Second Sight

Prosecution Exhibit B
Audio Tape

AUGUST 24th
[woman’s voice]
Treat?  Ummm, hi Treat.  Happy Birthday from your Aunt Susan—

[man’s voice]
And your Uncle Brent!

[woman’s voice]
I was gonna say you too, Brent—Jeez. Treat, we just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, and, uh, let ya know that we’re thinkin aboutcha. [silence] Dr. Williamson gave us a call and told us that you’re havin some, uh, trouble in therapy, and, well, we hope we’re not intruding too much, but we got you this recorder to use as a diary.

[man’s voice]
Seems like a good idea there, Treat.  Just to keep your thoughts in order.

[woman’s voice]
Yeah, just so you can keep everything ordered in your head. Dr. Williamson said that this adjustment period is normal, so you just settle in and use this diary like you would a normal one, and if you need anything, call us!

[man’s voice]
Anything at all!  I sit at home all day and listen to nagging—

[woman’s voice]
Brent!

[man’s voice]
Call! Save us all!! [laughter]

[woman’s voice]
Jeez—Happy Birthday, Treat! Call us!

[man’s voice]
Happy Birthday! Please call!
Beeeep

AUGUST 27th
[man’s voice]
[cough] Testing, testing, testing one, two, suck my dick.  [silence]  All right, I guess this thing's as on as it’s gonna get. [silence] Memoirs of a Blind Construction Worker, by Treat Samson.  [silence] Heh. [sigh] All right diary, you and me. [cough] To whom it may concern, my name is Treat Samson and I am officially fulfilling my duties as an ex employee and current money drainer of the state.  [silence] This is fuckin ridiculous.
Beeeep

AUGUST 29th
[man’s voice]
All right, this has gotta be better than listenin to the fuckin television.  [silence]  I’m supposed to talk about the accident.  As if I haven’t done that enough goddamn times.  [silence] I’ve been havin these dreams, man. That’s the worst.  Real vivid sorts, where everything looks real, and all the colors paint your brain—worst kinda dreams. And they’re extra bad cause nothin’s outta the ordinary.  It’s like my eyes are on vacation—like they decided only to work at night, y’know?  So it’s doubly-bad—not only did I lose all my cool dreams, but I’m stuck in the most boring freakin places, all the time.  Just see my apartment.  Or down the street.  Or Central Park. It’s gettin to where I don’t wanna go to sleep cause I’m afraid I’ll knock myself out, y’know? Never wake up cause my dreams are so borin. [silence]  I’m sick of these fuckin visitors too, everybody talkin real slow and quiet around me.  For fuck’s sake. [silence]  And all I eat is pizza. [silence] Can’t even look at Penthouse. [silence] Sharon’s comin over today to take me to some convention or some stupid bullshit. Already bought me the ticket, so I gotta go, apparently. Heh. That frickin woman. Dr. Williamson says I should get out, but just between you and me diary?  I’d prefer never to get out again. 
Beeeep

 AUGUST 30th
[man’s voice]
I’m supposed to talk about what bothers me?  This world bothers me.  What a load of crap. I mean, I’ve never seen so much horseshit in my life dear dear diary, and forgive my French, but I’m as fuckin blind as the day is long.  This is Sharon’s great idea to get me outta the house.  Some idea.  [silence] So we get into this place and the first thing that hits me is this ridiculous incense crap like I’m walkin into a burning flower shop or somethin.   I mean, real rank stuff.  And then we wander around for a while, and I can tell this place is really packed, right? People swarmin every which a way, and I can hear bells jinglin and people hummin, and this boring type a laughter that just seems to know everything.  So Sharon says, “Oh, look! A table on ethnomusicobobology!” or what-the-fuck, so I get dragged over to this table where we listen to some Indian woman on a tape get eaten by dogs or somethin.  [cough] And that’s where the shit starts to hit the fan.  Some guy that smells like curry comes up to me and says, “Brother, are you without sight?” And I pretend to be really into the female sacrifice or whatever’s goin on, and he pulls on my arm really really excitedly and says, “Brother, brother, can…you…hear…me?”  I figure I don’t want him to think I’m deaf too, cause then I’m in double-trouble, so I say, “You must have me mistaken for someone else,” and I turn around to walk off, but I trip over some frickin enlightened five year old or somethin.  This little girl starts cryin, and this mystic Zulu healer or whatever helps me up and says, “We can help you, brother. Come over to our table.”  And then he starts draggin me away, right?  So I push him off and head back to where I think Sharon is, not havin any idea why she hasn’t stopped this ridiculousness yet—and I run full on into some other robed mother fucker. This time I hear glass break, and I got some sorta liquid all over me that smells like burning hair and rancid beef.  And there’s hands all over me, and I start to feel like a cake at a fat man convention.  So I yell for Sharon, and she comes runnin over all concerned, askin what’s wrong, and I tell her to get these freaks off me.  I’m really wishin that I hadn’t left my couch for this, lemme tell you.  Even just listenin to Baywatch is better than bein healed by a bunch of suburban Buddhists.  So Sharon pulls me away and apologizes and says that she forgot that a lot of people are pushin miracle cures here, and that I should take off my dark glasses and stand in one place. No one’ll bother me then.  Which is exactly why I left my cozy little apartment, so I could stand in the middle of a freak show, listenin to bells ringin and smellin flower smoke.  In any case, I don’t have much room to argue because Sharon’s already paid the twelve buck entry fee for us, and I know she’s not gonna wanna leave for a while—and my driving skills just aren’t what they used to be, right?  So she leads me over to some less noisy part of the bazaar, and I take my glasses off and proceed to look like I can see all this nonsense perfectly well. Which really isn’t that hard, cause I figure the same look of disgust would be on my face whether I could see these pasty, hairy, flop-flop tittied hippees or not.  So a good ten minutes go by, and Sharon’s run off to get rolfed or get her aura pricked or some somethin or other, and this guy comes up to me and thrusts this piece of paper in my hand, sayin “Peace and love my brother—I saw your beauty from across the room and I want you to receive our message”.  “No thanks,” I say, and try to hand it back.  “Please, it’s important that you hear this—I can help you, we can help you in your life.”  “No thanks, don’t need your message—I think this is all bullshit to be honest with you,” I say, and hand it back again, thinkin that’ll be the end of it, right?  And his voice kinda changes and he says, “All yours my man, I’m just tryin to get rid of em.  Feng shui info.  Take it home if you don’t want it.”  So I say, “Feng shui?  You sure you’re facin the right way to hand that shit out?”  And he starts to answer before he realizes that I’m not entirely serious and more than just a little jaded by this entire process.  Which, it turns out, he is too cause he laughs really long and hard, and picks right up on where I am.  So this guy, Chuck, sticks around and hands out his fliers next to me for the next hour or so while Sharon baptises her inner child, and we end up talkin about a lot of this mumbo-jumbo stuff.  The whole time, I’d say somethin harsh, you know, expecting him to defend the fair, but every time he would laugh really hard and like, totally agree with what I was sayin. I imagined I could feel the wind from his head nodding up and down next to me, that sorta thing. It was weird man, I didn’t expect to find a total ally at a place like that—someone who knows where I’m comin from and ain’t crazy. He’s supposed to come by later today for a beer—apparently I made a really good impression. Who knew? Anyway, so he heads out after about an hour and a half, and Sharon finally comes out smellin like roses, sayin that she feels a million times better after just being around “people like that”.  I manage not to say anything.  She walked me up to my room and I microwaved some popcorn. [silence] What about you, diary? How was your freakin day?
Beeeep

