Grandview Avenue House.

Dream of: 17 May 1997 "Stryfe"

I had returned to the Grandview Avenue House where my mother was now living. My state of mind was confused; I didn't really know why I had come back to Portsmouth or what I was going to do while there. The only thing I could think of that I would like to do was to smoke some marijuana. I hadn't smoked any pot in years, but now it seemed a good time to try it again. The problem was that I didn't have any pot, and I didn't know where I could find any. Suddenly I remembered something: the previous night I had been out on the town and somehow I had ended up with a baggie of marijuana. In addition to the baggie, I now recalled that I had run into my old high school buddyRamo and that Ramo had given me enough pot for a joint, but I couldn't remember what I had done with the pot. I was afraid I had lost the pot the previous night during my nocturnal ramblings. Yet there might be a chance that I still had the pot, that I had hidden it somewhere.

I decided to search the House for the pot, and the first place I decided to look was in the pockets of the navy blue sports jacket I had been wearing the night before. I hurried upstairs to the second floor and walked to the front room, the room which overlooked Grandview Avenue. The room was presently being used as my mother's bedroom, and everything was neat and tidy.

I walked straight to the closet and quickly found my jacket. I held the jacket in my hands and went through the pockets. With sinking heart I soon realized nothing was in the pockets, and I was just about to hang the jacket back up in the closet. But just as I had given up on the jacket, I felt a lump down around the bottom seam of the jacket. In a flash I remembered that this jacket had a hole in one of its pockets, and I realized the baggie of pot might have fallen through the hole and was inside the jacket lining.

I walked over to the bed, held the jacket over the bed and began examining the inside lining. Suddenly my heart leapt as I saw part of the baggie of marijuana protruding through yet another hole in the interior lining of the jacket. I quickly pulled out the baggie, and in the process, some loose marijuana from inside the jacket also fell out onto the light blue blanket spread on the bed. I knew the loose marijuana was the pot which Ramo had given to me. There was only enough loose marijuana for one joint. I particularly wanted to save the loose marijuana, because Ramo had said it was quite powerful.

I dumped all the loose pot onto the bed, reaching into the jacket to try to get all of it. When I was satisfied that I had pulled as much pot as possible out of the jacket, I looked at the bed and realized I had another problem: I needed to get this marijuana off my mother's bed as fast as possible. I was unsure whether she was in the House, but if she came into the room and saw what I was doing, explaining would be difficult.

I worked as quickly as I could, but some of the marijuana was sticking to the cover and difficult to pull out. Finally, after much effort, I thought I had picked up as much pot as I could, and I didn't think anyone would be able to detect any on the bed. I had all the pot in the baggie now, and I walked back over to the closet to hang up the jacket.

Just as I had hung up the jacket, I heard someone walk into the room behind me. I thought for sure the person was my mother, and I nervously dropped the baggie of marijuana into a pile of things sitting on the floor of the closet, down behind a brown suitcase. I then started rummaging around through the things, trying to act as if I were looking for something. I knew it was going to be difficult to explain to my mother why I was in her closet, and to try to come up with an explanation of what I was looking for, but it was better than telling her I had a baggie of pot.

However I was surprised when I turned around to see who had walked into the room: a slender blonde woman (probably in her late 20s). She was quite attractive, her only obvious defect being her two top front teeth which were slightly crooked, but not so much as to make much difference.

Although I had never seen this woman before, I immediately thought I knew who she was. I thought my mother had recently taken on a boarder who was living in the bedroom at the other end of the upstairs. I had heard that the woman's name was "Marilyn Stryfe," and I thought this must be her. I immediately asked the woman if she was indeed Marilyn Stryfe, and with a smile she told me she was. I quickly introduced myself, wanting to put her at ease as to why a strange man was in my mother's bedroom. Once Marilyn knew who I was, she seemed satisfied, and turned to leave.

Just as Marilyn walked to the door, a second woman stepped into the room. The second woman was somewhat older, although she was also attractive. I immediately concluded that the second woman was Marilyn's mother, and I thought the mother must also be living in the room at the end of the hall. The second woman didn't speak, and together the two women walked out of the room.

I was immensely relieved that they hadn't seen the marijuana. I had no idea of what kind of problems it might have caused had they seen it. I didn't want to get started on the wrong foot with Marilyn, because I liked her looks. As I thought about how I might approach her the next time we met, I stepped in front of the mirror over the mantle in the room. I looked at myself and saw that I was wearing a tie and a sports jacket. I seldom wore a tie anymore, but I was glad to see that I had being wearing one when I had met Marilyn. I saw that I had dark black hair and that I looked as if I were in my 20s. I was pleased with what I saw, and I thought Marilyn probably had also been impressed. I thought I had a good chance of getting to know her better.

Although I was willing to concede that I was powerless over my desires occurring in my mind, I was unwilling to admit that I was powerless to act on those desires, even though I did at times succumb to my desires.

Dream of: 09 August 1997 "Powerless"

While in the front bedroom of the Logan Street House, I decided I would like to buy some marijuana, then suddenly remembered I already had some marijuana. I had recently purchased a couple small baggies of pot, but I was unsure what I had done with them. I had probably left them in a pair of blue jeans which I had been wearing. I picked up a pair of jeans lying on the floor and felt in the pockets. Nothing. Suddenly a sense of panic seized me: I might have left the marijuana in jeans which would now be in the laundry room; my mother might be getting ready to wash the jeans.

I opened the door to the bedroom and looked down through the living room and kitchen to where my mother was standing in the laundry room and I saw her holding a pair of jeans in her hands. My father (about 40 years old) was sitting in the kitchen at the table, right next to the laundry room. When I saw my mother handing something to him, I knew instantaneously she was handing him the marijuana. I hurried toward them, and sure enough, when I reached the kitchen, my father was holding two baggies of marijuana. Obviously angry, he began talking about how much marijuana was in the bags, trying to decide if there was an ounce. It looked as if there was less than a half ounce in each bag, so all together I figured the two baggies would contain less than an ounce. My father was trying to determine whether the baggies contained more than the legal amount. Apparently, in Ohio, less than an ounce of marijuana was legal. He muttered something about his possibly turning me into the police if there were more than a ounce. Infuriated by his statement, I made a nasty remark to him. He seemed to back off the idea of turning me in, but then he said he would simply destroy the marijuana. That also made me angry. After all, the marijuana belonged to me, and I didn't think my father had any right to tell me what to do. I recalled once before, when I had been young, my father had found some of my marijuana and had destroyed it. This was different: I was much older now and this was none of his business. I wanted my marijuana back and I said, "I'll just buy more."

He seemed to pause and consider what I was saying. He asked me if I thought marijuana was harmful for me, and I answered, no. At the same time I noticed a black-haired fellow (probably in his late 20s) sitting at the table. I had met the fellow before and I rather liked him. I didn't know whether he smoked marijuana, but I knew I had never smoked with him. He seemed neutral in the debate between my father and me, as if he were just weighing both sides without taking a position.

Suddenly I heard something behind me and I looked around to see a flood of people coming through the front door of the House and entering the living room. I immediately saw it was a troop of my relatives. I looked back at the two bags of marijuana lying on the table. The black-haired fellow adroitly scooped up both bags and slipped them into a pocket on his vest (he seemed to be wearing a pair of bib overalls with vest pockets). He had made the move so quickly, no one had seen what he had done -- I was impressed with his action.

I turned and walked away from the kitchen, through the living room and past my relatives. The whole family of my uncle Liston (my mother's brother) was there. I hadn't seen them in a very long time and I almost didn't recognize them. I saw one boy who looked like one of Liston's sons (either Roger or Rolland or Robin), but I couldn't remember what each of them looked like. Besides, this boy was probably only about 12 years old and I thought those boys of Liston's must be much older than that; so I concluded the boy could be none of them. I didn't know who the boy was. I looked for Liston but then I suddenly remembered Liston had died. I hadn't even gone to his funeral, and I regretted that. I was sorry to remember he was gone.

As the people flooded into the kitchen, I glanced back at my father and realized he was crying. He had his hand over his face so no one would see, but I saw. I realized that he was crying about me, and that I could probably solve this problem between us if I would simply go over to him and hug him, but I couldn't bring myself to do that. I didn't want to see him so upset, but I was powerless to go to him.

I also noticed my step-cousin Katrina (from my father's side of the family) there. She looked about 20 years old. Katrina's presence meant that relatives from both sides of my family were gathered there. I had never seen that before and thought how strange it was. My relatives from my father's side were so different from those from my mother's side.

I walked on into the front bedroom and shut the door behind me. I didn't want to talk to all those relatives. I just wanted to be alone, but I didn't want to seem as if I were trying to avoid them either.

I began thinking about what I had said to my father about marijuana not being harmful for me. I hadn't told the truth because I did think marijuana was harmful. What I should have said was what I believed, that marijuana was only minimally harmful and not nearly as unhealthy as people thought. Since I had felt my father had been attacking me, I had been forced to defend myself.

I began making up my bed and trying to decide what I would do now. I might simply go out and buy some more marijuana. There again, my father was involved with the situation because I was presently working for him. I had been away from Portsmouth for awhile and when I had returned, I hadn't had much money, so I had started working for my father. I thought he was wrong if he thought I couldn't get a job on my own. After all, I was a lawyer and I could work as a lawyer if I wanted. I hated the thought of doing that; I really didn't want to work again as a lawyer.

My conscience continually screamed at me to get on the right track.

Dream of: 26 August 1997 "Fanatics"

After arriving in Mexico City and taking up lodging in a dilapidated rooming house, I was surprised to find that a door on one side of my room led into a neighboring room where someone was apparently living. Although I didn't actually see anyone when I looked into the neighboring room, I retained the distinct impression that someone was over there.

I settled back in my room and let my mind wander. The building seemed like a place where college students might live. I thought how some college students wasted so much time in college, concentrating on getting a bachelor of arts degree. Liberal arts programs in colleges were rather useless, offering little more than a four year vacation for the student. It was true that liberal arts students would read some books and some Greek plays; but how much work was that? When I had gone to college, I had sometimes studied nothing for weeks, and then crammed the reading into the time right before the tests. Of course I had learned something along the way, but basically it had just been a free ride. A waste of time.

I finally settled back and pulled out a marijuana joint which I had already purchased upon arriving in Mexico City. Even though I hesitated to smoke the joint because of the uncertainty of someone's being next door, I lit it up anyway, soon filling my room with marijuana smoke. It didn't take long before I had smoked the joint down to the end, and I began wondering what I would do with the roach. Thinking I might want to smoke it later, I began looking for a place to hide it. Of course the roach needed to be hidden in a safe place, because now that I had been smoking, I was concerned that someone might smell the smoke.

After finally hiding the joint, I once again opened the door to the neighboring room and walked in. Although concerned that someone might smell the smoke from my room, I had the feeling that I didn't need to be extremely worried.

Once I was in the next room, I found two black-haired Mexican fellows (probably in their early 20s). They seemed to be expecting me and were quite friendly. They immediately led me outside and we walked around for a few minutes. I recalled that I had walked on that street earlier, and I had noticed that it contained several stately old mansions constructed of wood. One yellow mansion was particularly stunning. There were also some vacant lots, as if other mansions had stood on the lots and had been torn down. I commented to the two Mexicans that this street seemed as if it might be one of the nicest streets in Mexico City.

They grinned as if I didn't know what I was saying. I quickly saw why: looking closer, I saw that the mansions were just on one side of the street. On the other side of the street were warehouses and unsightly industrial buildings which I hadn't noticed before. I now realized the street wasn't that pretty after all.

The three of us finally returned to the rooming house, to the room where I had originally found the two Mexicans. Now 15-20 other people were present in the room. I joined a small group and began talking with them. I figured they could all probably smell the marijuana on me since I knew the odor of marijuana sometimes remained on a person for a while, but no one seemed concerned.

Suddenly, as everyone in the room began sitting down in folding metal chairs arranged as in a classroom, I remembered why I had traveled to Mexico City. I stood in front of the others, like a professor in a class, and quickly came to the point: we were all gathered there to form a revolutionary-styled group to strike out at the laws against marijuana. All the members of the group would be fully committed to the proposition that marijuana should be legalized. We knew we were a minority of the population, but we also knew we were definitely right, and we were determined to fight for our cause. I stood in front of them and proclaimed, "We are fanatics!"

Escape was no longer a realistic option.

Dream of: 11 September 1997 "Bodies In The Basement"

In a cottage in the country, another fellow and I walked into the bedroom and sat on the bed. We had decided to have a contest to determine who had the best marijuana. He pulled out a huge baggie which contained 17 ounces of marijuana, and in the process, he spilled a little powder on the bed. I in turn had 18 ounces. We planned to show our marijuana to a third person who would be the judge. I thought I should beat this fellow because my marijuana was better and I had more.

However, another fellow was also going to be in the contest; his name was Jimmie and he was locked in the basement. I didn't want to let him out of the basement because he had several pounds of marijuana and would obviously win the contest. Plus, I was very concerned because several dead bodies were in the basement – maybe as many as a dozen.

Even though I feared Jimmie would win the contest, I finally decided to let him out of the basement. The other fellow and I walked out on the back porch where I had left open the trap door to the basement. I hollered down to the basement, but no one answered. I thought Jimmie would surely come up if he were down there. I looked around into the surrounding woods and told the other fellow that if Jimmie had escaped, the police would probably soon be there; that would be bad. Explaining all the dead bodies in the basement would be difficult; and the drugs. Maybe we should simply leave and try to get away before the police came.

I might be able to change into a new person, but I needed to look toward the future, and not toward the past.

Dream of: 29 October 1997 "Masquerade"

I had been living for a short while with my aunt Jesse (the wife of my mother's brother, Liston). My mother was also staying for a while in Jesse's spacious and comfortable two-story house. However the circumstances of my sojourn in the house were exceedingly peculiar: I was pretending that I was one of Jesse's own sons. I was flabbergasted that the ruse had been working.

I must have been in my late teens, and I vaguely resembled one of Jesse's sons who was the same age. We both had brown hair, the same height and build, and similar facial features. I would have surely expected that Jesse should have been able to distinguish me from her own son, but she hadn't. Several times already I had been with Jesse, and each time she had been duped into believing that I was her son. It just seemed to me that there should be something special between a mother and her son so the mother would always recognize her own son. I felt sure that no one would be able to deceive my mother in that way. But Jesse had been fooled; and I decided I was just going to continue living in disguise in her house for a while.

I had recently acquired a small amount of marijuana, enough for a couple joints. The urge to smoke was upon me, but I needed some cigarette papers. Thinking that I knew where some papers could be found in an upstairs bedroom, I hurried up the wide winding stairs, found the room for which I was looking, and entered. I carefully shut the door behind me and proceeded to look around the room for the papers, causing some slight disorder in the process.

My search was soon interrupted – I looked up to see that another of Jesse's sons had entered the room: a tall, lean, black-haired fellow, not more that 18 years old. He was angry at my pretending to be his brother, and he wasted no time in challenging my charade. I was surprised by his attitude. I had assumed that he already knew of my masquerade and that he had gone along with it. I had been completely unaware that he was so troubled by my performance.

His ire quickly escalated until he actually attacked me. We grappled with each other, rolling onto the floor, neither able to gain the advantage. The struggle ended quickly with neither of us being hurt. We both stood back up, and he quickly exited the room. I hoped that would be the end of it, that he would have purged his system of his enmity toward me, and that we could all continue in peace.

But no sooner had I turned back to my search for the cigarette papers, than again I heard someone at the door. I looked up and saw that the fellow had returned, this time with Jesse, my mother, and one of Jesse's daughters, in tow. It was obvious: the jig was up. Jesse was scrutinizing my face, trying to clear the fumulus in her mind, dazed, trying to discern who I really was. I felt hard at the son who had exposed me. I hadn't thought he would actually go that far. But what was done was done, and there was no recourse but to admit the truth.

I still had a moment of angst, as I suddenly remembered my original reason for coming up there, to look for cigarette papers. I agonized that I might have laid my little baggie of marijuana out where everyone could see it. I noticed a crumpled page of a newspaper lying on the floor and I worried that the marijuana might be under the paper. But then I touched my left pants pocket with my hand, and I could feel the little pouch of pot, safe and secure inside my pocket. My anxiety abated.

Jesse's daughter (a winsome lass in her late teens) strode around the room, examining the disorder. I was surprised when she accusatorily informed me that this was her room. I quickly apologized that I would have never entered the room if I had known that it was hers. I pointed out that no damage had really been done, with one possible exception. In the middle of the room was a set of wooden shelves, with sundry knickknacks crowded onto it. On the very top shelf, even higher than my head, was a gaudy flowery ornament which somewhat resembled an ornately built water well with artificial flowers growing out of it. The object contained a device which, when turned on, allowed water to spout a few centimeters into the air. Somehow – either during my search of the room, or during the ruckus with the brother – the spring had been tripped and water was now shooting out of the ornament. I was afraid it might be broken and couldn't be turned off. I pointed it out to the daughter, again extending my apologies.

I needed to work, but I wanted to play.

Dream of: 15 November 1997 "Frankenstein"

My impatience was getting the best of me. A party had been scheduled for all the employees (there must have been 50 of us) at my place of work. Excitement was in the air, and people had begun gathering in one of the spacious but dreary rooms (the walls appeared to be made of gray concrete blocks, like a basement, with no windows). My heightened anticipation was piqued not so much by thoughts of the party itself, but by what was going to be provided at the party: marijuana. It was my understanding that an ample supply of pot would be provided for all the employees. I could hardly wait, and again and again I asked if the pot had arrived yet, or when was it coming.

And finally it happened – a healthy-sized compressed brick of pot, about the size of a shoe-box, was brought in and placed on a table in the middle of the room. As the other employees gathered around, I thought about pulling off a small chunk of the pot and eating it. I was sure it would taste as sweet and pleasing as a piece of candy. But I restrained myself, deciding I could wait just a little longer until the smoking began.

What I hadn't realized was that I would have to stand in line to receive my share of the pot — and the line already stretched around the perimeter of the room! There must have been 50 or more people in the stagnant line, leaning against the wall and waiting for their dole of dope. All were dressed casually (almost carelessly) and — to my surprise — all appeared quite young, no one more than 25 years old. I hadn't expected so many. It had been my understanding that the people who didn't want to smoke any pot would go into the adjoining room, and that the people who did want to smoke would remain in this room, but now it looked as if all the employees were in this room. Finally I asked someone how many people had decided not to smoke any pot and go to the adjacent room. I was stunned by the answer: none.

Even more stunning was the sudden change of my frame of mind — I positively did not want to smoke any marijuana. Not only had the thought of smoking lost all allure to me, I dreaded the idea. There was no definite explanation, no specific cause of my sudden change of attitude — I only knew I definitely didn't want to get high. I wanted to go into the next room which was reserved for the people who didn't want to smoke. However I felt embarrassed. After all, I had been the one who had been asking over and over about when the pot was going to arrive. Surely everyone was going to expect me to be smoking as much as I could. How could I just go alone to the other room?

