I just woke up after a 14-hour sleep. Most people hand a third of their lives over to the Sandman; I hand over more than half. Too many antipsychotic tranquilizers I guess. I was having a dream that John F. Kennedy was alive, and plotting revenge on the CIA. He came up to one of his old CIA buddies like they were good friends and got him to jump off a bridge. Then I was eating in an Italian restaurant with the Italian Mafia. There was a flashy woman who kept commenting that the food here was cheap, and better than McDonald's. Then my family (at the point when I was one year old) and the family from the movie Poltergeist were somehow united, the same family. We were moving out to Aurora, Colorado, the suburb where I grew up, when most of it was still prairie fields at the edge of town. There were American Indians dancing in a circle, and at night they all went into a network of underground tunnels where they slept. My mother and father were looking at a massive rock formation off in the distance, upon which were just beginning to be carved all sorts of corporate logos. It was a very different place than it is now. "It's beautiful here," said my mother, or the mother from Poltergeist. My father, or the father from Poltergeist, was very excited about having found this ideal suburb for his family to live in. They had just built our housing development, and most of the land was still wild. A little prairie dog tripped up a horse, and then horse fell down; she rose up, went after the prairie dog, and ended up just licking its face when she caught it. Below us the Indians were living in those tunnels. I reflected that I would tell my grandchildren one day that when I first moved to Aurora, the land was full of Indians.