SEPTEMBER 1st
[man’s voice]
Chuck used to work construction too, it turns out.  Don’t know why he didn’t tell me that yesterday.  He’s also from the Midwest like me, and dropped out of college like me, and after I told him things about my family, you know, like my parents and Betsy and my high school stuff, it was weird man, cause he told me that almost all that shit happened in his life. It’s weird, man.  We got all these similarities, but it was real comfortable, like I didn’t have to explain myself. He brought me all kinda groceries and stuff too, cause he said he knew it must be hard for me to get out. All right sorta guy.  Heh. Get this. Told me about this one time, he and three other guys were out on the site and this girl walked by.  You know the kind, right? All swayin and shit, headin to god knows where to meet god knows who.  And this guy that Chuck was with starts to call out to her. Give her a “hey baby” or whatever. And Chuck stops him, or at least stops him for a second, and they start talkin about the general rights and wrongs of calling out to women on the street. You know, all that progressive construction worker bullshit, blah blah.  And this argument goes on. Not a heated one, but they’re gettin into it, you know?  And then one of the other guys, who’d just been watchin up to that point, says “hey guys, you might wanna check this out”.  And they turn around and see the very same woman they were discussin, only she’s got one of her stiletto heels stuck right between the slats of a New York City sewage drain.  Apparently, that shit’s wedged in there so tight ain’t nothin gonna get it out.  So she’s pullin and pullin on her leg, when a car drives by and splashes this huge puddle of water, right on her red little miniskirt.  So she goes to yell at the car, I guess forgettin that her leg was still stuck in the drain, and falls right the fuck over into that puddle of water, soakin everything.  So Chuck tells me that he just gave up right then and there, and started yellin at her himself.  [laughter] So everyone has a good laugh.  [silence] Man. [laughter] [silence] So yeah.  Chuck’s a pretty funny guy.  [silence]  I’m gonna try to make some coffee without scalding my fucking hands off.

September 3rd
[man’s voice]
Dear diary.  Blah blah blah.  You like that?  Blah blah blah. Therapy therapy therapy suck it suck it suck it.[singing] Always look on the bright side of life. [whistling]  Always look on the bright side of life.  [various background noises] Oh, by the way, I quit therapy.  Guess it’s just you and me. Hah.
[3 minutes, 48 seconds of background noise]

September 5th
[man’s voice]
All right, all right.  So I can’t handle it.  Great. I can’t fuckin handle it. [silence] Bein blind. Sure. No problem.  Runnin into walls?  No problem.  Feelin everybody’s eyes boring into me every time I gimp myself down the street? No fuckin problem.  These dreams?  Fuck me.  I don’t know what else to do man, seriously.  They wake me up all the time now.  All the time—my brain is in serious whacked-out overdrive.  The last few nights, it’s been the same dream—the one from when I was ten, all over again.  My parents in the building…every night.  Every night.  [silence] Man. [silence] And it was weird… I remember the song that was playing during the dream. It was that song that goes “this is the world we live in, and these are the hands we’re given”, that song by Genesis?  And then when my alarm went off this morning, that’s the song that was playing on the radio.  It made me think I was still dreaming. [silence]