Finally, a solution seemed to naturally present itself. I definitely wasn't going to smoke any pot. With almost no necessity of thought, I left the room. But it wasn't my intention to simply go to the other room and stay there by myself. I had decided that even if I wasn't going to drug myself, I was still going to take part in the party, and perhaps maybe even enliven it somewhat. I quickly returned to the party room, this time lugging in about 20 large boxes — all containing toys.

I quickly set about opening the boxes. Each box contained a remote-controlled battery-operated toy. Most toys were in the nature of robots or monsters, some quite large. One robot — somewhat similar to the robot on the old television series "Lost in Space" — was almost as tall as I. I set it in motion and watched it roll around the room, finally heading toward the door of the next room. It was my intention to simply set the toys in motion around the room — hopefully other people would take an interest and start playing with them.

I opened another box which contained three robots about the size of children's action figure. One olivaceous-skinned robot was a replica of Frankenstein. Another of the small robots looked like a space alien of the Close Encounters of the Third Kind variety — creamy white skin, bald head, and long slender arms. However, I noticed this particular alien-robot seemed to have a defect — its legs were missing. Where one leg should have been, a long white bone protruded from the hip. Turning the robot over in my hand, I finally concluded that it had been built that way on purpose, and that it was designed to move across the floor in a sliding motion, without any legs.

When I opened another toy, I couldn't figure out what it was at first. It simply looked like a little black box about a half meter long. When I set the box on the floor and turned on the remote, the box began moving across the floor like a little car. It seemed to change shape before my eyes, and finally it split into three different parts, each part continuing to whirl around the room like an automatic vehicle. Each time one of the little vehicles would hit a wall or an obstacle, it would automatically back up, turn around and head in the other direction. It was quite fascinating to watch.

I was glad to see that some other people finally did become interested in the toys. One young boy (not more than 12 years old) took control of the three little vehicles. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Meanwhile I kept unpacking and putting batteries into the remote controls. Finally I began running out of batteries, and I had to take the batteries out of the toys which I had opened first, so I could check out the new toys. Once, when I put the batteries into one of the remote controls, the device actually began to expand in my hand, and I thought it might explode, but it turned out that the remote was just powering up.

I had ended up enjoying the toys so much, I decided when the party was over, I wanted to pack the toys up and keep them. Originally I had been unconcerned about the toys, and I had thought I would simply leave them behind. It seemed as if this building were owned by my father (who seemed to be in the background, watching the party), and as if I therefore could just leave the toys there. But now I was worried that if I left the toys there, they might become lost or broken. It would be better to pick them all up at the end of the party. I thought I should also keep the colorful boxes, replacing each toy in its appropriate box.

I just hoped I could find everything. I knelt down on my knees and began picking up some pieces of the toys lying on the floor. At the same time I noticed another box of old toys which I used to play with and had left there. I thought I should pick those toys up and also put them in order. As I began doing so, I recalled I had recently had a dream in which I had been in the apartment of Jerry Seinfeld (from the sitcom "Seinfeld") and I had been doing something similar to this — picking up toys. It seemed strange that I would have had a dream about picking up toys, and that now I was doing almost the exact same thing.

Sometimes I would forget that everything I wanted to accomplish in life depended on a sound functioning mind.

Dream of: 18 November 1997 "Alzheimer's"

While at Mike Walls' house in Portsmouth, I reflected that about all Walls had done with his life was deal drugs. Over the years, Walls had sometimes worked odd jobs, but since high school, his main occupation had been as a drug dealer. Usually when I was in Portsmouth, such as now, I would stop in and see him. I didn't buy drugs from him anymore, but since we had been close friends in my teenage years, I still liked to see how he was doing.

I was sitting in Walls' spacious living room where probably 20 other people were sitting in chairs and couches around the perimeter, all waiting for Walls to return. This was the way it usually was at Walls' home – crowds of people, most of whom were wanting to buy drugs. Sometimes the people would just come to Walls' home to party. Someone in the room mentioned that Walls had a new rule on parties: apparently he invited different groups of people to different parties. If a person was with a group at a party one night, then the person wouldn't be invited to the party the next night.

I noticed a boy sitting on a couch, a boy whom I didn't recognize at first. But looking more closely at his facial features, and his dark black hair, I realized he must be Walls' son (16-17 years old). I hadn't seen the boy since he had been two or three years old. I knew that Walls had long ago divorced his wife Connie, and that Walls' son had gone to live with Connie. I tried to open a friendly conversation with the lad, and asked him how his mother Connie was doing. The boy stared straight ahead, without looking at me, and rattled off a list of afflictions, including depression, which plagued his mother. Someone nearby then mentioned that Connie had Alzheimer's.

I was stunned. I remembered Connie as a young woman. Even now she couldn't be more than 35. I had been under the impression that Alzheimer's struck only older people. It was hard to imagine that a younger person could also have Alzheimer's, but in the back of my mind, it seemed that I did remember that on rare occasions, young people could also be struck down with Alzheimer's. It was so sad to think that Connie, as young as she was, could be incapacitated by such a crippling disease. I wondered if the cause might have anything to do with the fact that Connie used to smoke a lot of marijuana.

I was becoming more impatient for Walls to return. When I asked, someone told me that he was supposed to be back at 3:40. Since the clock already said it was ten till four, I thought Walls would probably show up at any minute. I was becoming more anxious, because I was thinking I might smoke some pot this time. Although I normally didn't smoke any more when I went to Walls' house, this time I just might. I might even buy some pot from Walls to take with me. And if Walls didn't have any pot to sell, maybe someone else there would have some. After all, I was sure that everyone in the room must smoke pot.

Fidgety, I stood up and walked around the room. I walked over to a mirror and looked at myself. I only looked about 20 years old. I was wearing a cap over my long dark hair, hair which completely covered my ears. My cheeks were rosy, and I thought I looked quite good. When I sat back down on the couch, my eyes alighted on a girl sitting across from me on the other side of the room. I just starred at her, until I realized she was also looking back at me, as if to ask why I were looking at her. She was only about 15 years old and looked exactly like a young version of Julia Roberts. Another girl just as pretty was sitting next to her. I could tell that the girls were curious about who I was, that they thought I might be interesting. But I knew that I was so much older than they, it seemed highly unlikely that we would have anything in common, other than my attraction to their good looks.

Suddenly I looked up and realized that Connie had walked into the room and that she was standing in front of me. She smiled, happy to see me. I rose and embraced her. When we separated and I looked at her more closely, I couldn't see any signs that she was suffering from Alzheimer's. She looked perfectly fine and fit to me. I thought of asking her how she was doing, but then stooped, thinking that might not be the best question to ask. We exchanged a few more words, and then I sat back down on the couch.

Ron Stevens (a former junior high schoolmate) was sitting on my right. I remembered Stevens from junior high school. I had liked him at that time, but over the years, I knew he had become a surly, if not dangerous, character. I had heard that he had also become involved in dealing drugs, and as I sat down, I noticed a baggie of marijuana lying next to him.

I was feeling more and more like smoking. When I had come, I hadn't intended to smoke; but now that I was around all these other drugies, the temptation was increasing. I was unsure what I would do if someone were to offer me a joint. I suspected I would accept. I was further swayed by a commercial which I saw playing on the television in the room. The commercial was talking about the dangers of smoking pot, expatiating that one joint wasn't that bad, that two joints was dangerous, and that three joints would cause serious damage. Although the commercial was intended to dissuade people from smoking pot, I seized upon the first statement — that one joint wasn't that bad. I figured that since I hadn't smoked anything for so long, smoking one joint wouldn't be a problem.

As if in answer to my thoughts, I noticed that Stevens had been busily rolling a joint from his baggie of pot, and he was lighting it up. When he took a hit and handed the joint to me, I noticed a streak of dark brown resin curl up through the white smoke from the joint. The white cigarette paper was also turning brown, coated with the resin. Obviously the pot was extremely potent — Stevens mentioned that it was the best he had ever had. Thinking to myself, "I'll just smoke this one time," I took the joint in my hand, raised it to my lips and filled my lungs with a deep hit. I noticed the joint didn't taste like marijuana - it had a duller taste - and I wondered if it might be heroin. I had never smoked heroin, but I knew that heroin was coming back in vogue and that many people now smoked it.

I returned the joint to Stevens. He took another hit and handed the joint back to me again. I likewise took another hit. As I waited for the drug to take effect, I wondered how I was going to feel. If the joint was actually heroin, I would probably become lethargic. If however the joint was actually pot, I would probably become active and nervous. As the drug began to hit me, I didn't feel much of anything. Mostly my mind just seemed to become dull, and my thoughts a little more scrambled.

I hesitated as to whether I should hand the joint back to Stevens or give it to someone else. I noticed that a fellow had squeezed in on my left, obviously wanting some of the pot, but Stevens took the joint from my hand, indicating I shouldn't pass it to the fellow. Apparently Stevens had someone else in mind to whom he wanted to give the joint. The fellow stood up in a huff and walked away.

Once I had finished smoking, I immediately regretted what I had done. I turned to someone and said, "That's the first time I smoked in five years. Once in every five years is not so bad."

But that wasn't how I felt at all. I felt terrible. Yes it had been more than five years since I had smoked any pot. How could I have broken that long streak? It was the longest I had ever gone without smoking pot. It was heart-breaking to think that I had so nonchalantly fallen again into the quagmire. A sinking nervous feeling was upsetting my stomach.

Again I mumbled something, about how smoking pot every day would get to a person, "Like I used to do." And I remembered that indeed there had been times in my life when I had smoked pot every day. It was almost incomprehensible that I could have mistreated my mind so badly. I could only conclude that my mind must have completely shut down and quit functioning during those times. It was a sickening feeling, especially now that I had been so ignorant as to actually try the stuff again.

Now what was I going to do? There I was, stuck in a room with a bunch of druggies. They were all just sitting there, somnambulistic, doing nothing. I would at least like to talk to them or do something. Maybe I could stand in the middle of the room and start playing charades. But that would be foolish.

Or maybe I could at least do one thing: I might talk to some of the young people in the room about the dangers of smoking a lot of pot. After all, it looked as if a good percentage of the people in the room were rather young. Some of these young people were probably already smoking almost every day. I didn't know how their brains could take it. The idea was almost revolting. Maybe I could talk to them. Of course I was hardly setting an example to follow: I had just intoxicated myself. Yet what else could I do at this point — except feel bad?

And death will come like a flash of lightening and be gone.

Dream of: 21 December 1997 "Visitation"

I had stopped by Mark Upton's home in New Boston, the house where he had lived when we had both been in high school. We took seats in the living room and smoked a little marijuana. I dozed off or blacked out for a short while, and awoke lying on the couch. As I straightened myself up, I noticed a small amount of pot had been spilled on the floor. I also picked up a few marijuana seeds which had been separated out from the pot, and I mistakenly threw them back into the little container of pot sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Upton was sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, looking out over several containers which appeared to contain different kinds of drugs. Clearly Upton was dealing drugs and I thought I would buy some pot from him. As I stood up in front of him, however, a new idea entered my mind — I wondered if Upton had any heroin. I had never tried heroin; but it was becoming more popular and the heroin now available could be smoked instead of injected. I suddenly decided I would very much like to smoke some heroin. As I sat down on the floor in front of Upton, I asked Upton if he had any "smack." I told him I had never smoked any smack, but I had heard so much about it, I would like to try it. He seemed surprised by my question, but he indicated he did have some.

Before he could retrieve the heroin for me, I sat and scrutinized Upton's face, trying to figure out why this whole scene seemed so strange to me. Upton looked about the same as always; he was probably in his late 20s, and had short frizzy hair. But as I concentrated on his eyes, I suddenly remembered: Upton was dead. Or at least I had been told that Upton was dead, that he had died of AIDS. I remembered my old friend Steve Weinstein had told me that Upton had died.

Now the whole history began coming back to me. Upton, Weinstein and I had all graduated from high school in the same year and had lived close to each other. Weinstein and I had lived in Portsmouth, and Upton in the neighboring town of New Boston. Upton had been gay, and I had never hung around with him much, although I had always found him to be a pleasant person. Over the years, Weinstein and Upton had both ended up settling down in Manhattan, where they became friends. Although I had lost contact with Upton, I had kept in touch with Weinstein, and one day Weinstein had called me to tell me Upton had died of AIDS.

As these memories returned to me, and I continued to stare at Upton's face, I was at a complete loss to explain what was going on. I blurted out to Upton that Weinstein had told me that he (Upton) had died of AIDS. I even remembered the conversation with Weinstein, how he had told me he had visited Upton at the hospital the day before Upton had died, and how Weinstein had attended Upton's funeral. I had accepted Weinstein's words as the truth, and I had long believed Upton was dead.

As I searched for an explanation, it occurred to me that I might possibly be dreaming. If that were the case, it would mean that Upton might actually be dead, and that he was trying to communicate with me in a visitation. But I felt sure I wasn't dreaming. It was easy to tell the difference between a dream and a waking experience: dreams tended to be hazy and vague, with a lack of detail. But everything in this room was bright and clearly defined. I wasn't simply focusing upon a misty image of Upton in front of me; I could see him perfectly. I could also look all the way around the room and see everything in the most minute detail. Such awareness simply wasn't possible in a dream. There simply could be no doubt that I was wide awake. Upton was alive and sitting in front of me.

Upton stood and indicated he was ready to smoke the heroin. I also rose and he indicated we should walk into a back room and smoke the smack there. But now as I followed him, I began to have another concern. If Upton were actually alive, he probably did indeed have AIDS. After all, it was certainly true he was gay. As we headed into the back room together, I thought of asking him if he had AIDS, but I refrained, deciding that such a question would be too impolite. However I was concerned because I was now worried about smoking the heroin with Upton. If Upton rolled the heroin into a joint, and we smoked it together, was it possible I could catch AIDS from him? It seemed as if I had heard it was possible to contract AIDS from an infected person's saliva. How could I possibly take such a risk?

As soon as we were in the back room and the door was shut, Upton pulled out a thin joint rolled in dark brown paper, the color of a shopping bag. He immediately lit it up, took a hit and handed the joint to me. Taking the joint in my hand, I could already smell the thick sweet smoke. I wanted to take a hit, but hesitated, as I looked at the end of the joint and saw it was moistened from Upton's lips. Nevertheless, throwing caution to the wind, I raised the joint to my lips and took a hit. I tried to simply hold the joint between my lips so the joint wouldn't touch my lips, but I still felt the moist paper come in contact with my lips.

Immediately I knew I had made a terrible mistake. I stuck my finger in my mouth and tried to wipe my lips clean. I was afraid it might be too late. Perhaps the AIDS virus had already passed through my lips into my body. My body felt so strong and healthy. I had so much going for me. How could I have been so utterly stupid to have committed such a deplorable act?

I only had one job to complete before I died: to write my books.

Dream of: 03 April 1998 "Homeless"

My wife Carolina and I were homeless on a city street with buildings all around us. I had found a place on a bench or table to spread out our large blue sleeping bag, and then I had crawled in. When Carolina pulled herself into the sleeping bag, with her head at the other end, I realized we had a slight problem. I hadn't yet zipped up the bag, but saw it would be difficult to zip the bag with her head at one end and mine at the other. I thought it might be possible to zip up the bag and still leave a small place for my head at the foot of the bag, but doing so would be difficult.

I had other worries on my mind. I had 30-40 hard-back books which I was carrying around with me, books now lying spread around the sleeping bag. I was concerned the police might come along and confiscate all the books. I was also preoccupied about being searched by the police. Being homeless, if I ever had any drugs on me, hiding them would be difficult. Although I wasn't carrying any drugs at the moment, I was trying to formulate a plan for doing so in the future. I thought if I wanted to carry some marijuana, I might try a little ruse. I would carry a small baggie of tobacco in my pocket. If the police searched me, they would find the tobacco, and first think it was marijuana. When they realized their mistake, they would probably be too embarrassed to continue searching. As for the marijuana itself, I would have hidden it inside one of my books. The largest book I had was a blue-covered book about art. I thought I could hollow out the inside of the book and stash the marijuana in there. But that seemed a little risky, because one of the police officers might decide to take a look at the pictures in the book. A better place might be a Bible. If I hollowed out a place inside the Bible, and stuck the marijuana in there, it was unlikely the police would think to search inside the Bible. That seemed like a possible solution.

My conscience itself would be the ultimate subject of the books.

Dream of: 19 April 1998 "Old Houses"

When I awoke, I needed a few moments to remember where I was. Finally I recalled that I was in an upstairs bedroom of a huge, old, run-down house owned by my father, in Portsmouth. I lay on my back, wondering what I would do when I got up. I vaguely recalled having had some marijuana the day before, and I wondered what I had done with it. If I could find it, perhaps I could go upstairs to the attic and smoke some. As I tried to remember where I could have stashed the pot, I suddenly realized I was holding the rolled-up baggie of grass in my right hand, which was resting on my forehead. I sat up in the bed, thinking I could go upstairs right now.

I looked around the room – I wasn't alone. Against one wall was another bed with a young fellow (17-18 years old) sleeping in it. I had already met the fellow – he was also staying in this little disheveled room. I hardly knew him, but I wondered if he might want to smoke some pot with me. I was uncertain whether I should ask him because I didn't know if he smoked.

As I sat and pondered, I realized I was chewing a piece of bubble gum. The consistency of the gum had become unpleasant, very sticky and hard to chew. With a powerful puff, I blew the gum out of my mouth, past the bed where the other fellow was lying, and out an open window. By now the fellow was awake, and he seemed surprised by my action, but he didn't get up out of the bed and I was uncertain whether I should say anything to him.

Instead I began thinking of what I would be doing today. My future seemed uncertain — I hardly knew what to do with myself. I wasn't even certain how long I would stay in this house, because I suddenly remembered that my father had recently sold the house. I thought that was too bad. It was a large house with many rooms. An old lady had been renting part of the house and then subletting some of the rooms, but she had been very inefficient. If I had had the chance, I could have fixed up all the rooms and then rented them out to students from Shawnee State University (the college in Portsmouth). I probably could have received a good income from renting the rooms, but now it was too late. The house had already been sold, and I could do nothing about it.

It was possible that I could find another Portsmouth house which I could buy and fix up. I remembered once knowing a fellow who years ago had bought a large brick house in the older section of town, down around Fourth Street. The last time I had seen the house, the whole front had been torn off. I wondered if the fellow had ever completely repaired the house. I could do something like that, but I doubted I would.

In the end, my conscience would decide whether I was a criminal or a hero.

