Stop Obama's Assassination!
Dreamed 2012/2/10 by Wayan
Wake up sore again. Ow. Lyme disease flaring up despite antibiotics. Or because of them.
Then I chip a tooth--part of the tip of my lower right incisor shears off, and the chip disappears!
Try to modernize the World Dream Bank--I wrote some of the core pages as much as twelve years ago. Shorten the "Send Me a Dream" and "What This Site Is" pages. Slow. A lot of pages, it'll take time...
Make a new list for cryptomnesic dreams--dreams that recall complex, consciously long-forgotten data.
Walk with my friend the poet Patagia. She's in a mood today. Disliked the book I gave her (Josh Kornbluth's Red Diaper Baby, and the BBC show I recommended (Doc Martin), and dislikes my new sculpture project (a dance troupe of centaurs made from pairs of glued-together Barbies). Everything upsets Patagia today, so I don't take it to heart. And at least I'm getting some exercise.
At sunset, my housemates Alder and Cory invite me out to the Blue Elephant for Thai soup. The soup and friendship are warm, but I start to feel uneasy--I should be somewhere! This is Thursday the ninth, isn't it? Only when I get home do I find I'm wrong, it's Friday--and I just missed the vocal improv group I go to! Damn! Have to wait two more weeks...
Read over my dreams for the week. They're clearly unhappy with my present life. What to do?
When my parents were young, Grandma Musser nagged my dad to make a lot of money and buy a big house or she wouldn't approve their marriage. A bit late; my parents already had three kids! But she threatened just the same; and said the only way to earn so much so fast was to assassinate President Obama, OR to shoot the snipers already set up to kill him on his visit to Seattle. She says "I don't care whose side you work for, as long as you get paid to kill SOMEONE."
My father is understandably reluctant to risk either proposal.
But his kids and friends take Gramma Musser seriously, and risk it. Three privately decide to go foil the snipers (none are Reaganites like Grandma, so they reject her hints she'd personally pay them to HIT Obama). Each gets a gun and sets out on foot to the rally plaza near Lake Washington, in Seattle. Or is it Lake Washington? It looks more dramatic--promontories and cliffs, crags reflecting in the water. Obama will speak from one by the waterside.
Our three counter-assassins:
Two snipers are watching from a footbridge, with telescopic rifles. One spots the adult with the girl and fires, killing with one bullet. The boy spots another killer near him in the crowd, and brings up his gun. But one of them fires first and drops him. He never had much chance against pros. I have hopes for the girl--she's been warned now, and is small enough to hide in the crowd. But the snipers up on the bridge spot her from above and kill her with a single shot. I feel despair.
I spot a third sniper, a huge tattooed man. His oversize rifle has a spindle-shaped bulge at the muzzle. Probably not a silencer, since he's on a military chopper hovering over Lake Washington. A recoil damper? Either it fires explosive or superheavy rounds, or it's some kind of small rocket launcher. Either way, military grade. And he's aiming at the crag where Obama will soon appear.
How many assassins are there? Are these even related or have MULTIPLE organizations decided to kill Obama?
The guy in the chopper spots the geek. He's up on a rock, craning his neck at the bridge, seeking the snipers who just shot the kids. He doesn't notice the dancing red dot on his T shirt--the targeting laser of the guy in the chopper. But a Secret Serviceman does. Can't trace its source, but makes a quick desperate decision: aims his own weapon at the geek's face, flashing his own targeting laser to get the geek's attention! Flicks it off as the geek looks around...
Instantly, Geek zeroes in on the chopper, the tattooed man, and with shocking speed raises his home-made laser and fires. He must have been practicing obsessively for months. Years! The beam instantly blinds the tattooed sniper; he fires back, and his massive round arrives a fraction of a section later and blasts a chunk off the top of a crag. The wrong crag. Blind, he missed!
The geek doesn't. He holds his laserbeam steady a few seconds. Smoke emerges from the open chopper door, then flame. The copter lurches as the engine fails; it sags toward shore. Will it crash on the crowd? No. Down into the lake. Splash!
There are still assassins on shore, but now the Service is alert. Obama is saved!
I still grieve for those murdered kids. Especially that brilliant girl. I wanted to marry her when she grew up.
But it looks like Geek Boy's the one to back! Practice at home, on your home-made toys; later, it'll save your life, among the murderous pros. Who'll underestimate you.
NOTES IN THE MORNING
THREE DAYS LATER
The violence in this dream foresaw my worst Lyme attack in months. The new drug I'm taking caused a Herxheimer reaction: killed off so many Lyme parasites at once that their death throes released a flood of inflammatory toxin. Malaria-like symptoms for days.
SEVEN MONTHS LATER
I went through four waves of Herxheimer reaction as I upped the dosage of antibiotics. Each one ebbed leaving me better off than before. Now I'm better than I have been in years. No question that Western medicine helped--in its violent way--but the herbs and diet I'm following (list) turned out to be equally vital, both to cope with the toxicity and to keep the parasites suppressed. (If you have any chronic disease of mysterious origin, this list may be useful).
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