September 5th
[man’s voice]
Okay, I’m back. Look, I’m gonna try to talk this stuff out here cause that’s what El Shrinko said I should do. And it’s gotta be you or Sharon, so listen up.  [silence]  Jessie called this morning, and I told her about my dreams—my parents burning, and then the new ones.  She said, with her college intro to psych wisdom, that it’s just my brain purging all those visual images and it’s no big deal.  Quite frankly, I’d prefer it if my brain didn’t purge any images—I’m not gettin anymore in, so if my brain could just hold onto the images its got, that’d be just fine and fuckin dandy for me.  Can’t fight the establishment though.  So I gotta sit there while my brain purges like a fuckin bulemic.  Geez.  [sigh] [silence] It starts out and I’m in this fog or mist—somethin that keeps me from seein too good.  Real springy grass under my feet.  And I walk for miles and miles without seeing anything or anybody, you know? And every so often, I hear people I know. Jessie, Sharon, Brian, all these voices, but apparently they can’t hear me, cause they don’t answer when I yell out.  And I can’t find them, but I keep lookin.  Then I hear Chuck’s voice in the distance, yellin for me. So I head towards where I think his voice is comin from, and I think I’m gettin closer, but right as the fog is starting to clear, I hear this car squealin right in front of me.  It slams on its brakes, and I hear a thump, and that’s it. I yell for Chuck, but he don’t answer.  And I wake up.  [silence] Three times I’ve had the same dream. And the rest of em are normal normal normal normal—like too fuckin normal, ya know?  [silence-28 seconds] There’s this thing I read about a couple a years ago that you can get—it’s a machine that has all these needles on it, like those boxes of metal pins that make imprints of your hand so you can keep it on your shelf forever—this machine that gets attached to your back, and you wear this big sensor device thing on top of your head and it takes in all the visual images and then transfers it to the little computer backpack thing, and the needles poke you in certain ways so you can feel the stuff that you’d normally see. And supposedly, your body adjusts to it so that eventually it’s just like seein, only you’re doin it with the skin on your back instead of your eyes.  Probably dream about needles though. Heh.[silence] I don’t think dreams work the same way.

September 6th
[man’s voice]
So I finally told Chuck about the car, mist dream when he brought the beer and groceries over today—it’s just really been bothering me, and I figured what the hell, we could laugh it off together, yeah?  And he got real serious when I started talking about dreams because I asked him if people could dream the future—making a joke, right?  One of those funny questions to lead into a story, but he gets all thoughtful and asks me what I think.  So I tell him to lighten up, nevermind. But he bugs me for a while, and tells me he was just jokin, so I tell him about the dream and try to move on. But he kinda freaks out, and I ask him what’s going on, and apparently, he almost got hit by a car the other day, he just didn’t tell me about it. He gets all excited and keeps saying that it was just like my dream.  And apparently he dropped his construction toolbox in front of the car, and he says that that was the sound I heard in my dream—a big thump.  I don’t know.  He’s a cool guy, but he goes off sometimes.  He blabbered on for a while about it, and now I’m supposed to record all my dreams and let him know—just for fun, he says.  Yeah, fun stuff. In other news, disability checks have begun to flood in. Jacuzzi here I come.  Stitches come out tomorrow, finally. Maybe I can get my freakin head wet again sometime soon.  The joys of a clean face.

September 7th
[man’s voice]
Dr. Shrink woke my ass up again today—wants me to go back into therapy. I told him to fuck off.  This recording my life bullshit’s gotta stop too—all of this fruity shit has just got to stop.  I just need to… I don’t know. [silence] I just need to get my life back together, y’know?  I need to get off my ass and do some work.  I mean, supposedly I’m all healed, right? Doc says I’m good to go.  Good as new, minus a few working parts. May as well go for it. [silence] I just don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to be goin for. Not a huge job market for blind ex-construction workers, yeah?  [silence]  Heh.  Good stuff.  Great stuff. Fantastic.  Fuckin great. [silence] Aunt Susan called again today to see how things are working out. Yeah. How things are working out.  I’m done with this diary.

September 9th
[man’s voice]
Scary fuckin dream.  No lie.  Woke me up twice.  Can’t go back to bed.  Every time I fall asleep, I see this same sorta… I don’t know, this ghost, spectre, type thing. It floats around me and everywhere it touches turns to ice.  I can’t tell where I am in the dream, I just know this…this death is tryin to get to me.  And then I hear three long…thumps I guess, these thumps, very slowly and somehow, I know that that’s a bad sign.  But I wake up.  Every dream, these three knocks.  I asked the shrink if that’s normal, I asked him what the hell’s goin on, and he told me that he was positive it was normal, that every one with vision accidents goes through this period where their dreams are fucked up. So I asked him to give me some meds, but he says I just gotta wait it out.  Great. I’m not goin out today.  Chuck’s bringin me supplies.  I’m never fuckin leavin this apartment again.