Dream of: 24 May 1998 "True Heroes"

A jury panel had been assembled in a dull gray room. As one of the 30-40 people on the panel, I was seated, like the others, on a metal folding chair in the middle of the room. In front of us, somewhat elevated above us, were several desks. Sitting behind the desks were some people who were facing us. It seemed as if we were in a school and as if the jury would be judging students who had been accused of various crimes. In fact, one student had already been brought out and convicted for a petty offense. Not all the people on the jury panel were actually voting as members of the jury — only six of us were presently voting, including myself. I was unsure how it worked, but it seemed as if some of the other members of the jury would vote in later cases.

The next student (probably 16-17 years old) was led out for us to judge. He had black hair and was wearing glasses and a checkered button-down shirt. After he sat down at a desk in front of us, a stout forceful woman who was also sitting at the desk read the charges against him. He was accused of possession of two different kinds of drugs. It sounded as if one of the drugs was probably marijuana, but I was uncertain because I didn't hear clearly what the woman said. It sounded as if no one thought it made much different what the jury heard, because the boy immediately plead guilty. Apparently everyone thought it was a foregone conclusion that the boy would be found guilty, and the woman who had read the charges proceeded to talk about what kind of punishment should be levied.

However, I raised my hand to get the woman's attention. At first she didn't pay any attention to me, but finally she acknowledged me. I quickly stated that I voted "not guilty." The tension in the room was palpable. The woman starred disbelievingly at me, as if she couldn't trust her ears. Finally she asked me to explain. I simply said I couldn't vote guilty because possession of drugs shouldn't be against the law in the first place.

The reaction in the room was immediate. People all over the room jumped to their feet and began shouting their disapproval of what I had said. I hadn't expected such an outburst. Obviously I knew most people thought drugs should be illegal, but I hadn't realized the sentiment against drugs was so strong. It appeared part of the reason in this case was due to the fact that we were dealing with a juvenile. It seemed the people thought there was no question that possession of drugs by juveniles should be illegal. Added to this was the fact that the boy in this case had already pled guilty, and seemed willing to accept his punishment. If I now said possession of drugs should be legal, I was viewed as undermining the whole system. The pressure was intense for me to change my vote. All the good citizens staring at me and voicing their condemnation clearly weren't going to change their minds.

I wasn't going to change my mind either. I didn't think it would help to explain my belief that society didn't have the right to dictate to the individual what a person could put inside his or her own body. This was a belief I held near and dear. It didn't matter to me whether the boy had admitted he had possessed drugs. In my mind that wasn't the issue. The issues was whether society could convict him for the possession of the drugs. However overwhelming the pressure was for me to change my vote, I simply wouldn't do it.

Another frumpy woman sitting at the desks in front of us was now frantically searching through a book, ostensibly trying to determine what the punishment should be. Finally she somewhat elatedly announced that the boy would only have to spend one day in confinement. She looked at me and plaintively said "please," begging me to change my vote. Obviously she didn't get the point. It didn't matter to me what the punishment was, I was simply not going to vote guilty.

I couldn't tell whether any members of the jury panel might agree with me. Not everyone had jumped to his feet in protest, but nobody voiced any agreement with me either. I was somewhat surprised by this. I would have thought at least somebody believed the way I did, but it looked as if I were alone.

However I could tell the boy being tried was interested in what I was saying. He didn't say anything, but I could tell from his expression that he was pleased with the turn of events.

The woman who had initially read the charges stood to her feet and began walking in front of the desk. She seemed uncertain what to do. I debated whether I should tell her how she could solve the problem. I didn't want to help her convict the boy. Clearly she would ultimately realize what she had to do, so I thought I would go ahead and tell her. So I spoke up and told her she simply needed to declare a mistrial. Obviously when all the jurors couldn't agree on a verdict, a declaration of mistrial was appropriate. Then she would select six other jurors to judge the cases, and she would be able to obtain her guilty verdict.

The woman looked as me disdainfully. I couldn't tell what she was thinking, but clearly she didn't want to declare a mistrial. Instead she marched up in front of me and began talking to the rest of the jury panel. She was a very tall, strongly built person. She imposingly began disparaging "northerners." Since I was probably the only northerner in this room of southerners, she was clearly directing her javelin words at me. Everyone in the room seemed to listen approvingly as the woman talked of how northerners had come to the south and tried to ruin the culture. She even spoke of an actor named "Alan Ladd." I thought I had heard the name before, but I couldn't place him. However, from the way she talked, I inferred that Ladd had been a popular actor who portrayed southern heroes. Obviously I was pictured as being just the opposite of him.

The woman had moved so close to me, her leg was actually touching my shoulder. I felt uncomfortable being so near her. I thought of saying something in defense of my position, but I saw little point in doing so. I would have liked to point out that sometimes the true heroes are those who stand up to the crowd, but it seemed clear that no one there was going to listen to me. All I could do was hold to my position.

In May 1993, Carolina and I moved into the Summerdale Drive House in Hurst, Texas, a suburb between Dallas and Fort Worth. The comfortable ranch-style house had four bedrooms and two baths and was located in a pleasant and peaceful neighborhood.

Dream of: 09 August 1998 "Seven Years"

I was sitting at the table in the kitchen of the Gallia County Farmhouse, talking to my father, who was sitting with another person on the other side of the table. Our conversation turned to marijuana, and we spoke of how long it had been since I had smoked any. I told him I hadn't smoked for more than five and a half years. I knew this to be the case because I hadn't smoked any during all the time I had lived in the Summerdale Drive House, and I had lived at Summerdale for more than five and a half years. My father rolled his eyes as if he couldn't believe I hadn't smoked marijuana for such a long time.


I was still sitting at the table, but now I was alone. I continued thinking about how long I had gone without smoking any marijuana. Actually, I realized I had abstained longer than five and a half years, because I probably hadn't smoked any marijuana for at least a year and a half before moving to Summerdale – so I actually hadn't smoked marijuana in over seven years.

Suddenly I realized all the effects of marijuana on my mind had worn off. Seven years had been required, but now I could once again consider myself a normal person. Even though I couldn't claim to have never smoked marijuana, at least I could once again consider myself in the ranks of people who didn't smoke marijuana.

However, I was now thinking of smoking marijuana again. I had heard that people who stopped using something like marijuana sometimes waited seven years and then began again. But I hesitated to smoke again. If I smoked again, I would have to wait another seven years before I could consider myself free of marijuana. I was growing older and I didn't have a great deal of time left in my life. If I were going to finish my life as being marijuana-free, I should probably not start smoking again now. Instead, I should start looking into myself and my state of my mind. I could concentrate on meditating, which should be much easier now that I was free of marijuana.

A car suddenly drove by in the driveway by the back window. I looked out and saw that the car was full of people. I couldn't tell who they were, but I thought they were probably relatives of my step-grandfather Clarence, who had lived there on the Farm until his death. I knew some of his relatives still came there to visit.

I stood up, walked over to the refrigerator and opened it. I was hungry and thought I should grab a quick bite to eat before the horde traipsed in. I saw a plate of cookies, took one and stuck it in my mouth.

By now someone outside had stepped up to the door. When I opened the door, I was surprised to see a man who looked exactly like Clarence, except this man was about 30 centimeters shorter than Clarence and probably only about 40 years old. I immediately realized he must be one of Clarence's relatives, probably the son of Clarence's sister. I invited the man, as well as all the others behind him, to come into the kitchen. It looked as if the Farmhouse would be crowded today.

The term "guilty conscience" is somewhat of a misnomer since the conscience itself cannot be guilty. The conscience, however, is the source of the feeling of guilt experienced by the person.

Dream of: 21 September 1998 "Go! Go! Go!"

As I was riding along in the front seat of a car which Hurley (a junior high chum whom I knew for a short while in the ninth grade) was driving, Hurley handed me a small brown wooden box which contained a baggie of marijuana and numerous half-smoked roaches. I was tempted by the marijuana, thinking I might want to smoke some. However, my thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a police car right behind us. Hurley quickly sped up, and since we were out in the country, he managed to lose the cop on the winding country roads. At times I could still see the cop car, which looked as if it might be a few kilometers behind us, and I thought we were going to escape. I thought at the very least we should be able to dump the pot before the cop could catch us.

At the first opportunity, when we were completely out of sight of the police, Hurley pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. I snatched the baggie out of the box and opened my door, planning to throw out the baggie. Before I could pitch the baggie, however, two other cars pulled up on the driver's side, right next to Hurley's door. Each car only contained the driver, and each driver was a longhaired fellow. At first I thought they had pulled up on the road beside us for no reason. Then I noticed one fellow talking on a mobile phone, and I concluded they were both undercover police officers. I slung the baggie under the car, but I held the box (which still contained the roaches) in my lap. I just hoped no one had seen me throw out the baggie as I tried to decide what to do with the roaches. I just knew we needed to get out of there as quickly as possible and I hollered to Hurley, "Go! Go! Go!"

It would seem that the conscience has a group of things called "morals" which it tries to teach us. When the lesson is presented as a story, the purpose is to instill in us the "moral of the story."

Dream of: 12 October 1998 "Too Much, Too Fast"

In Portsmouth, about a block from my old high school, was a small grocery store called "Schoonover's," the kind of store which usually displayed baskets of fruit and vegetables stacked on the front sidewalk. I was sitting in a chair in front of the store, nonchalantly facing the street. I wasn't paying any attention to several black people who were gathered about a meter from me, until one finally spoke to me. When I looked at the fellow, I realized I knew him. I hadn't recognized him at first because he was dressed up like a woman. He was probably in his late 20s and gave the impression he hung out there a lot.

He asked me if I had come there to buy some dope. The thought hadn't occurred to me, but now that I recalled that I had smoked some marijuana with this fellow long ago, I thought perhaps I might like to smoke some now. When I asked him if he could get any pot for me, he told me he just happened to have some "red" for $25 a joint. As he extolled the strength of the pot, a spindly black girl standing nearby said she could get high with just one hit of the pot. But $25 a joint seemed completely outrageous to me, and I told him I was used to paying $2 a joint.

He continued talking and finally pulled out a joint and showed it to me. I could see the red pot, about the color of tobacco, sticking out both ends. The joint was definitely tempting, but I still wasn't prepared to pay that price for it. Finally the fellow caved in and told me he would sell the joint to me for $2, but he didn't want to conduct the transaction right there on the street, and he directed me to a building which looked like a barn on the other side of the street. I recalled that I had been in the barn-like building before and that part of the building had been filled with hay. I thought I might be able to find a safe place somewhere in the hay to smoke the joint.

When I reached the building, however, I discovered that the part of building which had contained hay was no longer there - only a bleak warehouse-like structure remained, empty and desolate. I walked inside, climbed up to the second floor and waited. In short order, a black woman showed up, approached me, and quickly told me that she would need to see some identification to make sure I wasn't a nark. Even though this procedure seemed a little ridiculous to me, I pulled out my billfold. When I opened my billfold to a section containing pictures, I was surprised that the first picture was of the black fellow who was selling me the pot. His wife and child were also in the picture. I handed the picture to the woman and told her I had kept the picture all these years, since the time when I had met the fellow. I then handed her other pictures to prove who I was.

As I did so, she mentioned that the fellow was willing to sell me two joints for $5. That sounded reasonable enough to me, and I told her I would take two. I saw some bills sticking out of my wallet, among which was a five. I thought I would give the five to her, but I didn't want to give her the money until I actually had the joints - I was unsure I could trust her. Feeling a bit apprehensive about being alone in this barren building with my wallet open, I suddenly noticed two or three other black men standing nearby. Since I hadn't seen them before, I thought they must have walked in with the woman. Thinking I might be in danger, I quickly closed my billfold and before anyone could do anything, I slipped back downstairs.

The woman followed me and when we reached the street, she told me I could wait in a bar which was right next door. I stepped into the bar and saw it was filled with black clientele. But that didn't bother me much and I stepped up to the counter to order a drink. At first I was just going to order one drink, but when I saw the prices, I decided to order a whole fifth of whiskey. I was handed a green-bottled fifth of something called "Crown Seven." After I was given a glass, I poured myself a drink.

I wasn't in the mood for drinking. I wanted the pot, but since I now had the fifth, I began slugging down one drink after another. The liquor wasn't difficult to drink, even though it was rather strong. It didn't take me long to finish off about a third of the bottle. I began feeling more at ease, but not intoxicated, and I thought about how well I seemed to be able to handle my liquor. But suddenly I began feeling a little light-headed, as if I weren't completely sure what I was doing, and I thought to myself, "Too much, too fast."

The black woman was also in the bar, waiting with me. She mentioned that I might want to order a pizza. She said the pizzas were only $5 apiece and she suggested that I buy two. At that point I didn't really care. I handed her the money and she left for the pizza.

By the time she returned, I was sitting at a table with a half dozen or so black men who seemed to be playing cards, although I wasn't paying close attention. I was more preoccupied with trying to figure out whether I was drunk. I couldn't seem to decide. I had drunk a lot of the fifth, from which I was now drinking straight from the bottle, but I still felt as if I were sober.

The woman set the pizzas on the table, but the toppings weren't yet on the pizzas. All the toppings were in a separate bowl and still had to be put on the pizzas. Some toppings looked like vegetables. Some sliced cucumbers looked good. There were also some delicate-looking pieces of meat of which I took a few bites.

I hadn't intended to share the pizzas with everyone at the table, but now I didn't see how I could refuse. Before I knew what happened, however, the other men at the table scooped up all the food, without even asking, and gobbled it down. I didn't even get one piece of the pizza for myself. Now the atmosphere seemed to have changed. Now that they had eaten all the pizza, the others didn't seem so friendly.

I was feeling confused and uncertain what to do. I just wanted to get my two joints and get out of there. The place was looking less and less safe by the minute.

The first lesson is an old aphorism: "Let your conscience be your guide."

Dream of: 12 May 1999 "Lack Of Warmth"

I was holding a basket of bird eggs which I had laboriously gathered. Some eggs I had found lying on the ground, but most I had taken from nests. The eggs were different colors, but most were either brown or aqua. I knew the aqua eggs were robin eggs. The last two eggs which I had recovered were robin eggs.

I had a specific reason for having gathered the eggs: I had become aware that the eggs were full of marijuana seeds, and that at the appropriate time, I would be able to break open the eggs and plant the marijuana seeds. But now that I had the eggs, as I ran my hands over their slick shells, I began to have doubts. How was it possible that marijuana seeds were inside the eggs? Was it not true that marijuana seeds were created on marijuana plants? If the eggs didn't contain the seeds, I had made a terrible mistake, and had wrongly robbed the eggs from their nests.

My father suddenly walked into the living room where I was sitting. He was thin and had dark black hair. He was dressed in a blue suit and didn't look as if he were more than 30 years old. My mother also appeared and told me it was time for us to leave. Without speaking, my father opened the front door and stepped out.

I quickly slipped on a pair of black shoes. I was also dressed in a blue sports jacket and blue pants, but I noticed the pants and jacket were a slightly different color from each other; I definitely wasn't as well-dressed as my father.

Carrying my basket of eggs, I walked out to the car and climbed into the back seat. My father was already sitting in the driver's seat and my mother sat in the front passenger seat. Without delay my father started up the car and we headed out. To my surprise, however, my father began driving backwards. From our house (which sat on the edge of a forest), we quickly moved backwards right through the trees. We were moving so fast, I was sure we would crash into one of the large trees around us; several times I screamed out to my father that he was about to hit a tree. Somehow, each time, he managed to swerve just before striking a tree. Suddenly I saw we were backing toward a road which I recognized as the exact road which we needed. I was amazed to realize we had found a shortcut through the woods to the road, and I said something about how my father must have known what he had been doing after all.

As soon as my father pulled onto the road, he turned the car around. As he was doing so, I stepped out of the car, and as he pulled off, I walked over to a bed sitting in the woods and I sat down on it.

Still carrying my basket of eggs, I was now more concerned than ever about the eggs. I felt guilty because I was now convinced that I had made a mistake and that all the baby birds in the eggs would now die. I needed to break open one egg to check what was inside. I ran my hands through the eggs until I saw one cracked robin egg. I held the egg over the floor and broke it open.

Just as I feared, a mass of white egg and a partially formed baby bird fell out onto the floor. It looked as if the egg had contained two yolks, and as if the yolks had been forming into the eyes of the bird. The jelly-like mass was completely lifeless, having died from lack of warmth. It was an ugly sight, and I felt responsible for it. At least I had learned something, and this was certainly a mistake I wouldn't make again.

For myself, even to begin to understand my mind, I needed to understand the story which my conscience was telling me.

Dream of: 21 October 1999 "Traumdeutung"

My wife Carolina and I had gone to a rock concert being held on an outside stage. Everybody was seated on the ground, and Carolina and I were in the front row, right in the middle, in an excellent location. Just before the music began, a pile of books was placed on the stage, obviously to be passed out to the audience. There must have been 15-20 different books, with multiple copies of each. I quickly saw the one I would like to have: a thick paperback copy of Sigmund Freud's Traumdeutung.

I immediately recognized the book because it was exactly like a copy which I had, in the original German language, with a blue and white cover. However, I knew that the copies on the stage were newer editions, and that a few extra pages had been added to the end of the book, pages which I had never seen. Thus I was definitely motivated to obtain a copy.

A man stood up on the stage and told the audience to make a path down the middle of the people so he could walk there. In a flash a large path was created about two meters wide. I was sitting right on the edge of the path, and as the man stepped down into the path and began tossing books into the audience, I hollered out, "Freud! Freud!" When I saw a copy of the Traumdeutung being thrown in my direction, I lunged toward it, like someone sitting in the stands of a baseball park trying to catch a fowl ball. To my surprise, I managed to grab the book. I held the book greedily in my hands and flipped to the last page to make sure the extra pages were there. They were! I was so happy to have the book.

When the dispersion of the books was finished, people settled down and the music finally began. To me, something seemed missing, and I finally realized what it was: Carolina and I had brought nothing to drink, nor did we have any kind of drugs. I hadn't been to a rock concert in a long time, but I was sure almost everyone there was probably using some kind of drugs. I could see people smoking what appeared to be marijuana, and I just wished I had some.

Since I knew people were much more relaxed there than normal, I simply turned to a fellow sitting behind us and I asked him if he knew where I could buy some pot. He asked me if I only wanted a couple of joints, and I told him yes. He told me to wait a couple minutes and he would get them for me. I turned back around toward the stage, thinking I would probably have to pay about $5 for two joints; or, if necessary, I might even pay more. Satisfied I would soon have some pot, I began focusing on the music.

The conscience is no more than a guide. The strength, however, to follow that guide must come from a different source. But from where?

Dream of: 23 November 1999 "Abandoned Clock Tower"

The fellow standing in front of me had just handed me enough marijuana for one joint. I wasted no time: I quickly rolled the grass into a joint and held it in my hand. When the fellow looked questioningly at the finished product, I had to admit the joint was rather peculiar looking; it was only about two centimeters long, but very thick, almost two centimeters thick. The paper on the joint wasn't the normal white rolling paper, but mauve, with white spots. The paper appeared to made of plastic, an observation which concerned me, because I feared the plastic might be toxic.

