Saturday night. I’m in another cemetery dream. Fourth one in six months. They are actually never scary but thrilling and filled with expectation.

Night. Graves scattered up and all around a hill lit by orange street lights. City lights spread below like the first sight of Las Vegas driving in from the East.  I’m walking up a winding road that snakes through the ruins of Cerro Santa Lucia‘s fortress. The trees have a few purple leaves left. I wake up briefly. Then back to another dream. I’m in the river from The Master. There’s a lone cameraman in the water looking through a large camera as Joaquin Phoenix runs up the banks of the river. The tripod legs run into the water. Southern willow trees in the breeze. I tell the lone man I’ve seen this before. He turns around, it’s Tony Scott.

I’m not surprised. I sort of know this is a dream already. Director Tony Scott jumped to his death from Vincent Thomas Bridge in LA last month. But he’s here, wearing a pink baseball cap. He explains that this camera records into these tapes. Ejects a miniDV tape from the camera and shows it to me. I’m obviously not impressed and he seems distracted. He walks away leaving me to look after the camera.  “Red” says a production assistant that stands arms crossed behind me. “I think the camera is a red.” I notice that one of the tripod legs rests on a leather treasure chest under the water. I move the camera to open the treasure. Inside, wrapped in newspaper like the Maltese Falcon, Halloween masks. I’m a little disappointed. They’re John Belushi masks in Blues Brothers character. I wake up.

Dongnae, Busan.

Napkin, Thirsty Moose, PNU, Busan.

mortality