September 10th
[man’s voice]
Chuck was over again today—he comes over pretty much every day to ask how I’m doing, or to get my laundry or drop off groceries. He’s really goin out of his way to do stuff for me, and it’s one of those things that’s weird, but cool I guess.  I mean, he’s a guy and a construction worker, so I guess he knows I’m not gonna ask him to do anything, so he never makes me ask, just does it.  Had the same dreams again last night.  I told him about em cause…well cause I gotta tell someone besides this freakin little black box—which may not even be black for all I know—could be purple with fuckin fairies drawn on it. [silence] It was weird, I keep expectin him to gimme a lotta shit, but he never does. He sounded really interested in em, like he believes in em or somethin.  I mean, I thought he’d believe me, but I thought…whatever.  We always talk about sports, and he keeps me updated on the news, normal shit, right?  But when this stuff comes up, he really wants to get into it.  He keeps talkin about that car dream.  He pulled out some brochures from his twenty-four hour temp job—that one day thing with the Feng Shui people—all about dreaming and telling the future and stuff. And apparently, most of the prophets and shit from the past have been blind, so Chuck seems to be concluding that since I’m blind now, I’m probably a prophet.  Makes perfect sense, yeah? So now I really have to write down or record all my dreams so I can tell Chuck.  He’s trying to figure out what the ghost is supposed to, I don’t know, represent or somethin.  Long as it lets me sleep, I’m fine with it.  Seems like a pretty, whaddyacallit…shrinkoboy kept sayin it…syminot—symbiotic—symbiotic relationship we got goin.  He brings me beer, takes care of my shit, and keeps me away from Baywatch; I tell him about my dreams.  Fair enough.  He says he doesn’t believe this stuff, but that he saw something different about me at that fair I went to—that I’m different.  He always says shit like that. I guess I should just keep trying to laugh it off. I don’t know. [silence] I gotta find a job.  I gotta get outta here.  Family’s not gonna help.

September 11th
[man’s voice]
All right.  Got a job today. No lie. Susan hooked me up at this office downtown.  I sit here at home, and I push a few buttons and I tell people to send money to the United Cancer Organization.  They give me this machine that dials pre-programmed numbers, and I just push a button and tell people to pay up.  No problem.  And I can work right here, so I don’t gotta deal with all those pieces out there givin me shit. [silence] [background noises] Here we go, my diary friend, check this out.  First phone call with this new machine.  Here it is.  [background noises]  Hello?  I’m calling from the United Cancer Organization. Just wondering if you’d like to give any money. [silence] Cancer stuff I guess, I don’t know. [silence]  You know, like research and findin cures and stuff.  [silence] Oh, well I don’t have a pen.  [silence] I can give you their address. You can ask them questions if you want.  [silence] Oh, I’m not in an office; I work from my house.  [silence] Yeah?  Well there’s no one else here. Look, do you wanna send some money or what?  [silence] I could care less—actually, there’s no commission.  I just gotta make these phone calls. [silence] All right.  Great. Have a nice day. [silence] All right diary, this is gonna be a long and fruitful career here.  Wish I could look in the mirror right now so I could give myself the bird. [loud knock heard in background]  Who is it? [silence] Hello? [silence] [loud knock heard in background]  Come in! [silence] Chuck?  [silence] Sharon? [silence] For fuck’s sake, come in already! [loud knock heard in background]  Jesus, would you come in, the door’s not freakin locked.  [sound of footsteps and a door opening] Hello?  Anybody out there? Come in if you’re out there. What the fuck is going on?  Hello?  Hello?  [Sound of door closing and footsteps] Fuckin kids. What the hell. [silence] Three knocks. Son of a bitch. [silence] Son of a bitch. [silence]

September 12th
[man’s voice]
So Chuck’s convinced.  Great.  Just what I need—someone who’s supposed to be a construction beer buddy actin like fruity fuckin Aunt Sharon.  This moron thinks that just cause he doesn’t have enough sense to keep himself outta oncoming traffic and cause some kids knock on my door that I’m a prophet.  Me, who hasn’t gone to church since…fuck, since my parent’s were around to make me go.  Jesus with a pot belly and a hairy back. Right…came around this morning with this book he found all about Scottish second sight and Indian prophets and blah di blah.  Apparently, his whole theory is about this Buddhist monk, or Hindu somethin or other guy that wanted to be enlightened, right?  But he felt like he was too distracted by the pleasures of the world. Not like sex, I mean that stuff too, but more like all the beauty in the world—all the trees and animals and stuff.  So to be able to reach enlightenment in this lifetime, he decided that he needed to poke both his eyes out.  Just so he wouldn’t be tempted by things on the Earth, and he could get into Nirvana or what the hell ever. Great story. So Chuck reads me this whole story, won’t let me interrupt, and then tells me this is what happened to me because of my accident. As if I got hit in the head by a metal fuckin beam on purpose, just so I could go ahead and get enlightened. Two coincidences, and the man is convinced I’m the next Moses.  If he wasn’t such a funny guy… and if I actually could go outside to meet new people to hang out with… I’d tell him to fuck off and never fuck back on. [silence]  He wants to know what he can do for me now, and says that he should come around more often so that he can take care of me and listen to the dreams I have…says I need him to be here…[sigh]  Whatever—it’s fine.  Long as his boat gets floated. [silence] I got a book on tape today as a gift.  My birthday was three weeks ago, but you know Jamie can’t tell her butt from a hole in the floor—so I got “The Greatest Generation” by Tom Brokaw on tape.  Decent stuff. I— silence] I’m talking to a fucking machine.  Jesus.