Nevertheless, thinking the joint was already lit, I held it to my mouth and took a hit. But nothing came through; I still had to light the thing, which I immediately did. I then handed the joint to the other fellow so he could take a hit. He also seemed a bit concerned about the plastic wrapping, and commented upon my rolling technique. Nevertheless, he also took a hit and handed the joint back to me. I walked off alone with the joint.

Half-deserted streets of this huge city encompassed me. Wandering alone, with my joint in hand, down sidewalks shadowed by towering brick buildings, I wondered where I was. Chicago? Definitely not New York. Perhaps London. Wherever I was, I needed to be cautious. I couldn't afford to be arrested for possession of marijuana. The offense was minor, probably just a fine, but my being a lawyer could cause me problems. Of course, it was more common for people to smoke pot on the streets of big cities like this. But I kept a wary eye out for the police and shot furtive glances at everyone I saw. I was down to the butt now; I could just stick it in my mouth and swallow it if I had to.

I needed to be watchful for the cops anyway, since I vaguely recalled I was wanted. What had been my crime? Had I killed someone? It seemed I was wanted for murder, but I couldn't exactly remember. I just knew I needed to be careful and find a place to stay for the night where no one could find me. Homeless. How long had I been that way?

After I reached a building which seemed familiar to me, I climbed up the inner steps to the top to an abandoned clock tower. The muttering retreat could house me for the night. The inner workings of the huge clock were right in front of me – three, five meters high. Old dull black metal encased in old dull brown wood. But the clock was still working. Parts were moving. There at the bottom was a small hole (through which I could crawl) which would lead to the inside of the clock, where I could curl up and be safe for the night. I would have to time my entry. The hands of the clock needed to be pointed upward, so the hole wouldn't be blocked. Six or six-thirty would be a bad time to try to get inside. But if I timed it right, I had a home for the night.

Although I trusted my conscience, I did not seem to have the strength to follow my conscience, and I did not know how to obtain that strength.

Dream of: 10 June 2000 "Futile Search"

Don Day (a particularly unsavory Portsmouth drug dealer whom I briefly knew in 1972) was driving the car in which I was riding. Day's buddy was sitting in the front passenger seat, while I sat alone in the back. Both Day and his buddy looked as if they were in their 20s. We were heading south from Columbus, toward Portsmouth. While we had been in Columbus, Day and his partner had bought a pound or so of marijuana which they intended to sell in Portsmouth. The partner had already begun putting the grass in baggies and was weighing each baggie of pot on a small digital scale sitting on the floorboard of the back seat. Each time he wanted to weigh a baggie, he had to awkwardly bend around the seat to put the baggie on the scales on the back floorboard. As I watched, I became convinced he wasn't putting enough pot into each baggie, and I challenged him about it. He explained that he was putting three fourths of an ounce into each baggie, and he weighed a couple baggies for me. One baggie weighed .75 ounces, and the other .80 ounces; so he was actually putting more in some bags than necessary. This surprised me, because I didn't trust Day; but it looked as if he were selling pure grass at the proper weight.

The fellow in the passenger seat told me they would charge $75 for each baggie, which meant that an ounce would cost $100. I was glad to know the price – I hadn't bought marijuana in so long, I didn't know how much it would cost anymore.

When we reached Portsmouth, I was let out on Gallia Street, about a block west of Portsmouth High School, in front of a building which used to be a bar. I immediately boarded another vehicle, a white pickup truck, also occupied by two fellows whom I didn't know. I sat on the passenger side, while one fellow sat in the middle and the other drove.

The driver looked as if he were 17-18 years old, while the fellow sitting next to me only looked 13-14. Both were friendly, and I began telling them about my trip to Columbus and about the marijuana which Day had bought. I told them the marijuana was pure, but since I hadn't tried it, I didn't know how strong it was. As I talked and thought about the marijuana, I suddenly realized how stupid I had been: I hadn't bought any of the grass for myself, and I would have definitely liked to have some. Now I didn't have any idea where Day and his partner might be. When the driver of the pickup heard my story, however, he told me he thought he knew where we could find Day, and we headed off in search of Day.

I told them if we found Day, I would also have to find an ATM machine to withdraw some cash, and I began trying to remember my PIN number.

We were headed east on Gallia Street, and had just passed the high school. I saw the old Krispie Kreme doughnut shop on the opposite corner of the street, just as it had been when I had attended high school there. I could even see the doughnuts in the display case, especially the chocolate-covered doughnuts. The shop was closed; I wondered if doughnuts were left on the display case all weekend and then sold stale on Mondays.

The younger fellow sitting next to me was dark-skinned and appeared to have an accent; I asked him where he was from and he told me he was from southern Mexico. I responded, "Yo hablo espanol." And then, thinking about my wife Carolina, I added, "Mi esposa es de El Salvador."

I asked him the name of his home state in Mexico. I was familiar with the southern Mexican states, but when I tried to picture them in my mind, I had some difficulty. I thought he might say he had come from "Torreon," and I tried to visualize where Torreon was located. But he didn't respond, and indeed, he didn't even seem to know the name of his home state. When I asked him his name, he told me his name was "Juanito."

In my lap were two boxes of files which I was carrying around with me. I had been carrying around boxes of files for many years, from place to place. I could even remember back as far as when I had been living in the House in Kilgore (a house in Kilgore, Texas where I briefly lived after my first wife Louise and I separated in 1984). I had carried boxes of files with me to Kilgore.

Memories of Kilgore made me think of my ex-wife Louise. I recalled she had lived with me in Kilgore, but I couldn't remember how she had occupied her time while we had been there. She probably had simply helped me with legal work, or helped me find houses to buy and sell, since that was the time when I was buying and selling houses, but I couldn't remember exactly – it seemed so long ago.

I noticed the title of the first file in one of the boxes on my lap was "Coke"; I knew that file contained some records which had something to do with cocaine. This wasn't a file which I would like to fall into the wrong hands, such as the police, and since the other two fellows and I were now going in search of marijuana, there was always a chance we would run into the police. I pulled out the file and stuck it behind the second file, which was titled "Cable," a harmless file dealing with cable television. Hopefully no one would find the Coke file now.

By that time we had reached the west side of Portsmouth, and had driven down onto a road which passed through a field next to the Scioto River. This low-lying field was partially covered with water, and some water had flooded a section of the road. As we sped along toward the patch of water, I suddenly realized how inexperienced the young driver of the truck was, and I hollered out to beware of the danger. He slammed on the brakes and slowly came to a stop. He then slowly proceeded safely through the water, and again came to a stop on the other side.

Standing next to the road were two women (probably in their 20s) who apparently needed a ride. The driver offered to help them, and they piled into the back seat of the truck. The women didn't appeal to me, and I paid little attention to them. We continued our journey.

Finally we arrived at our destination in the little town of Rosemount, just north of Portsmouth. We were headed to a nightclub located in a large white building, high atop Rosemount hill.

By that time we were no longer in the truck and the women were no longer with us. Instead, the two fellows and I were now riding a bicycle, precariously threading through the fast-moving cars on the road in front of the club. We narrowly avoided being hit as we pulled into the parking lot.

Hundreds of people were lined up in several lines to get into the club. I hadn't planned on that. Apparently my companions were sure that Day would be inside the club, but I was a bit reluctant to enter. I wasn't dressed for this. I was wearing an old sweater and an old pair of pants. What if I met someone I knew? But then I calmed down. First, I didn't look bad. I was trim and in good physical shape. And, second, I wasn't going to meet anyone I knew there. I had been away from Portsmouth for so long, everything had changed. Besides, visiting a club in Portsmouth would be interesting, especially if I didn't know anyone there.

However, I had yet another problem: I was barefoot. Perhaps I couldn't enter the club without shoes. I asked Juanito if I would be admitted without shoes, but he didn't know. I even asked a fellow standing in line, but he likewise didn't know. Finally, however, my concerns were allayed when I noticed several other men standing in line without shoes. Surely if they could enter, so could I.

I was also a bit concerned about becoming separated from my two companions. What if I left my files with them and I couldn't find my companions later? I didn't even know Juanito's last name. I would have to go around asking people if they knew the Mexican boy. When I turned to him and asked him his last name, he said his name was "Faso" and that his last name was "Juanito." That didn't seem correct to me. I thought I must be hearing wrong.

Suddenly, however, my attention was distracted, for I felt something touch my rear. I immediately reacted by feeling for my wallet. It was gone! I hollered out, "Someone stole my wallet!"

I jumped from the bike and began running through the crowd. There, just ahead of me, I saw my yellow wallet in the hand of a young girl not more than 10 years old. I hollered out, "Grab her! Grab her!"

Clearly she was the thief, with my wallet in her hand, but I was cautious. She was so young; simply grabbing her might prove dangerous. But I couldn't let her escape. Hopefully if I grabbed her, she would turn out to have a criminal record, and there would be no doubt of what she had done.

What I needed, perhaps, was "moral strength," a phrase that never occurred to me at the time.

Dream of: 28 February 2001 "Narrow Escape"

I was sitting in the front passenger seat of a red car which also contained three other fellows (probably in their late 20s). Being transported in the car with us was approximately a pound of marijuana. We had previously been pulled over by the police and then ordered to drive on to a certain location. After our brief detention, I had removed the marijuana from one container and placed it in a brown paper bag. A couple half-smoked joints were mixed in with the loose marijuana, and as I had been shifting the marijuana, I had smoked part of one of those joints.

As the four of us traveled down the highway, we were pulled over a second time, this time by army personnel. Again we were allowed to travel on, and we continued apace, until for the third time, we were stopped by the police. Scared, I immediately set the paper bag with the marijuana on the floor at my feet, then kicked the bag back under my seat. Sitting on top of the marijuana like that wasn't an agreeable position. When a police officer walked up to the passenger side of our stopped car and stuck his head through the window, I thought he would surely want to search the car. Instead, he authoritatively asked what was taking us so long. I told him we earlier had been pulled over and delayed by the army.

The officer told us that the woman officer who had stopped us (I now seemed to recall that indeed a female officer had stopped us the first time) was waiting for us back at the place of our first detention, and that we needed to turn around and go back. (I had the distinct impression we were being ordered back because we had tarried so long). The officer then allowed us to proceed.

We continued in the same direction we had been traveling for a short distance, as if we were looking for a place to turn around and go back, as the officer had directed us. But, when I thought we were out of sight of the officer, even though I saw a cross-over in the medium where we could turn around, I began explaining to the others why we shouldn't turn around. I told the others that the female officer, who had originally detained us and who had sent us on down the road, had made a mistake because she hadn't confiscated the marijuana from us. My mind was fuzzy as to why the marijuana hadn't been confiscated – it certainly should have been. I was positive that the female officer had known the marijuana was in the car, even though I was unsure whether she had actually seen it.

To my astonishment, the other three in the car disagreed with me about not turning around. For some unfathomable (to me) reason, the three of them wanted to turn around and return to the woman (with the marijuana in the car). This tactic seemed insane to me, and I insisted that we could dispose of the marijuana somewhere in the trees on this desolate stretch of road.

My arguments were at least persuasive enough for the driver to steer off onto a tiny little path which wound up a hill through the trees whose brown leaves bedecked the forest floor.

The driver's name was Paul, and I directed much of my attention toward him. I pointed out that both he and one other fellow in the car had been previously convicted of a felony (I thought each fellow had one felony on his record). I told them that if either of them were to be convicted for possession of this pound of marijuana, that person would receive a minimum prison term of 10 years. Nevertheless, Paul insisted he wanted to take the marijuana back to the woman officer. Frustrated, I finally suggested another solution to Paul: I told him that since he was driving the car, and he wanted to return so badly, he could simply claim the marijuana was his. In that case, he should be the only one charged with possession. Paul began to give this solution some thought.

Meanwhile, the wooded trail we were following along the side of the hill was becoming dangerously steep. Almost without warning, the car began to tip over toward the driver's side, the side of the car headed downhill. Since I was sitting in the passenger side of the front seat, I thought to myself that if only the window were open, I could slide out and save myself - but the window was closed. In my mind, I could already see the car rolling down the high hill, over and over, killing us all. Suddenly… I was standing outside the car, on the side of the hill, actually watching the car roll and smash down the hill. How had my exit from the car been possible? The window had been closed! And yet somehow, I had slipped out to safety, while the other three had crashed down the hill.

When the car finally stopped rolling, I saw no movement and I was convinced all three fellows had been killed. And that marijuana was still in the car! I wondered if I should go down there and see if anyone were still alive, or if I should just get out of there as fast as I could.

Although I practiced it far too infrequently, meditation seemed to improve my moral strength.

Dream of: 27 April 2001 "Water And Meditation"

I was sitting at a desk and talking to my wife Carolina. I was once again working as a lawyer and I had begun taking on bankruptcy clients. I was surprised at how quickly I was able to find new clients. Already a stream of clients was flowing in all day long. I mentioned to Carolina that if I would contact my old business associate Ron Richhart again, he might also start sending me clients; then I would have more than I could handle.

I was somewhat amazed that I had begun practicing law again because I hadn't wanted to be tied down. At least I thought I wouldn't have to go to court. But then I rethought what I was doing and realized I would have to go to bankruptcy court.

My office was in Portsmouth. In addition to practicing law, I was also selling auto insurance, just like my father used to do in Portsmouth. Although I was selling auto insurance, I knew nothing about life insurance. I thought I would need to contact someone else for help if a client wanted to buy life insurance, perhaps Pat Pitts (my father's secretary when he had been in the insurance business). She would probably know about life insurance.

After a while, I realized Carolina was no longer in the room. Instead, a dark-haired fellow (about 30 years old) was now sitting across the desk from me. He had already been sitting there awhile; he wanted auto insurance. He looked like Lucas Buck (the character played by Gary Cole in the television series "American Gothic").

I asked him whether he had lived around there long. He at first seemed surprised by the question but then responded that he had. He said something about the year 1952. I piped up that I had been born in that year. He began telling me about himself. He said he had been shot five times. Obviously he was the wild type. When I noticed some scratches on his cheek, I wondered if the scratches were from a fight. I stood, walked across the room, and said something about his being wild. Then I added, "I used to be like that. I never played around with guns, but I smoked a lot of grass."

I also thought of telling him I had used LSD. I half hoped he might know where I could get some marijuana. I thought of telling him I still smoked, but then thought I shouldn't be divulging such things to a client. What should I say next? I should probably tell him I didn't smoke marijuana anymore; now I could simply meditate. I thought of a line I had recently read in Herman Melville's Moby Dick, a line about water and meditation. I didn't need marijuana anymore: I could just meditate and revel in my imagination without drugs.

"To thine own conscience be true" remained the first rule in obtaining moral strength.

Dream of: 22 May 2001 "Truth And Lies"

My attorney friend Jon and I were in a building on a military base where Jon was a soldier. Since no one else was around, I began wandering through the large building until I came across a library. I found an intriguing book about southern Ohio, sat down at a table and began reading it. Inside the book I found a map of southern Ohio, which I began coloring with some crayons which lay at hand.

I also had with me approximately half of a small marijuana joint which I decided to smoke. I lit the joint, stood up and walked around the room smoking. I only took three or four hits, but the smoke was strong and filled the room. I had just finished smoking when a black-haired woman (about 40 years old) who worked in the library walked in. She immediately smelled the smoke and said something about it. I didn't say anything, but when she called in some other people, I could see trouble brewing. When Jon also walked into the room, I was afraid I might have caused a problem for him.

I was already thinking about what I would say if I were asked if I had been smoking pot. I would simply say I wouldn't answer the question because smoking marijuana was a crime and I wasn't going to answer any questions about a crime. Finally a man walked into the room and sat down across the table from me. He asked me if I had been smoking pot with someone there. Since I hadn't been smoking with anyone else, I truthfully answered, no. But now I began to worry: I was afraid he would next simply ask me if I had been smoking pot. I perceived I would have problems if I refused to answer the question; so I decided to lie – I would simply say no.

As soon as I could, I got Jon's attention and he walked over to me. We began discussing the situation and I told him I would definitely deny having smoked anything. I told Jon to tell the truth about everything else, so our stories would match. A man sitting nearby overheard me telling Jon to tell the truth, and the man said something. I began to worry the man had also overheard me telling Jon I was going to lie; I also feared I might be asked to take a blood test.

By now, many people were in the room and military personnel were walking all around sniffing the air. Finally it was decided I must go on trial. I simply accepted this. Jon and I were both led into a room which turned out to be in a train car. Perhaps 20-30 other people who were also going to be put on trial for various offenses were sitting in the car. Some people were soldiers, some were the wives of soldiers. Someone mentioned that 16 lawyers were on this military base. I figured the lawyers couldn't be too bright if they worked for the military. I figured the lawyers had probably gone to work for the military straight out of law school.

As the train pulled out and the car began moving, I began thinking about my trial. I was definitely going to lie. The prosecution wouldn't have any evidence if I lied, and I should definitely be acquitted. But anything could happen in a trial. I was worried but stoic. And I was a bit surprised to realize that despite my disdain for the military, I still felt some respect for it.

Although I remained somewhat deficient in moral strength, my conscience seemed perpetually hopeful.

Dream of: 28 August 2001 "Don't Give Up Hope"

It was night. I was sitting outside, in a large circle, with 20-30 other people. Several campfires were located in the circle (not in the middle, but in the circle itself), but all the campfires had been put out. As I looked at the sticks and ashes in the cold campfire next to me, I noticed what looked like several half-smoked marijuana joints lying in the campfire. Obviously someone had been there smoking the joints earlier, and had simply thrown the joints into the ashes. I picked up three or four joints and stuck them in my left shirt pocket.

When everyone in the circle finally started to stand up, I slowly realized we were all members of a church. I also realized I was the pastor – and the owner – of the church. Despite my exalted position, I didn't consider myself essential to the church and I no longer wanted to be connected to the church: I wanted out. I was thinking of selling the church to the members and I was trying to figure out how to explain to the others how they could buy the church from me.

A semi-truck was parked close by the campfire area. One by one, everyone (including myself) walked into the back of the truck, where donations were being left. The truck was filled with stacks of nice things; I specifically noticed piles of sweaters which had been left as donations; but I had nothing except some sticks which I had picked up from the campfire. I looked for somewhere to put down the sticks as a donation; I saw a pot and laid the sticks in the pot.

The truck was connected to the church, so instead of walking out of the truck, I continued on through the truck into a hall of the church. Once I was inside the church, I began looking for a door so I could leave. I passed a couple doors, but they were locked. I only wanted to get out of there so I could go smoke the joints which I still had in my shirt pocket.

As I continued through the hall, I passed a mirror and was able to see myself. I looked as if I were in my early 20s; my hair was a bit long. I was wearing a brown belt which was too long and into which I had tied a knot in front.

When I finally entered the main sanctuary of the church, all the other people were already there. I now noticed they were all much older than I, in their 40s and 50s or older. As we all stood together, they broke out into an uplifting song. I listened as they clearly sang out, "Don't give up hope."

I hoped for eternal bliss, but I was willing to settle for a few temporary visions thereof.

Dream of: 19 November 2001 "Cascading Visions"

Driving a car in which two other fellows were riding, I pulled into the parking area of a woody park and stopped the car. After all of us stepped out of the car, my two companions walked to the front of the car while I headed to the rear and opened the trunk, where I intended to empty my pockets. As I pulled things from my right front pocket, I was surprised by what I found: a small cellophane baggie of marijuana. Underneath the small baggie was an even larger baggie of greener and finer marijuana, perhaps a quarter ounce. Only now did I recall that my old high school friend Steve Buckner had given me the marijuana on the previous day; I had completely forgotten I had the marijuana. I was especially concerned because it seemed as if police were in the park; if a policeman had stopped me, I would have been in jeopardy. I quickly stuck the marijuana in the rear of the trunk, hiding it as well as I could.

I walked back to the front of the car (which seemed more like a pickup truck in front) where one of the fellows was showing the other fellow (who seemed to be the owner of the truck) how to hide marijuana in the front. The first fellow pulled off the front fender, then pulled off another part of the front panel to reveal an empty space where marijuana could be stashed.

The three of us finally turned and began walking through the park. I was surprised when I saw a policeman not far from us, smoking marijuana. I thought someone should turn him in; it was hypocritical for a policeman to smoke marijuana and then arrest other people for doing the same.

We continued walking toward a bearded fellow (probably in his late 30s) selling marijuana in the park. When we stepped up to him and told him we wanted to buy some, he pulled out a small tightly compressed brick of marijuana, about the size of two granola bars. He busily began tearing the brick apart above a concrete incline so the marijuana seeds rolled down the incline and separated from the leafy marijuana. In the process, some marijuana also rolled into the grass and became lost. He asked me if I knew what type of marijuana this was. I had no idea, but I commented that he was losing a lot of it. He explained that losing the marijuana was his way of expressing disdain for that particular marijuana. He said this marijuana was probably 10 times better than the marijuana I used to smoke years ago; but, he said he had smoked marijuana probably 100 times better than this. He began to describe the super-potent marijuana, which he said was more intense than LSD.

His description of the marijuana was so vivid, I actually began to experience the effects of the marijuana. I found myself flying – high in the air – over a field with rows of corn. The feeling and the sights were spectacular; splendid visions cascaded in front of my eyes. At one point I saw rows of pictures which I had taken of myself and of people whom I had known. Three or four pictures of myself reflected the effects of LSD on my appearance. The pictures seemed to express the way LSD had affected my mind. I examined the photos to see if I could detect any deleterious effects, but I saw nothing negative in them.

I also saw several pictures of my high school sweetheart Birdie in the nude. She looked about 20 years old; the photos were excellent. Especially erotic was one photo in which Birdie was lying on her stomach, with her legs spread apart, revealing her dark pubic area. She might have gained a little weight, but I couldn't tell for sure. I wondered what would happen if I were to post these pictures, or pictures of my making love with Birdie or my wife Carolina, on my website? I didn't intend to do so, but the idea intrigued me. Why should sex be so taboo?

When I came back to myself and regained consciousness of my surroundings, I found myself in a car which I was driving, at the bottom of the hill where the park was. My grandmother Mabel (probably in her mid 60s) was sitting in the car with me. I wanted to return to the park. The drug experience had been so pleasant, I wanted to go back for more; but I knew that I first needed to take my grandmother to the Gallia County Farm, about 60 kilometers away.

My grandmother pulled out some money – a note which looked like a $50 bill – except it was for $59. She also pulled out a doctor's prescription and asked me if I would later take the $59 and have the prescription filled for her. She said that I could keep the change and that I would be surprised by how much money would be left over. I decided to immediately get the prescription for her – not for the money – but because she needed the help. I pointed out a pharmacy right next to us; I would go in there.

I felt more and more isolated, with little real affinity for anyone, except perhaps a few dead writers.

Dream of: 24 November 2001 "Baudelaire"

I had gone to visit Mike Walls in a house where he was staying. Another fellow was with Walls; the three of us sat on the hard-wood floor and talked. Someone finally said something about smoking some marijuana and Walls went to fetch some. When he returned with a small baggie of pot, I asked him if he wanted me to help roll. He indicated he did, and he and I both began rolling joints. The other fellow, however, said he wasn't interested in smoking any of Walls' pot because he (the other fellow) only smoked "Thai." I asked him whether he was referring to pot from Thailand and he confirmed he was. He proceeded to extol the virtues of Thai pot, and he even sang a few verses of a song which he had apparently composed while smoking pot. I told him that I would like to smoke some Thai, but that I never had smoked any because it was so rare. He regretted that Thai pot was so difficult to obtain, but he maintained that with effort it could be found.

Walls finished rolling his joint and I also finished rolling a jumbo joint. Walls lit his up and I lit mine; he and I began toking while the other fellow watched. I was thinking that when we finished, I might take Walls and the other fellow out for a meal. I only had about $20, but I felt obligated; I didn't want to simply smoke Walls' pot and not give him anything in return.

As I began to feel the effects of the marijuana, I began to regret what I was doing. It seemed I was just wasting time by smoking marijuana. Now the whole day would be shot. I should've been spending my time writing. I recalled a poem I had just read a few days earlier by Charles Baudelaire, in which he had talked about wasting time with the hookah. I could relate to what he had said. Of course Baudelaire had been referring to smoking opium, not marijuana. But Baudelaire and I had similar habits. I liked to smoke, but smoking seemed pointless. It seemed the time had come for me to stop smoking marijuana.

Someone knocked at the door and Walls stood to answer. When the door opened, a young blonde woman was standing there. She could clearly see we were smoking pot in the room, but she didn't seem to mind. She had come to fetch Walls for something, and soon everyone walked outside. Sitting in front of the house were two super-sleek white cars – very fancy models. Someone was already in one car; Walls got into the driver's seat of the other one. Walls and the other person were talking to each other. I now recalled where I was – an estate in the country. Walls was a caretaker at this country residence for a wealthy man. Part of Walls' job was also taking care of these cars.

The property was quite extensive, and even included an airfield. As I strove to find a better view, I began effortlessly floating up into the air until I was high above the airfield. Verdant green grass stretched off below me; two men could be seen playing golf. As easily as I had risen, so easily did I once again descend to the ground.

A plane was approaching the runway, heading in for a landing. I thought the owner of the property might be on the plane. Just as the plane touched down, one of its wheels flew off, but the plane didn't crash. Obviously, Walls, since he was the caretaker, would need to recover the wheel. What a desultory life Walls must lead, simply being the caretaker for someone else's property.

Plainly put, I did not know what I was doing.

Dream of: 11 April 2002 "Clogged"

In Portsmouth, riding around with several teenagers, I felt like a teenager myself. I was going to go to a party later and I invited my companions to join me. A fellow and his sister were throwing the party at their rather exclusive home. I had a date with the sister and I thought my companions would be allowed at the party, but I was unsure.

The talk in the car turned to marijuana – no one had any. One fellow – older than the rest of us (probably in his late 30s) – was against the use of marijuana and made some threatening statements; he wasn't a cop, but he was acting like one. He was sitting in the front and I was in the back. I could see his face in the rear view mirror. He threatened to search me and I told him if he searched me he would be committing an assault. He didn't believe me. I said that at least in Texas it would be an assault and I thought it would also be an assault there in Ohio.

Finally we dumped off the threatening man. Five or six of us were left. We picked up another fellow – a short fellow younger than the rest of us. We then stopped the car, entered a building which looked like a rooming house and walked into a room with bare hardwood floors and a bed. The younger fellow pulled out a joint and we all began smoking. I took several hits. As I smoked, I pulled out a dollar bill and began examining it. On the back of the bill was much information – such as charts and graphs – which I had never noticed before. I thought I could spend a lot of time reading this information. I asked one of the other fellows whether he knew about all this info, but he wasn't interested. A black girl who was with us asked for the roach. I took another hit and said, "Finally."

I meant that I was "finally" stoned. I hadn't smoked any pot in more than a year, but now I was finally stoned again. Unfortunately, my head now head felt clogged. I was enjoying the high, but what would I do now? These teenagers didn't seem all that interesting. What could we talk about? I was beginning to regret having smoked. 

Yet I continued to write, spurred ever and again by my conscience, which insisted that my only salvation lay in writing.

Dream of: 09 October 2002 "Metal Web"

My wife Carolina and I were visiting my old pal Randy Ramey, who was living in a small house in a semi-suburban area in the Dallas/Fort Worth area. After the three of us had talked for a while, Ramey (who looked as if he were in his mid 20s) pulled out a marijuana joint and handed it to me. I commented about how well the joint was rolled – straight and firm like a regular cigarette.

Ramey told me he had to drive to Kansas and asked me to go with him. He said the trip would only last three hours; I agreed to go. I figured he and I would smoke the joint on the way. Leaving Carolina behind, Ramey and I walked out to his car. Only gradually did I realize the purpose of the trip: Ramey was delivering some cocaine to someone in Kansas. He showed me the red metal can (round and about 25 centimeters in diameter) which contained the cocaine.

Once I understood the purpose of the trip, I immediately became apprehensive. I realized Ramey had successfully handled cocaine for many years without being caught; but he didn't seem to be taking enough precautions to suit me on this trip. Apparently he was simply going to stick the metal can in the trunk. Before we boarded the car, I told him the chances of his being caught with the cocaine might only be one in a thousand; nevertheless, I thought he should take more precautions. For example, he might be able to fabricate a mechanical piece which would appear to be part of the car and stick the cocaine in it. Ramey immediately agreed with me and the two of us turned back toward his house so he could contrive a better way to hide the cocaine. I was relieved that we weren't going to leave right now; besides, when I thought more about it, I realized we couldn't possibly drive all the way to Kansas and back in three hours; we would first have to drive across Oklahoma which alone would take several hours.

While Ramey walked back into his house, I stepped into a wooded area behind the house. A small stream was flowing nearby. I still had the joint and was thinking I might go ahead and smoke it. I walked into a small shed behind the house and sat down in a corner. I thought I might be able to smoke there. As I looked around, my attention was drawn to a spider working on a spiral web. The sight was mesmerizing. Two small animals were actually at work: the spider and a second little insect which I thought was separate from, but also a part of, the spider. The second insect was longer than the spider and had a definite metallic look to it. Both the spider and the second insect were facing each other, about a centimeter from each other, busily working on the web.

As they constructed the web, they moved behind a board so I couldn't see them; but soon I was amazed to see sparks flying from behind the board, sparks which looked like those which fly off a welder's torch. This was amazing: the two insects were actually welding the web – which was apparently made of some kind of fine metal! Somehow, facing each other as they were, the insects were able to generate between them the intense heat which was necessary to weld the web!

In writing my story, my foremost concern was to tell the truth.

Dream of: 18 March 2003 "Details"

I was planning to camp out near the old swimming hole on the Gallia County Farm, over a kilometer from the Farmhouse. Carolina, my sister, and my sister's husband had come to the swimming hole with me. When we discovered other people already in the area where we had planned to camp, they left and returned to the Farmhouse; but I stayed on.

A half-dozen or more fellows (probably in their early 20s) had already set up camp. I wondered if my father had given them permission to camp there. I asked whether they had received permission, but I didn't receive a satisfactory answer. Instead, one of the fellows caught my attention when he said something about marijuana. When he lit up a joint and handed it to me, I took a hit. Almost immediately I felt confused and uncertain of myself. Someone asked if I wanted to drink something. I told them I had been drinking some beer earlier, but now I couldn't remember what kind of beer, nor could I find the beers which I still had. Another fellow asked me if I would like some wine. He showed me a round metal tub filled with ice and small bottles of wine. He asked whether I would prefer red wine or white wine. I didn't care for either – I preferred beer. Nevertheless, I indicated I would take the white wine; he handed me a bottle.


I was sitting in a classroom, telling the story of my visit to the old swimming hole. I began by describing the Farm: I said the Farm was in southeastern Ohio, that it was owned by my father and that it contained 400 acres of hilly ground. I knew the Farm actually only contained 388 acres, but I rounded up. Was I lying? I didn't think it mattered. Some people seemed skeptical of my story, but my old Portsmouth friend Roger Anderson, who was in the class, confirmed that the Farm did exist.

I then hesitated about going into the details of the story. Should I mention that I had smoked some marijuana? Maybe I should leave out that part. No, I would just go ahead and tell the story as it had happened.

Although I found temporary bliss here and there, I staked my future true happiness upon writing a story with recognizable artistic merit.

Dream of: 04 April 2003 "Going Camping"

I was sitting in the backseat of a car. Three other fellows were in the car – two in the front seat and one in the back with me. I was excited because we were going camping in the forest in Gallia County. I sang out how much I loved Gallia County.

I was surprised and a bit elated to learn that the fellow sitting in the front passenger seat had brought a baggie of marijuana with him. Almost immediately my surprise and elation turned to fear – just ahead of us sat a police car on the side of the road. Next to the car was a sign directing people to pull over. The police were searching cars!

Before we reached the police car, the fellow driving our car pulled into a driveway on our right. My thoughts were scrambled. We needed to get rid of the marijuana, but this was just what the police were looking for – people who pulled over before reaching the check-point. I told the driver that police were probably waiting behind the buildings on both sides of the driveway. We were trapped!

The fellow with the marijuana was younger than the rest of us (he was probably about 20 years old). He had demonstrated some irresponsibility in the past. I told the others that he would simply have to take the fall – he would have to say that the marijuana was his and that the rest of us knew nothing about it. 

The driver backed out into the street and tried to head back the way we had come, but he seemed uncertain what to do and he seemed to be attempting to pull into another driveway. I looked back up the road in the direction of the roadblock. A police car with lights flashing was headed toward us. Obviously we had been spotted and the police was going to pull us over. The situation looked grim. 

In 1979 my mother sold the Logan Street House to my sister. My mother then bought the 29th Street House, which she moved into. A six room house in a fairly affluent section of Portsmouth, the 29th Street House became my mother's permanent home. In 2002, at the age of 71, my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, and in 2003, she deeded the 29th Street House to my sister and me, although she continued to live there. I began making frequent trips to Portsmouth to visit her.

Dream of: 28 March 2004 "Dilapidated House"

I had bought a two-story frame house in Portsmouth, on the corner of a street, about a block west of Grandview Avenue. I had already moved into the house and had transferred most of my things from the 29th Street House (where the things had been stored) to the new house. The house was run-down inside and would require extensive work.

I invited Roger Anderson over and he and I proceeded to drink a six-pack of beer and smoke some marijuana. I put the marijuana in a pipe which contained some white rocky substance and I smashed the marijuana down into the substance. After I had done so, I realized I should have taken out the white substance before adding the marijuana. We smoked it anyway. I was having a good time, but I seemed to become a little too intoxicated a little too fast. I walked upstairs to the bedroom, lay down on my back across the bed, and passed out.

When I groggily regained my senses, a new day had dawned. I heard someone shut a door downstairs and I apprehensively realized a woman who was my mother (not my actual mother) had returned home. She clambered around downstairs and finally mounted the stairs to my bedroom and walked in. She had black hair and was only about 30 years old. Slender and attractive, she walked over and sat next to me on the bed.

I felt aroused by her presence. I wondered what it would feel like if she were to slip her hand inside my pants. My main concern however, was the condition of the house. I had gone to sleep without cleaning up, and I worried that beer bottles and evidence of the marijuana were downstairs -- she had probably already seen them. I quickly stood up from the bed and walked out into the hall. Anderson was lying asleep under the blankets on a bed in an adjoining room. I headed downstairs and my mother followed.

Several green beer bottles were sitting around the room. Anderson and I had only drunk a six pack, so the situation wasn't a disaster. I didn't see any evidence of marijuana, so at least I probably didn't have a problem with that. I mumbled something about Anderson and me having drunk a few beers as I picked up the bottles. My mother sat on the couch and seemed concerned, although not irate.

Once I had cleaned away the bottles, I began perusing the room, contemplating the work I would have to do there. Dark rafters which would probably need painted ran across the ceiling. Old maroon flowery wallpaper hung loose from the walls. I might have to re-wallpaper the entire room. I had never done any wallpapering and I was uncertain of the intricacies. I would probably start in one corner and work my way across one wall.

I was also concerned about the security of the house. This neighborhood had deteriorated. I wanted secure locks on the door. I might even have to replace all the doors. I might, however, open the blinds and curtains to the living room so people could see in. If I left a light on in this room at night, and the windows were open, burglars might be dissuaded from entering for fear of being seen.

The living room door was open to the outside, and several dogs had entered and were running around the room. One was a large dark-brown dog which I identified as a Rottweiler. It looked ferocious, but when I stuck out my hand, it came to me and allowed me to pet it. It finally trotted back outside.

I was a bit surprised when my brother Chris (about 14 years old) rolled up to me in his wheelchair and told me it was time for him to be taken out. I recalled that I normally took Chris for a walk every day, but I hadn't taken him today. I hesitated, then decided to take him right now. I moved around behind him and pushed him out onto the sidewalk.

As I pushed him down the street,  I wondered if I might be able to smoke some marijuana out there as I walked along. Other people were walking along the sidewalk, but I doubted they would notice my smoking. I stopped the wheelchair for moment and bent over to my shoe laces. The laces seemed made of copper wire, but I knew they were actually marijuana. If I manipulated them a certain way, I would be able to smoke them. I began twisting and turning the marijuana shoe laces, still uncertain whether smoking out there on the sidewalk was a wise idea.

I felt I had to steal time in order to write my story.

Dream of: 08 October 2004 "Accused But Innocent"

Sitting in a church, I was looking through a little flip-book, through which I could flip the pages and see changing scenes. A woman's exposed breast could be seen. 

My father (about 40 years old) was sitting in the pew in front of me, and another fellow was sitting next to me on my left. The preacher (standing at the front of the church) suddenly pointed at the other fellow and me and began complaining about a wrist watch. I laid down my little flip-book and my father turned around and looked at me -- apparently I was being accused of having stolen the watch. I knew that I was innocent, that I hadn't stolen any watch. Nevertheless, people began moving away from the other fellow and me. I stood up and protested my innocence. 

Soon the police showed up on my right and I began explaining to them that I had been accused, but I was innocent. One policeman walked up to me with a little baggie of marijuana and he asked me if I had any marijuana. I did indeed have a roll of marijuana in my pocket -- I could feel the marijuana in my right pocket. Nevertheless, I told the policeman I didn't have any, and he said ok. I knew, however, the police would probably search me. Even though I hadn't done anything to merit a search, the pot would be found. 