September 14th
[man’s voice]
Four books on tape. For real. More books than I’ve read in the past three years and here I got em down in about a day and a half.  Sucks that I get more educated when I lose the ability to read.  Anne Rice is pretty good.  It’s sorta neat to be able to do anything you want while you’re also readin a book. Got three from Sharon, one from Jessie and like ten from Chuck—he keeps bringin me lame books to listen to about astrology and all that bullshit.  He needs to just lay off with that dumb crap. [silence]  I think Joanne, one of the girls from the Cancer Society, is gonna come over tonight.  She smells pretty and sounds hot, lord help me. Hope she’s not a monster. [silence]  Oh man, I nearly forgot, you’re gonna love this—I had a dream last night about this Joanne.  She called right before I went to bed, to confirm the date, yeah? And I had the most fantastic dream about this girl—Cindy Crawford look-alike, with jumbo sized milk bags and a butt you could park a truck on.  [silence] Damn.  I nearly forgot about that—I could use some more of those dreams.  It was definitely about this Joanne girl too, I could tell. Cross your fingers, tape recorder.  [silence]  So I started keeping this other recorder next to my bed, right, to get all of my dreams down. Cause I have so many, I was starting to forget some of the ones like the Joanne one, I almost forgot that shit, and there’s some I want to make sure and remember, right?  Not that I believe this crap that Chuck keeps bringing up, but just because… I mean, it makes sense to remember as many of your dreams as you can, right?  I just started last night, and I already got about 4 dreams recorded down there, all about different stuff. So…so, yeah.

September 15th
[man’s voice]
Disability checks all the way baby.  Forget gettin a job, I’ll roll in the dough and listen to books on tape all the freakin day long.  Ahhhh man, I gotta get outside. I got cash for the first time in my life, and now I can’t spend it on anything besides beer and audio books. I turned on the scrambled Playboy channel this morning and had a long listen—didn’t even matter that it probably looked like a snowstorm in Alaska. [silence] Joanne turned out to be about 6000 pounds once I got close enough to touch her. Rock on. Fuckin great.  Guess that disproves the dream theory anyway.  There’s no way I could lose my hands in that dream girl like I did last night.  [silence] Ugh. [silence] Did have a weird dream last night about a ring. That’s all I really remember. This huge gold ring that kept circling and circling around my head.  Sometimes it would be like a metal jail around me, other times, I’d just watch it float.   Hours and hours.  I have all these real vivid dreams these days. It’s actually pretty cool— [knock on door]

[2nd man’s voice]
Treat? You in there?

[man’s voice]
Yeah Chuck, come on in.  You bring the beer and food?

[2nd man’s voice]
You got it. [sound of door opening]  You really oughta lock your door man—anybody can just come in.

[man’s voice]
What are they gonna steal? My dirty socks?

[2nd man’s voice]
I’m just sayin—you bein blind and all—just walk in and take anything they want and walk right the hell on out. [laughter]

[man’s voice]
[laughter] You ever wanna borrow somethin, just let me know.  Bring that beer over here and sit the fuck down.

[2nd man’s voice]
Well shit—aye aye cap’n. [laughter]

[knock on door]
[man’s voice]
Come in.

[woman’s voice]
Treat? You in there?

[man’s voice]
Sharon?  That you?  Come on in.

[woman’s voice]
Hi!  Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you had company.  Hi!

[2nd man’s voice]
[silence] Hi, I—

[woman’s voice]
Oh, wait, we’ve met before—Chris, Charles, Chuck, something…

[2nd man’s voice]
Oh, oh, yeah, my name’s Chuck, but I don’t think we’ve met before. 

[man’s voice]
Sharon, this is the Chuck I’ve been talking about—you probably just saw us talking at the convention a couple weeks ago, come on over and grab a cushion.

[woman’s voice]
No, I remember you were standing alone when I got back…

[man’s `voice]
Oh yeah, Chuck’d left by that point—still, you probably saw us talking.  You want a beer or somethin?

[woman’s voice]
Yeah, sure.

[2nd man’s voice]
So how’s your day goin, Treat my man?

[man’s voice]
Not so bad, same ole.  Anne Rice is a bad muthafucka though, she can write some serious shit.

[2nd man’s voice]
Really?  I’ve never read any of her stuff—

[woman’s voice]
I got it!  I’ve seen you at a whole bunch of conventions—you were in…Austin, weren’t you?  Yeah—that’s it!  Hi! 

[2nd man’s voice]
No, sorry—

[woman’s voice]
My name’s Sharon, again.  Jeez, that was bothering me, I knew I’d met you before somewhere.

[man’s voice]
I think he was just at that one, Sharon.  He was handing out Feng Shui flyers, remember?

[woman’s voice]
Feng shui? I—

[2nd man’s voice]
Yeah, yeah, you remember, right?  I did that temp job for a while at a bunch of those stupid conventions, handin out flyers?

[man’s voice]
You said it was just the one…

[2nd man’s voice]
Just a temp job, makin some cash, you know.

[woman’s voice]
Stupid conventions?

[man’s voice]
Aw, give it rest Sharon, we don’t need to talk about that crap.  You guys wanna go in the other room and play pin the tail on the donkey?  Some fucker from the crew gave me that shit as a gift.  [laughter]

[woman’s voice]
[laughter] I was actually comin by to see if you wanted to go out for a quick walk, Treat.

[man’s voice]
Actually, yeah, I’d love to get outta here.  That cool with you, Chuck?

[2nd man’s voice]
You guys go ahead—I got some stuff to take care of.  I’ll just finish up my beer and head out if that’s cool.

[man’s voice]
Sure man, whatever you wanna do.  You ready, Sharon?  I can’t spend another second smelling myself in here.

[woman’s voice]
Sure thing!  Nice seeing you again, Chuck!

[2nd man’s voice]
Bye guys—have fun.

[sound of door closing]

[1 minute, 42 seconds of silence]
[background noises]
[faint voice heard in background for 9 minutes, 28 seconds]
[1 minute, 13 seconds of silence]
[sound of door closing]
[1 hour, 27 minutes of silence]
[sound of door closing]

[man’s voice]
[whistling] Ba da dooo…where the fuck did I leave my beer?  [background noises—bumps and rustling]  Shit—how long has this thing been on?

September 17th
[man’s voice]
[whispering]  Oh man.  This is pretty weird.  Really weird to be honest. Really fuckin weird.  I had the dream again two nights ago, the one about the floating gold ring that was around me sometimes, and floatin around the other times, that just went on and on—that’s the second time I had the same dream more or less… and I open up my new box of Golden Grahams and pour myself a bowl, right?  And I hear this metal clank in the bowl, so I figure, fuck—I knocked the spoon over or somethin, right?  But I fish around in the bowl, and I feel this metal circle—this ring, right?  And I kinda freak for a second, and I get up and go next door to Ms. Henderson’s apartment—normally I don’t talk to her on days that end in D-A-Y, but hell.  And she tells me I’m holding a gold ring.  Like a real gold, gold ring.  And I tell her where  I got it, and she said that maybe they were running a promotion or something. Fuckin great—So I won this ring.  [silence] It’s just freakin weird, man.  [silence]  Hell, I’m gonna keep the ring.  Sell that shit if I have to.

September 18th
[man’s voice]
Things are goin pretty good today.  Tryin to just get normal again, settle my life down, you know? I didn’t tell Chuck or anybody about that ring shit that happened—I mean, it just seems like a coincidence, and he’s already givin me a lot of shit, you know trying to convince me all the time.  Like my opinion matters any more than any other dumb fuck construction worker. Whatever.  I’m tryin to get in shape now—dug my old dumbbells outta the closet, and I got a whole regimen planned for tonight. Jessie’s bringin over some stir-fry too, just to get away from pizza and cereal for a change. Not so bad…

September 20th
[man’s voice]
Nothin really to report. Just got in a rhythm of talking to this stupid box.  To tell the truth, it does sorta make me feel a little better.  I feel like I’m talkin to somebody, even though I’m not. And, I mean, I know no one’s ever gonna hear this, and I’m not gonna go back and listen to this at all or nothin—it’s still nice to know I could go back and hear what I was thinkin—I mean, if I wanted to.  [silence]  I gotta whole crew that comes over for Monopoly every so often—Chuck, Jessie and Tom.  I can’t tell if I’m losin cause of my business sense, or cause I’m gettin gypped.  I mean, they say I’m the shoe, but beats the fuck outta me, right?  Pretty fun stuff—even Chuck manages to shut his fat mouth and just be cool, which is a great change of pace. He’s a cool guy if he’d just shut up sometimes, y’know?

September 21st
[man’s voice]
So somewhere in all of this I remember hearing about this thing called a false awakening, right?  Where you wake up and you think you’re awake, but you find something that’s like, wrong, in the world and you realize that you’re still sleeping, and then you go back to sleep and when you wake up the next time, you really wake up?  I had one of those last night.  It was the weirdest thing. I woke up, not from a nightmare or anything, just woke up. And I could’ve sworn I heard a noise in my living room, so I called out “hello”, but no one said anything.  And I put my hand on my dresser to get out of bed and something felt wrong.  And then I felt around and realized that my dream recorder was gone.  Totally not where it normally was. Then I could have sworn I heard another noise, so I get a little freaked out. And I called a few times, but I didn’t hear anything else, so I lay awake for about twenty minutes, and then went back to bed.  And when I woke up, the first thing I did was reach over and check my dream recorder, and shit, there it was, exactly where I left it.  I think this is a sign—I mean, as much as I don’t believe in that shit—this is a sign—everything was exactly the same in the dream as in my life, except that dream recorder was gone.  Maybe I should stop doing this stuff, maybe my head’s trying to tell me somethin.