"Let your conscience be your guide" remained the resounding message.

Dream of: 26 June 2005 "Standing At A Pulpit"

I was with Steve Buckner (about 30 years old) and a couple other fellows on the campus of The Ohio State University. The two fellows were attorneys, and I at first thought Buckner was also an attorney, but then I remembered Buckner hadn't attended law school. We were all waiting to enter a building where some kind of event was going to take place and we all sat down to wait. One of the two fellows sat over to the side by himself, while Buckner, the other fellow and I sat down at a card table with Buckner on my right and the other fellow on my left. We were all facing the middle, not facing each other.

Buckner and the other fellow both pulled out marijuana joints and lit them up. The fellow sitting by himself obviously didn't want to have anything to do with smoking. When I told Buckner to give me some pot, he handed me a little baggie of grass and gave me some rolling papers. I proceeded to roll a joint. I first poured too much pot onto the paper and I had to put some back in the bag. I only wanted a thin small joint.

As I rolled, a heavy-set man (about 60 years old) walked up, stopped, and looked at Buckner smoking his joint. I thought that the man was probably a professor there at the university and that he probably didn't like the idea of Buckner's smoking pot there. I reflected that possession of marijuana in Ohio was punished with a ticket and not with an arrest, but getting caught was still dangerous.

After I finished rolling my joint, the man walked up some steps in front of me and entered the building. The fellow on my left, after finishing his joint, also stood and walked up the steps, but he didn't go inside. He was obviously high now. He stood at the top of the steps and blathered about how he felt as if he were standing at a pulpit. He even said something sarcastic about Jesus Christ. I didn't think he was funny.

I stood up. I was a bit nervous. Buckner also was concerned about the man who had passed us. Buckner finished his joint and said he didn't want to keep the baggie of pot on him. He began looking for a place to hide the baggie.

I also still had a small baggie containing a tiny amount of pot, as well as the joint I had rolled. I walked over to the side of a nearby house, where I thought I could hide the baggie, but first, I began trying to light my joint. I lit a match, but I had trouble lighting the joint. Finally however, I managed to light it. Meanwhile a couple giggling girls were walking close by. One girl stepped closer and closer to me, until suddenly I realized that she wasn't a girl, but a woman (30-35 years old). She abruptly asked, "Where do you keep yours, Mr. Collier? Where do you keep your drugs?"

I blurted, "I don't have any!"

Since the woman had spoken my name, I immediately knew I had a problem. She was obviously a cop. I thought how stupid I had been not to anticipate that the police would send a woman. I thought I could stick the joint in my mouth and swallow it, but I didn't know what to do with the little baggie of pot I had. I had been caught before I had been able to hide it. I could take off running and perhaps dump the pot out of the baggie as I ran, but I would probably still be caught. I didn't know what to do.

I felt increasingly alone and isolated from the world around me.

Dream of: 15 September 2006 "The Lone Ranger"

I was in my small 3-4 room upstairs apartment in an old building in Portsmouth. I was thinking I would like to contact Birdie (my girlfriend in my late teens), and I had a small device like a cellular phone with a screen with which I was able to see her. When I looked at the screen, I saw Birdie sitting in the stands of a football stadium, all by herself, holding a small baby. I had heard she had had another baby. I wanted to call her and ask her what had happened to her first baby, Brandi (born in 1973) who would be grown up by now, but I thought I would have trouble calling her. I could see her, but I didn't know how to call. The picture of her wasn't good -- it would come in, then fade out.


I thought I had some marijuana somewhere in the apartment. I pulled out a black writing pen, thinking I had somehow stuck some marijuana in a little compartment inside the pen, but I simply couldn't find the marijuana. Finally, however, I found a compartment with a marijuana joint inside. The joint was burnt along one side, but the marijuana was still in the joint. Some other green flakes were also in the compartment, so I thought I should be able to make a complete joint out of all of it.

When I suddenly heard someone at the door, I walked to the door and opened it. An old high school classmate, Scott MacDonald (now about 30 years old), walked in. He said he was waiting for someone and he asked if he could stay there for a few hours. I had been cleaning up the apartment and stuff was piled all over the place. When I told him he could stay if he could stand the junk, he acted as if the junk didn't bother him.

He walked over to a shelf containing some books, pulled out one, sat down with it, and said he was going to read. The book he had picked had a dust-jacket. I knew I had some old collectible books, and I was afraid he might damage the dust-jacket, the most valuable part of the book. I was relieved when he took off the dust-jacket and laid it aside. The title on the colorful dust-jacket was The Lone Ranger, and a picture of the Lone Ranger was also on the front of the dust jacket.

MacDonald looked clear-headed. I asked him if he still smoked marijuana and he said, "No." I asked if he minded if I smoked. Since he didn't act as if he minded, I thought I would roll up the bit of marijuana I had and smoke it. However, I hesitated. I hadn't smoked in quite a while and I didn't know if smoking around someone who wasn't smoking would be a good idea.

Instead of smoking, I simply lay down. I wondered if MacDonald had also quit drinking alcohol. I thought I would ask him how he had been able to quit smoking and drinking. I myself had never been able to stop and I was curious about how he had done it. I also had in my mind that MacDonald's father had been an alcoholic, and I wondered how his father's alcoholism had contributed to MacDonald's drinking. 


MacDonald and I were on a bicycle. He was pedaling and I was riding along with him on the same bicycle. He was looking for a place in the country, just outside of Portsmouth, a place where I had never been. We found the place nestled in the hills, rode down a long driveway and ended up near a lake where 30-40 new houses had been built along the shore. The houses were elaborate two-stories. I commented that the place looked like New England (even though I really didn't know what houses in New England looked like).

Some houses were empty. We passed one empty house, then three empty houses in a row. It looked as if nothing were inside those houses. The housing development had seemed impressive at first, but now I was beginning to wonder.

We saw a small one-room building which was empty. MacDonald drove the bicycle right inside the building and stopped. We climbed off the bicycle, parked it, and walked out onto the porch of the building. I finally figured out that MacDonald was interested in buying a house out there and that he wanted to look the place over. When I told MacDonald this place reminded me of a place I had seen in West Portsmouth, he indicated that he had also seen the place in West Portsmouth.

Three or four fellows walked up to us. MacDonald knew a couple of them and he shook their hands. I looked at one fellow and I thought I recognized him. Since I thought perhaps he had worked at the Census Bureau when I had worked there, I asked, "Did you work in the Census Bureau?"

He said no, except for some years in the 1970s. I told him I had worked there in 1979, on Green Street in the west end of Portsmouth. He confirmed that he had also worked there. We shook hands and at the same time we both said, "You can't go back, thank God."

I thought he must have done well for himself since leaving the Census Bureau, if he were living out there in that community. As he turned to leave, he smiled and I noticed that one of his teeth was missing in the back.

Even carrying on a simple conversation seemed difficult.

Dream of: 06 October 2006 "Conversation Starter"

I had gone to a party. When I arrived, practically no one was present, and I began to wonder if anyone was even going to come. Some food was arranged on a table -- Oreos, potato chips, and other stuff.

I sat down in a chair in a little recess in the wall and began drinking a Samuel Adams beer. Marjean (a former high school schoolmate) was sitting on my left, just around the corner of my little recess, but I didn't speak to her. I was unsure, but I thought this might be her party.

I finished my beer, stood up, and headed to fetch another. By now, quite a few other people had begun showing up. I walked up to the table where the beer was being served and told the woman serving the beer that I wanted a Samuel Adams. She handed me a bottle and said, "That'll be 39 cents."

I realized a nominal fee was now being charged for the beer. They were charging for everything now. A bunch of other bottles of liquor were on the table. I also noticed another large serving table behind me with food piled up on it. People were serving themselves cafeteria-style.

By now at least 100 people were in the room walking around. I looked them over, but I didn't see any attractive women, so I wasn't particularly excited about what was going on. I thought I would simply sit down next to Marjean again and try to think of something to say to her. I didn't know what I could talk about to her, but I thought I remembered that she used to smoke marijuana when we had been in high school. Maybe I could ask her if she knew where I could get some pot, or at least say something about pot. I thought maybe I could lead into the subject of pot with a little story. I could start by telling her that I used to use drugs like LSD. I could talk about how I later became a lawyer, and then I could make up a story about a lawyer who went to court high on LSD and had a trial. Maybe if I made up a funny little story like that, tying in two former parts of my life -- the drug life and the legal life -- we could start a conversation.

I was able to function, but nothing made sense.

Dream of: 03 November 2006 "Not Making Sense"

I had been living with my father (about 50 years old) for a short while in a boarding house which he owned. While I was talking with him, he abruptly told me I was going to have to move out. I was angry because I had just gone through a big hassle to move all my stuff in, but I decided I would just gather my things together and leave.

I walked back to my room where I was astounded to find two men searching my room. They were plain-clothes, but obviously policemen, riffling through everything. They finally pulled up the mattress from the bed to look underneath. Under the bed was all kind of junk which had been there when I had moved in. I told them if they found any dope under there, it wasn't mine. As soon as I had said that, they became very interested, and began minutely searching thorough the stuff under the bed.

Right along the frame of the bed they found a little piece of something green which looked like marijuana and they snatched it up. I thought they certainly were going to arrest me. However, they didn't. They searched a while longer, then walked out the door. Apparently they were going to take the little green piece to the lab and test it.

 A few minutes later, two other men walked in the door and told me I was under arrest. They took me outside into the hallway, and then into another room which contained seats as might be found in a stadium. I sat down. Soon about 20 more people came into the room. Somehow these people were involved in my case, but I couldn't figure out how or why. I knew it simply couldn't be for that tiny piece of marijuana. There had to be some other reason.

One person was looking at some pictures, and I saw a picture of a woman in the group with the word "Sears" written under the picture. It was all a mystery to me. I couldn't figure out what they were trying to prove, but they were certainly going to a lot of trouble to pin something on me. I again reflected that possession of marijuana wasn't even a major offense in Ohio. I would easily be able to make bond. I asked them how much the bail would be, but I didn't receive an answer. I thought I might need an attorney. I thought about Smith (a Portsmouth attorney), but I knew he was my father's attorney, so I wouldn't be able to use him. I would have to find someone else, if I even decided I needed an attorney.

I just couldn't understand. Why in the world were they after me? Why had they gone to all the trouble of bringing 20 different people into the case? It just didn't make sense.

In January 2006 I left Carolina and we divorced in May. I moved back to Portsmouth and quickly bought several houses which I worked on repairing.

Dream of: 15 December 2006 "Smoking On The Job"

As I was walking through the second floor of an abandoned house, I reached a room in the back and found two men inside. A bed and a little furniture were in the room -- apparently the two men had simply appropriated the room for themselves. One of the fellows (probably in his late 20s) was sitting down and he began talking with me. He told me he would sell me some marijuana for $250. I questioned him further and he told me he knew where some marijuana plants were growing, and for $250 he would tell me where they were. The deal seemed plausible to me and I questioned him further. When I asked him how many plants there were, he refused to tell me. I told him if he sold me the plants, I would find out anyway. I knew I wouldn't pay him the money without first seeing the plants. The deal was losing its appeal.

On a table in the room was a small-bore rifle, leaning against the wall.

I walked out of the room, headed down a hallway and went back downstairs. As I proceeded, I realized I actually owned this house. I had bought it to fix up.

When I reached the ground floor, I encountered George (a Portsmouth handyman who had recently been working for me). Apparently George had overheard the conversation upstairs, and he told me the deal for the marijuana was no good. He walked over to a little closet (the room was cluttered with junk everywhere), reached up to the top of the closet, and pulled out a big baggie filled with loose marijuana. After he had laid the baggie on a table, I walked over and looked at it. I asked him where the marijuana had come from. He didn't seem to understand what I meant, so I re-phrased and asked him what was the "origin" of the marijuana. I wanted to know if it was homegrown, from Mexico, or from somewhere else, but he didn't seem to know.

It looked as if he were going to roll up a joint for me. I thought I would definitely smoke a joint with him, and I might even buy some of the marijuana from him. I thought George might have previously been smoking some on the job when he had been working for me, and I knew smoking with him probably wasn't a good idea, because he worked for me. Nevertheless, I decided I was going to smoke the joint anyway.

I hadn't smoked any marijuana in a long time. In the past, if I had bought marijuana, I had tended to smoke one joint and throw the rest away. However, if I bought any marijuana from George, this time I wouldn't throw it away. This time I would keep it.

We still had 3-4 more hours to work today. I didn't know how I would feel after smoking -- I would probably simply dive into the work. George and I probably wouldn't even talk -- just work. 

My father married his third wife Lucille in November 2000. She was 19 years younger than he. My relationship with my father deteriorated thereafter. My hopes of inheriting the Farm vanished as Lucille's son Ray cut down the beautiful trees which covered the Farm.

Dream of: 13 March 2007 "Worshiping Money"

I had spent the night at a park in a small mobile house-trailer which I owned. When I awoke the next morning, all kinds of birds were making noise in the park. One bird on the ground looked like an eagle, except it was white.

I remembered I had a marijuana joint in the back of the trailer. I thought about finding it to smoke, but I didn't want to smoke it yet.

I got behind the driving wheel of the trailer and started moving it around, trying to park it better. After I had parked the trailer and walked to the back, other people began showing up, including my father and my sister. My father sat down. It was quite obvious that I wasn't speaking with him. People began talking and I told them I had been forced to park the house-trailer there because there was no where else for me to park. I was referring to the fact that I couldn't go to the Gallia County Farm anymore because of my father. Everyone quickly caught on to what I meant.

I knew that my father had given control of the Farm to my step-brother Ray and that Ray was cutting the trees off the Farm and selling them. Finally the question arose of why I wasn't talking with my father. I said my father knew why -- it was all very clear. I said it was because he had "sold the beauty."

My father stood up as if he were ready to leave, but I pushed him back and said, "You worship money. Money is your God."

My sister looked shocked by my words.

Through a window I could see my sister's son David (probably in his mid 20s) and some other relatives of my sister standing outside and looking in. Everyone seemed stunned by what I had said to my father, but I really didn't care what they thought. I just wanted to put my thoughts out in the open.

My father left and I turned to my sister (she only looked about 15 years old) and I asked her if she knew what my father had done to the Farm. Obviously she did: she started crying. Clearly she was upset by what he had done. She also couldn't go to the Farm anymore. I asked her if she knew to whom he had given the trees and she said she did. She added that she thought my father was going to sell the Farm to my step-mother or to her son Alex. I told her my father would only receive pennies for the Farm from them. My sister agreed, but there was nothing she could do about it at that point. Finally she walked out.

I thought to myself that I was glad I hadn't smoked the joint before everyone had come in. They surely would have smelled the smoke. I was at least thankful for that.

My nephew David walked in. A woman (apparently David's girlfriend or wife) also walked in. They were much friendlier than normal.

I had a box with some printed material which had three holes in the pages so the material could be put in a binder. I started working on the material, getting it ready to put in a binder, even though I didn't have a binder at the moment. David began helping me and I told him I didn't have the binder.

As I worked on the material, I began thinking about everything which had just happened, and I concluded it had all been a dream. I said to David, "I've got to report this dream."

I told David that he had even been in the dream and that I had seen him outside the window when I had been dreaming. I started looking around the room for my tape recorder so I could record the dream, but I couldn't find the recorder anywhere.

Once again, after 25 years, I was settled down in Portsmouth.

Dream of: 29 March 2007 "Outstanding Warrant"

Another fellow and I stopped by my ex-brother-in-law James' house in West Portsmouth. After I knocked on the back door, James (about 50 years old) and a woman came to the door, and I asked James if he had any marijuana which he could sell me. I hated to ask, but I did anyway. He asked me how much I wanted and he told the woman to go fetch a $20 bag. I had a $50 bill in my pocket, and I told him I would prefer to have a $50 bag, but a $20 bag would be fine. I was hesitant to buy $50 worth, because I was afraid I would throw the marijuana away after I bought it. I had a habit of doing that. Therefore I decided $20 would be enough.

The fellow (only about 30 years old) with me was a lawyer. He, James and I sat down at a table in the back yard. The lawyer also apparently intended to buy some pot and he pulled out some papers for all of us to sign. Apparently he thought the signed papers would help us if we were arrested with the marijuana. James and I sat at the table and looked over the papers. James had a set of the papers and I had a set. I was dubious about the benefits of the papers, but I thought signing them wouldn't hurt.

I noticed a clause in the papers which said a person shouldn't live in a state in which any warrants were outstanding against the person. I knew I was living in Ohio and it seemed as if there was an outstanding warrant against me for a minor offense in Ohio. I thought perhaps I shouldn't actually be living in Ohio.

At last I hoped to settle down and do what I was supposed to do: write.

Dream of: 23 September 2007 "Brave New World"

My sister (probably in her late 20s) and I were standing outside her car (a convertible) near the Portsmouth public library. As we were both boarding the car, she mentioned the phrase "three-thirty" and I recalled having heard that phrase before somewhere. It seemed to have something to do with the novel Brave New World and I asked her if she had been reading Brave New World. She said that she had, and that the quote had come from Brave New World.

We boarded the car with her in the driver's seat and we continued talking about Brave New World. I knew Alduous Huxley had written the book, and I asked her if she knew he had used "psychotropic and hallucinogenic" drugs. She indicated she didn't know anything about it. I told her that Huxley had gone to Central America, that he had tried the drugs down there and that he had even written a book about it. I even found a copy of Brave New World in the car and I began flipping through it, thinking some description of Huxley's use of drugs might be found in the book.

We were headed west on Gallia Street, toward downtown. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a black-haired woman appeared in the car, sitting right in the middle of the front seat between my sister and me. Apparently she was a Russian whom we had contacted and she was going to go out partying with us. I told her she was sitting on my gun, a handgun which was right in the middle of the front seat. She reached under herself and she seemed to feel the gun.

We picked up another fellow who boarded the car. I then pulled out a big plastic container which contained some marijuana which I had just bought. The bottom of the container was filled with fine brown pot, upon which was lying some long green leafy pieces of pot. I thought the green pot was supposed to be the best.

We rolled up a joint of the green leafy pot in some clear cellophane. We were ready to smoke, but we had difficulty lighting the joint. As we were trying to light it, I realized we had all gotten out of the car and had walked into a high-ceilinged building. I looked around and asked my sister if this was a church. I thought it strange we would be in a church, even though I knew my sister frequently attended church. It seemed irreligious that we would be preparing to smoke pot in a church.

More than ever, I was concerned about my ultimate guilt or innocence in this life.

Dream of: 05 November 2007 "Denying Guilt"

While I was in the Gallia County Farmhouse, some people (apparently police) showed up and began searching for drugs. A big fellow (probably in his mid 40s) was in charge. They searched for a while without finding anything, and they were almost ready to leave, when a woman (about 30 years old) searched me and found some cigarette papers in my shirt pocket. She pulled out the cigarette papers, looked at them and asked me if the papers were mine. I responded emphatically, "No."

She looked at me funny and asked me again. Again I said, "No."

I wasn't sure, but it looked as if she didn't believe me, and now that they had found the papers, they again began searching. They soon found more cigarette papers and finally a policeman walked into the room carrying a dried marijuana plant. Someone said the plant had been hanging in the tobacco barn with the tobacco.

My step-grandfather Clarence was now in the room and the woman who had searched me was now a man and much more aggressive. He began putting everyone (including my step-grandfather) under arrest and he acted as if he would now be able to bring charges of possession of marijuana against everyone. They were planning to use drastic measures to get evidence. They planned to threaten to give my step-grandfather a harsh sentence unless some of the other people in the Farmhouse started giving evidence against each other and started admitting their own guilt.

I had already decided, however, that I wasn't going to give in on anything. I planned to deny everything. 

My major offense was the theft of time which I should have dedicated to writing.

Dream of: 05 November 2007 "Theft"

I was with Mike Walls at his house on Jackson Street in Portsmouth. When Walls picked up my keys and walked outside, I realized he had gone out to get something of mine out of my car and I looked out the window. Through a big tree I could see Walls returning from my white 1999 Ford Escort. When I ran outside to meet him, he jolted away from me, and I saw he had a handful of marijuana which he had retrieved from my car. I knew that the marijuana belonged to me and that he was stealing it.

I chased him to the side of the house, where I caught up with him, down on the ground, trying to stick the marijuana through a basement window. He finally gave up and dropped the marijuana on the ground. As I tried to gather up the marijuana, I heard someone say a cop was on the street right behind us. I quickly tried to push all the marijuana inside through the basement window. Then I ran around to the front door, hoping I could get down in the basement to the marijuana before the police stopped me.

In August 2007 I began seeing Michelle, a blonde brown-eyed 20 year-old who was already living with another fellow. Physically, she was incredibly beautiful.

Dream of: 11 February 2008 "Police Raid"

 Several people and I were in a house in the country. I could see Michelle in the adjoining room and she could see me. I thought her boyfriend Wayne was also in the room with her. When a fellow in my room pulled out a big thick marijuana joint and began smoking it, I thought I might also partake of the marijuana, even though I reflected I had never smoked any pot around Michelle. When the fellow handed me the joint and I took it in my hand, I could smell the pungent smoke wafting up to my nostrils. Finally I raised the joint to my mouth, took a hit, and watched Michelle's mouth fall open when she saw what I had done.

I looked away from Michelle for a short while, and when I looked back for her, she had disappeared. Everyone in my room had also left. I began looking around the house, and in one room I found a baggie of marijuana which someone had left behind. Worried someone might find the marijuana, I picked up the baggie and carried it into the next room, where I stuck it under pieces of brown cardboard.

I walked outside and saw that a car had pulled up and stopped on the road in front of the house. When a group of rough-looking men carrying guns jumped out of the car, I quickly deduced that they were police and that they were conducting a raid. Unsure what to do, frozen in my tracks, I gingerly pulled a revolver out of my left pocket, held it with two fingers up in the air, and told the men I had a gun. I asked them if I should lay the gun down or keep it. They all looked at me until someone told me to keep the gun. After I had stuck the gun back in my pocket, the men all rushed to the house across the street. It looked as if they were planning to break down the door of the house and raid it.

Since I still didn't know what had happened to Michelle and Wayne, I was concerned about them. I pulled out a little orange cell phone, thinking I would call them and warn them that the police were there. After I had flipped the phone open, I realized the top part of the phone was missing, and I began looking around in the grass, trying to find the missing piece.

Meanwhile, a  group of young boys (7-8 years old) had congregated around me. I figured one of them must have picked up the missing piece, and I told them I would give $5 to anyone who would give me back the top of my cell phone. They all started pulling things out of their pockets, but no one had the missing piece to the phone.

I couldn't call Michelle without the missing piece. I continued looking in the grass and found a quarter, but I couldn't find the phone piece. Apparently none of the boys had the missing piece, either. I didn't know what I was going to do.

My relationship with Michelle intensified until she occupied a major portion of my time.

Dream of: 01 March 2008 "Sitting Cockeyed"

 While Michelle and I were sitting in a sparsely furnished, hardwood-floored living room, it suddenly occurred to me that Michelle knew people who sold marijuana and that she could obtain some for me if I would give her the money. When I started talking to her about it, she quickly indicated she would be able to do so.

I suddenly remembered, however, that I had something else to do. It was almost 9 a.m. and I was supposed to transport Michelle's half-brother, Ray, to court at 9 a.m. I rushed upstairs and woke Ray (a tall black-haired fellow about 18 years old), who was still asleep. After he groggily walked downstairs with me, we sat down in the living room. I remembered Ray also had drug connections and I asked him if he might be able to obtain some pot for me. He said he could and I thought I might enlist him (instead of Michelle) to procure the pot for me. Since I realized we first needed to hurry and go to court, however, he and I walked outside and boarded my car.

As I drove down the road, we continued talking about marijuana and I asked Ray what time of year the new crop would start being sold. He seemed vague, but he said something about marijuana seeds, and how the new crop had seeds in it. I also wanted to know how much a baggie was going to cost. He talked about getting five bags for $100, so I figured I would have to pay about $20 a bag, which seemed cheap.

Suddenly I saw a car stopped in front of me and I tried to put on the brake. Unfortunately, my foot wasn't able to reach the peddle. I swerved into the left lane around the car. A whole line of cars was in front of the car which had been in front of me, so I couldn't get back into the right lane -- I had to stay in the left lane. The cars were all stopped at a stop sign and were getting ready to turn onto the main highway. I continued on in the left lane until I passed all the other cars and turned onto the highway. I told Ray we might be in the wrong lane of traffic and cars might be coming toward us, but finally I saw we were in the correct lane.

I kept trying to reach the brake peddle, but I simply couldn't do it. Finally I realized I was turned around, sitting cockeyed with my back against the driver's window instead of against the back of the seat. I managed to turn myself around so I was sitting correctly and I continued driving down the road.

Although I am not comfortable with the concept that life is one long trial at the end of which I will be found either guilty or not guilty, I cannot shake the abiding feeling that such a trial is in process.

Dream of: 28 June 2008 "Marijuana Trial"

Another fellow and I were on trial for possession of marijuana. The trial was taking place and the marijuana was pilled high on a table. The judge was a black-haired woman (probably in her early 30s). As the trial proceeded, I realized that I was going to be allowed to keep some of the marijuana and that I was not going to receive any kind of punishment. So I began stuffing marijuana into two large black plastic garbage bags.

I spoke with my co-defendant about the situation and Phil Lane's name came up. The fellow said Lane had also recently been arrested. Lane had pled guilty and had received a ticket. I reflected that if Lane had followed the same course as I, he wouldn't have received any punishment.

The judge finally handed down the sentence, and as I had foreseen, I wasn't punished. I continued filling up my bags, dropped some marijuana on the ground, bent down and picked it backed up. I thought more marijuana was lying on the ground under the table, and I was afraid the judge might think I was trying to scoop up some extra, but she didn't say anything. I saw a piece of marijuana which had a purplish color (it looked like a piece of clothing) and I stuck it in my bag.

I asked the judge if she liked being a judge. She said she didn't. I asked her if she liked being a lawyer and she said she didn't like being a lawyer either. I told her I likewise didn't like being a lawyer and that was why I didn't practice law any more.

Michelle had one major problem: she was addicted to oxycodone and alprazolam (Xanex). In October 2008 she was arrested on an outstanding warrant for possession of alprazolam and ultimately spent six months in jail.

Dream of: 01 December 2008 "Drug Habit"

I had moved into one room in a building (which seemed to be in Hurst, Texas, the town in which I lived for 12 years from 1993 to 2006) where a number of other people were living. As I was sitting in my room, I began thinking I would like to smoke some marijuana, but I didn't know where to find any. When a skinny fellow (around 25 years old) who also lived in the building walked into my room, I asked him if he knew where I could find some marijuana, and he said he did. He asked me how much I wanted, and I told him I only wanted a couple joints. He straightway pulled out a couple joints and handed them to me.

The fellow (who was apparently gay) said something about having sex and he pulled down his pants, revealing an extremely small penis. I was utterly disgusted. After I told him that I wasn't gay and that I didn't want to have sex with him, he pulled his pants back up.

I lit up one of the joints. Since the fellow hadn't left, I realized he wanted to smoke with me. I passed the joint to him and he to me, back and forth. As we smoked, I worried a little about the smoke drifting out of the room to where someone might smell it.

The room didn't have a ceiling, but just steel girders under the roof. Looking at the girders, I thought it might be possible to climb up on the girders, scoot around over the other rooms in the building and see what other people were doing in their rooms. Since women inhabited some rooms, I thought I might even be able to watch them dressing at night.

Several other people walked into the room. Since I had left a pack of Marlboro cigarettes on the bed, I wondered if someone would steal them. When one fellow, who walked into the room, laid a baggie on the bed, I wondered if it contained marijuana. I picked up the baggie and looked in it. The baggie was full of all kinds of different pills. When I also noticed a piece of concrete in the baggie, I asked, "What's that?"

I noticed that the concrete was cracked in the middle and that it contained a cavity inside. Within the cavity were some pills, which I realized were Oxycontin. Acting as if I knew all about Oxycontin, I asked, "How much are those?"

He replied, "Twenty."

At first I thought they were thirty milligram oxys, but then I asked, "Are they forties?"

He replied, "Yea."

That meant he was selling 40-milligram tablets of Oxycontin for $20, which was about half the regular price. I wasn't interested in buying them, but I thought about Michelle (who I knew was in jail at the moment). If she weren't in jail, that would be a cheap price for her to pay for oxys. I was sure she would like to have some.

I told the fellow I was nervous about having the pills in the room. I was also nervous because about 10 people were now in the room. I didn't want them to stay and I finally said everyone was going to have to leave. As people started filing out, I noticed another baggie which did have marijuana in it. I picked up the baggie and asked who it belonged to. When a pretty girl (about 20 years old) standing behind me said the baggie belonged to her, I told her I would like to have some of the marijuana and she asked me how much I wanted. I told her I only wanted $10 worth. She said that was ok and as she got the marijuana ready for me, she asked me if I would be wanting more. I replied, "Yea."

I was a little concerned, however. I thought to myself that I had just spent $20, and now I was going to be wanting more. It looked as if I were again getting back into the drug habit.

The mystery of the origin of life and of the universe proved unsolvable, but I could not stop thinking about it.

Dream of: 15 June 2009 "White Squid"

A woman (probably in her mid 30s) was sitting in the front passenger seat of a car which I was driving east through New Boston. I used to know her from somewhere a long time ago. As we talked, I lit up a marijuana joint and smoked it. When I had finished, even as I was driving, I pulled out a large baggie of marijuana and began rolling another joint. The cigarette paper was only about a centimeter wide -- very short. The marijuana in the bag was peculiar looking: some of it was in big pieces and one piece was white and in the form of a little squid.

When I finished rolling, I lit up the joint and proceeded to smoke the whole thing by myself. Only when I had finished did I realize I hadn't offered any to the woman. I turned to her, apologized, and told her the marijuana had been so powerful, it had made me forget to give her any. I then described how the marijuana had looked. I specifically mentioned the piece which had looked like a squid and tried to describe the long tentacles.

After I pulled over to the curb for a moment, a man stepped up to the car and began talking to the woman. Apparently they were friends. I was a little nervous because I was holding the big baggie of marijuana in my hand. I tried to stick it under both her seat and mine, but pushing the marijuana under the seat was difficult. Finally I did however manage to push it under the seat.

When the woman and man finished talking, I pulled off. I asked her if the man was "cool." I wanted to know if I had to worry about his seeing the marijuana. She indicated I had nothing to worry about. I continued driving. 

More and more, the thought of living out my last days in the serenity of the Gallia County Farm, and dying there, appealed to me.

Dream of: 19 June 2009 "Fincis"

I walked into the Gallia County Farmhouse and discovered a number of people inside. After I watched two fellows walk down a long hallway and enter a room at the end, I followed them and walked into the room. Five black men were in the room and two were holding marijuana joints. One fellow seemed to be sniffing the air. Since I thought I had some rights in the Farmhouse, I authoritatively demanded to know if they were smoking marijuana. They sensed they had been caught. I ordered, "Give it to me."

One of them handed me a joint. As I took a hit from the joint, they realized I wasn't there to stop them from smoking and they seemed relieved. When I asked them where they were from, one fellow (lying on a bed on his back) answered, "Africa."

I said, "I figured that. Where?"

He said, "Fincis."

I told him I had never heard of "Fincis" and another fellow also said he had never heard of "Fincis." I asked, "Is that a city or a country?"

He said it was a city. I told him I had thought as much. He then said that Fincis was in Tripoli. I blurted out that Tripoli wasn't a country. He answered that Tripoli was indeed a country and another fellow quipped, "Yea it is."

They seemed to think I wouldn't know where any place in Africa was, but I knew I was fairly familiar with the geography of Africa. I figured we could talk about where the fellow was from. I tried to place Tripoli in my mind. I thought it must be near the northern edge of Africa. I couldn't remember exactly where Tripoli was, but I definitely didn't think it was a country. I finally said, "Tripoli. Its up there between Libya and Argentina. No, not Argentina. I mean Algeria." I thought the name of the country began with an "A" (but actually I was thinking of Tunisia, not Algeria).

I wondered if a globe of the world could be found somewhere in the Farmhouse.

Although immoral thoughts remained rooted in my mind, I retained a thimbleful of hope that I could eradicate them.

Dream of: 30 September 2009 "The Silver Thimble"

 I had gone to visit Estepp (a former renter of one of my houses in Portsmouth, probably in his mid-30s, a man of egregiously unsavory character). Although Estepp was now Michelle's boyfriend, I knew Michelle wouldn't be with Estepp at present because Michelle was in jail (where she had resided for quite some time). Normally Estepp and I didn't get along, but I now needed him to do something for me. To assist my suit with Estepp, I had come to see him under the pretext of providing him information about a television which he wanted to obtain from someone. As we quasi-amiably conversed, I pondered my need for his assistance: I had recently seen a marijuana plant growing in a little garden in someone's back yard, and I wanted to steal the plant, but I was unwilling to steal the plant myself; therefore, I intended to try to convince Estepp to steal the plant for me.

The setting was a large room. I particularly noticed the size because the room was much larger than the small room Estepp formerly inhabited. Obviously he had risen in the world. Estepp sat on his bed while I stood and conversed with him at length; never, however, did we reach the subject of either the marijuana or the television. I finally sat down and as we simply talked, I noticed that even though we had become cordial, Estepp never mentioned Michelle. I likewise didn't bring up Michelle's name.

I finally stood, walked out, and as I descended the stairs, I realized the building was actually a large hotel. When I reached the bottom floor, I discerned an elegant dining room (as if from a former opulent era) off to the side. Several people, ostensibly preparing to serve a meal, were walking around the dining room. 

I continued my trek, walked outside the building, and found myself on the street of a fashionable district of a city, where automobile-traffic had been blocked off and pedestrians crowded the pleasant shop-lined street. I became intrigued by the vast variety of people in the street, and as I scrutinized their faces, one man bumped into me. After we had both continued on a few steps, I stopped, turned and looked at the man. At the same time, I noticed something odd: hanging from my left side was a lemon-colored tennis ball (but somewhat smaller than a regular tennis ball). Apparently the ball had originated with the man who had bumped into me. The cloth-like surface of the ball seemed to have attached to something on me which resembled Velcro. When I pulled the ball off me and threw it to the man, he immediately responded, "Why'd you do that?" Apparently I had unintentionally offended him.

As soon as I turned and again continued my trek, another fellow walked up to me and said something was hanging from my clothes. I concluded something else had attached itself to me when the first fellow had bumped into me. Looking, I discovered a silver thimble hanging on a string from me. The fellow who had pointed out the thimble to me acted as if he wanted me to give the thimble to him. But I didn't want to give him the thimble. Instead, I began trying out the thimble on one finger after another, thinking perhaps a thimble signified something when worn by a man, even though I couldn't figure out what that "something" might be.

When I again continued my trek and the fellow began walking along with me, I began trying to figure out where I was going. In the distance I could see the skyscrapers of a city which looked like Dallas. Unaccustomed to this place, I tried to figure out which direction I should take.

As I continued to walk, I entered into a less friendly area of town where few people were on the street. Since I didn't know the fellow walking with me, I didn't want to continue walking with him in an unpopulated area.

Although I had hopes that I would one day succeed, I had grave doubts that I would ever fit into society.

Dream of: 30 October 2009 "Civil Rights"

Michelle and I were in a large, old, ornate house in which I was living. The house was well-furnished and my blue velvet couch (with the large eagle carved over the back) was sitting in the living room. Having heard that the police were going to raid the house, Michelle and I waited for a couple hours until about 20 plain-clothes police officers streamed into the house and began sniffing around. Frantically thinking about whom I could contact, I decided I might call Smith, a Portsmouth attorney whom I knew. I looked for a telephone book, thinking I would simply tell Smith the police were in my house. I was uncertain, however, I should call Smith -- for all I knew, Smith might be on the side of the police. Nevertheless, I thought I should call him so that I would at least have a record that I had called someone.

The police scattered throughout the house. I didn't think anything illegal was in the house, unless there was something I didn't know about. Abruptly, however, I seemed to recall having hidden five or six marijuana seeds in the closet in the bathroom. The seeds had been left over from some marijuana which I had possessed. As I fretted about the seeds, I also began to worry that I might have hidden and forgotten a pill somewhere.

I needed to use the bathroom. When I headed for the bathroom, one of the officers walked into the bathroom with me, refusing to let me go by myself. So with him in the room, I began peeing. It seemed as if I might have drunk some beer earlier, which was giving rise to my need to urinate. I peed and peed. The room was dark at first until I finally remembered a light switch was near the commode, and I turned it on. I still couldn't do anything about the marijuana seeds because the police officer was with me.

When I walked back out of the bathroom, I finally demanded to see a search warrant, but no one could produce one and the officers acted as if they didn't even need a warrant. When several other men and women (all probably in their early 30s) showed up (all wearing black leather coats), I quickly concluded they were all prosecuting attorneys, except for one woman who was missing several teeth. I asked another woman (obviously the person in charge) where the search warrant was. She was the only one who realized the police did indeed need a search warrant. She talked to the others and said there was no place where they could obtain a search warrant at the moment (it was rather late in the day). When I spoke more with the woman, trying to understand why they were searching the house, she told me Michelle wasn't doing well in school and she acted as if the police had come in order to help Michelle. I had figured the police were there because of Michelle, although their actual reason for being there was far from clear.