September 22nd
[man’s voice]
Weird.  Man, fucked up weird.  And I just went and confirmed it on the tape.  I have documented proof this time.  Documented.  The recorder’s the same as this one—it lists the date of entry and everything, so three days ago, I recorded that this was gonna happen.  And then it did. I mean, I didn’t know it was gonna happen, I just had a dream—I mean, maybe deep down I thought something would happen if I started recording my dreams, but something definitely did.  It definitely did.  [silence] The dream.  Okay, okay, hold on.  I’ll get the tape and play it here. [footsteps, background noise, more footsteps] Okay, listen to this.  [click]
[mechanical voice] September 18th.
[muffled recording of man’s voice] Ohh man.  Nuther dream. Didn’t wake me up. Woke up on my own.  Ugghhh…lemme see.  I remember a construction site. And some cars.  And there was this bird that kept flying past the rafters—this white seagull. Way high up. And I remember watchin the bird for a long time, and it kept soaring and falling and floatin.  Then, right when the bird shot down towards the ground, I heard this crash, and I looked down and saw four cars piled together at the bottom of the construction site. Fucked up man.  And I was eatin a sandwich.  It was ham. I hate ham.  I got this nasty taste in my mouth, and I threw up off the side of the beam.  All over the place.  That’s the last thing I remember. Let’s see… I also had this dream about— [click] 
[man’s voice]  You hear that?  Okay, and today, Chuck calls me and tells me about this freaky thing on the news—this report’s been goin on all day. This just happened. Breakin news, right? And today’s the 22nd.  Hold on. [silence] [background television noise]  It’s comin up. I was just eatin breakfast, and he called and said listen to the news, and I heard this report.  [pause] I wish I could see it to see if it looked the same as my dream.  [pause]  Okay, okay here it comes, listen.
[sound of television] In case you’re just tuning in, traffic is backed up about thirty blocks due to a six-car pile up at the base of the new Hyde plaza building, which is still under massive construction.  There is one woman in critical condition, and three other persons have been rushed to Country General, listed in stable condition. The cause of the accident is pending investigation.  According to interviews from our news team on the scene, the first driver to lose control of his vehicle, a Mr. Steven Danielson, reported that he “saw a lot of movement in the road ahead of him”, and swerved his car to the left in order to avoid an accident. Heading directly into oncoming traffic, Mr. Danielson was hit nearly head on and spun around 360 degrees, involving five other cars in the accident. Three seagulls were found lying dead in the road together, directly ahead of the point where Mr. Danielson lost control of his car. The reason for their death is at this time unknown, but it doesn’t immediately appear to be of natural causes. Witnesses to the accident are being questioned.  We will continue to update you as information on this confusing accident becomes more available.  In other news,
[man’s voice]
[television in background]  See?  See?  That’s what I dreamed would happen and it did—it did.  I dreamed the seagull, and the accident, and the construction site—it was all in my dream.  I don’t know who to tell.  I don’t know. I mean, I couldn’t have caused this by imagining it, could I?  I don’t know. I gotta tell someone about this.  This is too weird.

September 22nd
[man’s voice]
Chuck just left.  I told him to get out—I—I can’t handle all of this right now. I gotta get outta this apartment.  I can’t even see the walls—but I can feel em pressing in all the time—and it’s startin to stink in here.  I told him about the ring.  I told him about the wreck. I told him all the little things that I go back and check on the tape that turn out to happen later on.  The sounds outside my windows at night, the phone calls, the things people say to me—all the things I dream.  I hear stuff all the time that reminds me of my dreams—like all the time—like at least once a day.  [silence] I don’t know what to do.  I told him to get out. He asked me if I believed him now.  I said I don’t know.  I mean, I don’t know.  He asked me how I can not believe after everything that’s happened. He said that I’m special—that my blindness caused something to happen in my brain—he says it’s happened before and that I need him to be here.  That I need him to watch me at all times. He asked if he could move in with me so that he could take care of me all the time.  He says I’m dangerous.  He says… [silence] Anyway, I told him to fuck off and give me time to think.  I don’t need any of this freakin shit right now. Things are hard enough.  Things are hard enough.  He didn’t leave right away.  I gotta think. I just gotta think.

September 23rd
[man’s voice]
No more dreams, thank god.  Chuck just left.  I told him I didn’t want to talk about dreams anymore.  Not ever again.  I’m done with this. Back to Playboy and Monopoly man.  I gotta get in shape and stop imagining all this stuff.  Chuck brought over more books on tape for me to listen to.  They’re all the freakin same.  Listen to this.  [click]
[man’s voice in background] Nostradamus was a natural born seer utilizing the gifts of God—[click]
[man’s voice]
And this one.  [silence] [click]
[woman’s voice in background] Edgar Cayce prognosticated from a trance strongly resembling the Delta phase of the sleep cycle—[click]
[man’s voice]
Gimme a fuckin break.  Seriously. What good does that do? It ain’t gonna help me get a better job.  I still haven’t had dreams about a job yet. [silence] Not that it would come true if I dreamt it, that’s not what I was sayin.  Anyways, I dreamt about the dream Joanne again, and I know that’s not comin true.  And I had the dream about the ring again, only the ring’s already happened.  And I still have the dream about my parents all the time. [silence] And they’re already dead. [silence]

September 24th
[man’s voice]
[silence] I—[silence] I just had a couple of dreams last night.  I’m sorta bored, so I figured I’d—[silence] That first dream I had about the car wreck came back, and the dream about Joanne, and I remember a dream about flying that was pretty great, and I had this dream about these elephants—weird stuff. And this other dream… I had this dream where I’m in total blackness—I can’t see anything. I hear voices and then I get this huge stomach ache.  I mean huge.  And then blood just starts filling the room.  It was sorta like the fire in the dream about my parents, but this blood just starts filling up the floor and I know it’s my blood.  And I started to get real scared, because some part of my brain remembered this thing I heard once that if you die in your dream, then you die in real life.  And I felt like I was gonna drown in my own blood.  And I couldn’t move because the pain in my stomach was so bad. And— [silence] This is it. This shit is over.  Recording this stuff is only makin it worse—nothing’s gotten better since I started doin this.  I’m done. [silence] I’m throwin out my dream recorder and all the tapes.  I’m done with this bullshit.  [silence] I’m gonna pump some iron.