Michelle (very pretty) had sat quietly over to the side in a small room adjacent to the living room. After an attractive woman walked into the room and sat down on a couch facing Michelle, I walked into the room and sat down next to the woman. At first the woman began flirting with me, but then I realized she was trying to put her hands in my pockets. I became angry when I realized she had simply been trying to trick me so she could search me, clearly trying to entrap me. I stood up, told Michelle to stay where she was, and then walked into the living room.

By then, perhaps 30-40 people were in the house. Slowly they began heading toward the door and leaving. Although they had completely stopped searching, they were taking their time about actually departing. I screamed out, "You violated my civil rights." I was serious. I knew they had illegally entered my house without a warrant. The violation was clear-cut.

In May of 2006 I moved alone into the 17th Street House in Portsmouth. The two-story frame House had nine rooms, including two full baths. I had saved enough money to live comfortably without having to work.

Dream of: 20 September 2010 "Missing Money"

While my sister (18-19 years old) and another girl were in the 17th Street House, sitting over to the side, talking, I recalled I had left $150 in cash underneath a tall porcelain statue of a woman carrying a vase which sat on my mantel in the front room. When I walked over to the mantel, lifted up the statue and found the money had disappeared, I immediately knew my sister had stolen the money. When I walked back to her and accused her, she at first tried to deny it, but finally she gave in and admitted she had taken the money. I knew she had been smoking marijuana and I thought she had spent all the money for drugs. When I accused her of using the money for dope, she didn't deny it.

I told her I was thinking about calling our father and telling him about it. I stood there berating her until I finally picked up the phone, intending to report to my father what she had done. When I told my sister she was going to have to leave, she stood up and prepared to depart, but the other girl remained sitting, clearly refusing to leave. I immediately called the police. When I walked over to the other girl and told her the police were coming, she was then ready to leave.

At last I had time to concentrate on writing, if I could only free my mind from all my many distractions.

Dream of: 01 November 2010 "Hit From A Bong"

I was sitting in the front row of a classroom which contained about 30 students. The teacher (a man about 30 years old) walked in, sat down on the floor in front of the room and began talking. Apparently the students had been writing stories because the teacher asked if anyone would like to give him one of their stories to read out loud to the class. On my desk in front of me lay a folder which contained about 50 pages of stories which I had written. I thought I might like to give the teacher one of my stories, but I wasn't sure I was quite ready for that. I began looking through my papers for an appropriate story.

When some commotion abruptly started outside the windows, and it looked as if some military vehicles were pulling up, I gradually realized the teacher was having some problems. He began talking about smoking marijuana and he said something about "taking a hit from a bong." Since he was sitting on the floor, I thought about asking him if I could also sit on the floor. I knew teachers in the past never allowed students to sit on the floor, but this teacher was apparently a super liberal.

I continued looking through my papers. I was searching for a particular short story which was only three pages long. I fretted that someone else would hand the teacher a story first and that he wouldn't reach mine.

Finally, when one of the soldiers walked up to the window and said something, the teacher stood up and walked outside. It looked as if he were going to have some kind of problem. I didn't know exactly what was going on, but I was thinking to myself that I didn't know that teachers were smoking pot and talking about it. Apparently the military convoy had arrived for the teacher. I wasn't sure whether they were going to take him away.

A hard lesson to learn: I might be able to save myself by saving someone else.

Dream of: 04 November 2010 "Sleeping Bears"    

I was sitting on the back of a bicycle behind a fellow, who seemed to be someone I knew (around 30 years old), who was steering the bicycle. We were riding down a country road. Earlier I had been smoking some marijuana, and the fellow seemed to be a counselor who counseled people regarding marijuana. As I talked with him about marijuana, I had the felling he didn't smoke much. When I asked him if he got high from pot, he said, "No."

I wondered exactly what I myself felt when I was high. I felt high at the moment, but I couldn't exactly define what made my present feeling seem different from normal reality.

As we continued riding along, I lifted my legs into the air behind me so my body was stretched out parallel to the ground, as if I were flying, but holding on with my hands. I blurted out, "Look at me!"

A girl was supposed to be following us somewhere behind.

As we continued along the country road, I looked to my right and noticed something brown in the branches of a tree. At first I thought it was a bird, but when we were closer, I realized it was a big sleeping grizzly bear. I pointed it out to the other fellow.

By then we were both riding separate bicycles and he was up ahead of me. I looked and saw a second grizzly bear which seemed to be lying on a platform in another tree. Then I saw a third and a fourth bear in trees. All the bears were asleep.

Meanwhile the other fellow had stopped in front of a fence. Shocked, I suddenly realized a fifth bear was lying asleep right on the other side of the fence near the fellow. He didn't see the fifth bear because he was looking at the other bears. When the fifth bear suddenly woke up, I realized the bear was going to attack the fellow. When the bear stood up and reached its front paws over the fence, it looked like a lion instead of a bear. The lion grabbed the fellow by the neck. I had also stopped and I was trying to think of something to do to save the fellow.

At the same time I was visualizing what would happen next. I thought the lion would simply bite the fellow's head off and I knew I wasn't going to be able to do anything to prevent it.

I thought, however, I might be able to stop the girl who was following us from reaching this dangerous point.

Clearly seeing one's self can be a catalyst for change.

Dream of: 22 December 2010 "Marijuana Dreams"

I was sitting in a field atop a hill on the Gallia County Farm. From my vantage point, I could see far in the distance into the valley below. I was carrying a rifle with which I was hunting wild turkey. I recalled one time when I had gone far back into the woods hunting turkey, but I hadn't found any. When I had returned empty-handed to the Farmhouse, my step-grandfather Clarence had been there and he had told me that wild turkeys were hard to sneak up on. This time I was just sitting on hill, waiting for a turkey would turn up.

Gradually I had begun slipping down the hill until I was almost at the bottom. I walked back to the top, waited a while longer, then headed to the Farmhouse. When I arrived, no one was there.

I seemed to recall that I had hid a little marijuana somewhere in the Farmhouse. I recalled that I had rolled up the pot in a little piece of newspaper, but I couldn't remember where it was.

A couple fellows who appeared to be related to me were in the Farmhouse. When they indicated that they would like to smoke some marijuana, I told them I had some, but I didn't know where it was. I looked in some drawers and found something which looked like a little envelope for holding pills. Something which looked like white chalk was crushed up in the envelope. I thought of snorting some of it to see what it was like, but I decided it might be dangerous, so I didn't.

I sat down. After being seated for a bit, I realized I was holding a piece of paper with something rolled up in it. I smelled the paper, which smelled like marijuana. If marijuana really was in the paper, I didn't think it would be very strong, but I thought I might smoke it anyway.

Suddenly, however, I started thinking that it seemed as if I had been writing a book about dreams which I had had about marijuana. Judging from what I had been writing, I had concluded that I shouldn't be smoking marijuana right now. My working on the book made me hesitate to smoke any marijuana.

Moral questions of what to do and what not to do sometimes have deadly answers.

Dream of: 31 December 2010 "Gun-Fight"

I had gone to visit Randy Ramey (who died in 2008). He was living in a two-story frame house on Brown Street (close to Third Street) in Portsmouth. When I arrived, both Ramey and Mike Walls were present (both about 20 years old). When I asked Ramey if he could sell me a joint, he acted as if he could, but I figured the joint would be extremely small. I didn't know whether he intended to charge me five dollars, especially if I smoked the joint with him. He rolled up the joint and we smoked it. I immediately became so high, I almost seemed to be in a coma.

I told Ramey and Walls that I would really like to manufacture some acid and that I had wanted to manufacture acid for a long time. I thought it might take me five years to figure out how to do it. I told them that if we didn't do it, in five years we wouldn't have anything, but if we started working on it, we would be able to do it.

As I continued talking, they seemed somewhat interested. Finally I diverged into a little fantasy about the three of us dealing large quantities of marijuana together. I thought we could set up a little company. Walls would have the hard job because he would be the one actually selling the marijuana. Both Ramey and I would be managers, on different levels. I even imagined storing the marijuana in a big warehouse somewhere in Portsmouth, and I could see myself standing outside the warehouse. An Hispanic looking fellow stepped up in front of the warehouse and began asking me questions. I suspected that he wanted to work for us, but I didn't want to bring anyone else into the enterprise.

I even imagined someone showing up with a gun and I could see a gun-fight developing over the marijuana.

The nefarious invasion of privacy by governments to enforce morals has the opposite effect of spawning immorality.

Dream of: 11 February 2011 "The Friendly Nark"

While I was walking along the Ohio River in Portsmouth, I ran into a fellow whom I knew, and a second fellow whom I didn't know. The first fellow whom I knew had a large pile of marijuana which was sitting on the ground and which he was smoking with the second fellow. As I watched them smoke, I realized the second fellow was a nark. I also realized that the first fellow knew that the second fellow was a nark. I thought it very strange that the first fellow and the nark would be smoking pot together.

We started talking and the nark said that he had no intention of busting the first fellow and that he (the nark) frequently smoked pot. I wanted some of the pot myself, but the nark scared me.

The nark put some pot into some kind of homemade device and smoke started coming out of the device. I took a hit. The nark then put more pot in a pop can and when smoke started coming out of the can, I took another hit.

The nark (probably only in his late 20s) was very friendly. I rather liked the fellow, but he made me nervous because I didn't know if he could be trusted. I didn't know what would happen if a police car would pull up. Perhaps the nark would simply wave off the police. He might show them that he was a nark so they wouldn't bother us.

I figured the nark must be concentrated on busting people for pills, like Oxycontin. I wondered if he took anonymous tips and I thought about Michelle's boyfriend, Wayne. I thought perhaps I should ask the nark the address where anonymous tips could be sent. If I wanted to turn in someone like Wayne, I could do it through this nark.

A country, which incarcerates significant numbers of its citizens for nothing more than moral indignation, has gone astray.

Dream of: 19 February 2011 "American People's Party"

I was on the first floor of a two-story house where I was living in a residential neighborhood. I had just taken a shower and had put my clothes back on. I had my long hair wrapped in a pink towel. When I heard a knock at the door, I could see a pretty woman (probably in her mid 20s) standing outside. I took the towel off my head and answered the door.

By the time I opened the door, however, the woman had walked back to the sidewalk, and I saw that she had left a paper on the door. When she saw me, she walked back to the door. We started talking and I quickly realized she was there to tell me about a new political party which she wanted me to join.

I wondered if she would come into the house. She was so pretty, I didn't know whether she would. When I invited her in, she stepped right inside. We walked into the living room and sat down - she sat in an easy chair. I quickly learned that the name of the party was "The American People's Party." I was interested in hearing about the party, although I didn't think I would join. It seemed as if I didn't want to join because I didn't want people to know where I was for some reason. We continued talking and I told her that I wasn't registered with any parties.

I told her that only one issue interested me and that I would like to know where her party stood on that particular issue. I told her I thought the legalization of drugs was the most important issue. She seemed a little surprised, as if she weren't even aware that the legalization of drugs was an issue. I could see that this conversation wasn't going to go far. She wanted to know why I thought that way. I asked her if she knew how much better life would be if drugs were legalized, or even if only marijuana was legalized.

I began thinking about all the different advantages of having marijuana legalized. I asked her if she knew how many people had been killed in the last year along the border between Mexico and the United States. I was thinking that 30,000 people had been killed in the drug war in Mexico. The woman, however, seemed uninformed.

I told her that if I were going to join a party, I would probably join the Libertarian Party because I knew the Libertarian Party was in favor of drug legalization. I was a little unhappy with the Libertarian Party, however, because it appeared as if they hadn't made any progress on the issue.

I thought perhaps the woman and I could talk more about political parties because I thought I knew a little about the subject. I told her I knew the GOP had been founded at the time of Abraham Lincoln and I told her I thought the present Democratic Party dated back to the time of Thomas Jefferson. I knew a different Democratic Party had existed prior to the time of the present Democratic Party.

The more I looked at her, the prettier she looked. I was more interested in her than anything else. She had black hair and a well-rounded figure. I finally asked, "How old are you?"

When she acted as if she didn't want to tell me, I told her I thought she was about twenty-five. I had the feeling that my guess was pretty close.

Since she didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave, I thought we could sit and talk for a while longer.

Blessed be he who destroys unjust law, for he will be remembered as a just man.

Dream of: 02 February 2011 "The Humanitarian"

I was sitting at a desk in the front room of the Logan Street House. The desk was sitting right next to the front door so I could look out the open door. I was rummaging through boxes of miscellaneous items which I had accumulated over the years, sorting out what I wanted to keep and what I wanted to throw away. I came across several stacks of old plastic credit cards, some with colorful pictures, and decided I would keep those. On the other hand, I found several little red plastic forks which looked more like little rakes than forks, and I decided to throw those away.

My mother was in the adjoining bedroom. She called to me and asked me if she could take a jar of yogurt out of the refrigerator and take it to her friend. I didn't like the idea, but I told her she had bought the yogurt with her own money, so she could do what she wanted with it. I vaguely seemed to think that she might be on food stamps.

She called out to me that she could see someone outside. I stood up, looked out the front door and saw a burly man in a long herringbone coat walking up on the front porch. I walked out, still clutching one of the stupid little red forks in my hand. I heard him say that his name was "Doctor Price." When he reached me, however, he said his name was "George Soros Price." I knew then that the name "Price" was just made up and that he was the famous "George Soros." I suddenly realized that he had come to help my mother. I was so thankful and so happy. I couldn't believe it. I blurted, "Oh my God. You're George Soros. The Greek. the man who wants to legalize marijuana. The humanitarian."

The morality of the subject matter of my assembled dreams proved surprisingly elusive.

Dream of: 28 February 2011 "Assembled Dreams"

I had just bought some marijuana. While riding a motorcycle through traffic in Hurst, Texas, I was holding the marijuana in a little bowl, and when I had to suddenly stop, I spilled all the marijuana unto the ground. Since there was so much traffic, I didn't stop. Instead I circled back around and when the traffic died down, I picked up as much as I could and put it back in the bowl. Unfortunately, I scooped up a lot of dirt at the same time. As I started riding the motorcycle again, I attempted to separate the dirt from the marijuana.

I arrived at a warehouse where I had been recently working. I went to an office where I had been living in the back of the building and I spread the marijuana out on a bed which I had in the room. I could see some good pieces of marijuana, including one long bud. Another piece looked fresh and green, as if it had just been picked. There were also a bunch of stems, from which I thought I might make tea.

When some people walked into the warehouse, I had to leave the marijuana lying on the bed and go out to attend to the people. Several people, including some women, were circling through the warehouse and I couldn't keep track of them.

When I finally returned to my room, I found three conservatively dressed women smoking my pot from three different pipes. They certainly didn't look like women who would smoke pot. They were a bit hefty (probably in their 30s) and they looked as if they might be sisters. I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I was upset because I had just purchased the pot and I hadn't even had a chance to smoke it myself. I told the women I had paid $20 for the pot. When I thought more about it, however, I realized I had actually bought two portions of pot (one had been better than the other) and I had paid $20 apiece. Thus I had shelled out $40.

The women didn't seem concerned and I actually wasn't angry. I tried to smoke some from their pipes, but I didn't get much. When I asked them what was left, they showed me a few pieces. I asked them what had happened to the long bud and they said they had already smoked it. I gathered up what was left, which was still a good little bit and I decided to smoke it with them. When I asked them which pipe was best, they chose the black one which I took into my hand.

When one of them asked me something about my writing, I asked them if they had been reading my stuff. I knew I had been assembling some of my dreams into a book which I had also left lying on the bed. They said no, they hadn't been reading it. I thought I would wait until I had smoked a little, then perhaps I would read them some of my dreams and see what they thought of them.

The government's terror campaign forces men into secret rooms.

Dream of: 20 March 2011 "The Secret Room"

I had recently moved into a house where my mother was living. I went down into the spacious basement and straight to a closet. I opened the door, walked inside the closet, and opened another door at the rear of the closet. I walked down a little hallway and came out in a white room. I was surprised to find my dephew David (in his early 20s) in the room. He was talking with someone whom I couldn't see but who I thought was his wife, Renee. He was sitting on her lap. When he moved his body to show who the person was, however, I saw that it was an older woman (probably in her 50s) whom he introduced as his mother-in-law.

I was carrying a little baggie of marijuana which I quickly poured out onto a little tray as David and his mother-in-law watched. I only had enough for a couple joints. Thus I became upset when I managed to spill some brown pop onto the tray. Over half of the pot was covered. Unsure what to do, I raised the tray to my mouth and sucked off the pop.

I was surprised when Newman (a former high school schoolmate) walked in. He looked as if he were in his early 20s. He was carrying a big gob of marijuana in his hand which he laid down on my tray. the marijuana looked as if it had just been picked. I picked up one leaf to feel it - it was still moist. I knew that marijuana couldn't be smoked unless it were somehow dried out first. Newman took his marijuana back off my tray.

When I walked into an adjoining room for a moment, I discovered an extra clump of dried marijuana on my tray. I thought it must be Newman and I wondered if he intended to smoke that with us. I picked it up and smashed it on the tray.

I could still hear the others talking in the other room and I quickly realized they were talking about someone brining some heroin there to make some kind of deal. It sounded as if David's mother-in-law was in charge of the scheme. I quickly walked back into the room and announced that I would not allow such a transaction. They seemed taken aback, but they clearly saw that I was in charge and I didn't think they would contend with my authority.

I had also had three light-green 30 mg tablets of oxycodone mixed in with my marijuana on the tray. Suddenly I realized the pills were missing. I didn't remember turning my head so someone would have a chance to take the pills, but they were gone. I asked who had taken my pills, but no one said anything. I thought I might have to start searching everyone. I was particularly suspicious of David.

A girl standing over against the wall reached into her pocket, pulled out one of the pills and handed it to me. I had vaguely been aware of the girl's being in the room. She had black hair and was about 20 years old. She was slightly pudgy but still attractive. I asked her where the other two pills were. She looked at me with big eyes and a smile on her face. Obviously she had consumed the pills. I figured she had no money and I tried to think of something she could do to pay me back. I thought I might simply ask her to take off all her clothes. I wasn't sure if she would, but I thought she might.

I thought I heard someone out in the hall and I walked out there and found my mother (probably in her 40s). I quickly diverted her into the kitchen which was on the other side of the hall. I hadn't realized this hidden area was so big. I also hadn't realized my mother even knew this area was here. We talked for a few moments when I again heard someone out in the hallway.

I walked out and was shocked to see Michelle standing there. I couldn't figure out how she even knew about this place. My immediate concern, however, was about the girl in the other room. I couldn't remember whether I had asked her to take off her clothes. I certainly didn't want Michelle to go in there and find the girl parading around naked. I needed to keep her from going into that room.

The final judgment is in: You are hereby forbidden from smoking marijuana.

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