September 25th
[man’s voice]
Had the dream again.  Woke me up again.  The stomach ache gets worse every time. I hope you can’t die in your dreams, because this one feels like I am. My blood everywhere… [silence] [laughter] Hell, if this one comes true, then I’m a believer.

September 26th
[man’s voice]
I’m gettin out more. I went walkin around the streets for three hours by myself today.  Found my own goddamn way back to the apartment too.  Not answerin the phone.  I’m gettin my shit together, and not even my head’s gonna stop me.  I’m sick of feelin sorry for myself. I’m just sick of that shit. Dream recorder and all the tapes are in the garbage can outside the house.

September 27th
[man’s voice]
Good sleep, feeling all right. Nothin but good stuff. I’m taking time to myself.  Shrink called today to check in and I told him things are great.  Things are getting better. [silence] Chuck and Jessie both left messages—actually they both keep callin, cause they haven’t heard from me in a while.  But I told em before—I gotta have time to myself for a while.  I gotta get outta this slump on my own.  Jessie understood, Chuck didn’t. [silence] I probably wouldn’t understand either.  If my friend stopped calling me, I’d call him all the time too.  Makes sense I guess.  It’s still pretty fuckin annoying though.

September 28th
[man’s voice]
Dear diary, good night. This is gonna be my last entry.  This shit’s gone on long enough.  I need to get on with my life and stop moping around my room talking to a black box.  Or a purple box or whatever the fuck.  I’m gonna get a job besides making phone calls.  I’m gonna get out. [a rattle is heard in the background] Jeez.  Who is it? [silence] [rattling is heard in the background] Hello? Who’s there?

[second man’s voice]
It’s Chuck man, lemme in.

[man’s voice]
Go away, Chuck.  I don’t feel like talking.  [knock on the door]  Jeez man, go the fuck away.

[second man’s voice]
I need to talk to you. Let me in. [rattling is heard in the background] When did you start locking your door?

[man’s voice]
Jessie must’ve locked it on her way out—would you please go away?

[second man’s voice]
What is that bitch doing over here? Goddammit, let me in or I’m coming in anyway!

[man’s voice]
Look, come back tomorrow, all right? I’m going to bed.

[second man’s voice]
 I’m coming in.  [Bang as door opens] [footsteps]

[man’s voice]
Fuck man! Get outta my place—get the fuck out.

[second man’s voice]
I need to talk to you, Treat. Please. 

[man’s voice]
If I talk to you, will you go away? You’ve been freakin me out, man. Come on.

[second man’s voice]
Please. Just listen to me. I’ve been trying to talk to you all along.  You need to see what I see.

[man’s voice]
Very fuckin funny, Chuck.  Seriously, now get the hell out.

[second man’s voice]
I’m not talking about that kind of sight, Treat. I’m talking about the sight that you have, that everyone can have if they just put their minds to it.  You can prove that. You know.

[man’s voice]
I don’t know shit, Chuck.  I really don’t.  All I know is that I have to get my life together, and that doesn’t include spending all my waking time worrying about what happens when I’m asleep, all right?

[second man’s voice]
I don’t know why you don’t believe me, Treat.  You had the gift all along, I’ve been trying to show you.  It’s real. I knew it the first time I met you—the first time I saw you at the convention.

[man’s voice]
Bullshit—it’s such bullshit.  No more of my dreams are coming true, and you know what? A lot of them didn’t come true anyway.  What kind of prophet is only right part of the time? [silence] Huh?  What kind of fucking prophet is that?

[second man’s voice]
It’s real.

[man’s voice]
I don’t give a shit if it’s real or not. Get the fuck out of my place.

[second man’s voice]
You’re makin a big mistake, Treat. This is real.  You of all people have to believe me.

[man’s voice]
Fuck you.

[second man’s voice]
I thought we were gonna be friends. I thought I could show you the way things are.  The way they really are. We needed each other.

[man’s voice]
Yeah, maybe I don’t need any friends right now, all right?  Just please. Leave. Me. Alone.

[second man’s voice]
Sorry Treat, I can’t do that. See, you committed me to finishin this.

[man’s voice]
What the hell are you talking about?

[second man’s voice]
I just wanted you to believe me—you have to understand that.  Everything you dreamt came true.  Everything on that tape. Everything. I made sure of it.  And you still didn’t believe. I don’t know what your fuckin problem is.

[man’s voice]
What tape? What the hell are you talking about?

[click]

[recorded voice]
…and it’s my blood, my blood everywhere.  I keep having this dream. I’m tellin ya, if this one comes true, then I’ll have to believe, I can’t take any more of these coincidences…

[click]

[man’s voice]
What’re you doing with that?  Jesus man, leave me alone! I don’t believe you. I don’t believe any of this horseshit!

[second man’s voice]
It’s not horseshit.  You needed me.  I needed you too, Treat. Why can’t you understand that?  I could have helped you with your new life, with your gift.

[man’s voice]
Get the fuck out.  Leave me alone!

[second man’s voice]
It’s your dreams. They were always your dreams, Treat.  I promised myself I’d make them come true.

[click]

[man’s voice]
[silence] What do you mean?

[second man’s voice]
They were always your dreams.  They were always your fuckin dreams.

[gunshot]

[footsteps and door slam]

[27 minutes, 18 seconds of silence]

End of Recording