Visit to Hyde Park dream of night before new year's eve

I had returned to Hyde Park, the U of Chicago neighborhood in Chicago for a visit. Matt Lauer lived in Hyde Park, in a hi-rise. I was visiting him at his place. It was morning and he was standing in the carpeted dimly lit elevator hallway, waiting to go to his job at NBC, holding a bag lunch in his hand. He looked and acted like someone going to his first job. Somehow he was able to get to his job at NBC in New York simply through a short train ride. He had three yellow haired daughters, ranging in age from about 3 to about 10. I found myself doing things like carrying one of the girls around in my arms, keeping them company, babysitting them. I was carrying the smallest one in my arms. She was scolding me, giving me moral lectures, like a schoolmarm, regarding my shortcomings.

 

Matt Lauer spent alot of time at Eric Kuby's house. Kuby still lived at the house on Blackstone Street where he used to live with his parents. He's an executive at a brokerage firm now, but in high school I was the one known for intellect. My (waking) feeling regarding Kuby has been that he might not be a mentally quick as alot of highly succesful people, but ability is more than just mental quickness. 

 

Kuby's house was like a home away from home for Matt Lauer. Lauer had a lot of marijuana. I could not resist pilfering a handful of it, which I hid in these bags in these suitcases of mine that were at Eric Kuby's house. My plan was to go back and get thge pilfered pot out of the suitcases at a later time. By the time I had finished hiding the pilfered pot in the bags, the amount that I had pilfered had somehow grown a hundred fold, into the equivalent of a hundred handfuls not just one, although all I had pilfered was one handful.

 

Some suitcases at Kuby's house were filled with Keema, a spicy Indian curry that is one of my favorites. The meat in the Keema had been supplied by a clone of yours truly, myself, that had been butchered. They (do'nt know who) had made a copy of me, and butchered it, to supply the meat for the Keema. One suitcase had Keema containing my decapitated head with the brain inside the head. The head had not been cut up or ground up for the Keema it was whole. I did not want that suitcase of Keema. But my father''s deceased  Hindu Indian mother was alive, she wanted it. For her that particular suitcase of Keema was a great delicacy, because for her brain was a delicacy, a health food, and she badly wanted that suitcase full of Keema. Someone fished my head out of the curry; though it was decapitated, its teeth were chattering. The face looked like the face of a corpse that has been dead awhile.

 

There were other suitcases filled with this cannibalistic Keema at Eric's place. One of them had my heart in it; the heart had not been cut up or ground up, but it had been separated from the rest of the body to which it had once belonged.  It was submerged in the liquid Keema, still beating. With every beat, it produced a bubble like wave in the keema it was submerged in. Another of these suitcases had things like my arms and legs in it. I told them I would take the suitcase filled with curry that had my arms and legs in it. I guess I had become submerged in this sub-culture wherein eating curry made out of the clones of humans was perfectly acceptable, and wherein to reject such a curry simply because it had been made out of a clone of oneself, was considered to be superstitious.

 

At one point as I was walking down Blackstone St., nearing the intersection with 57th from the 56th St. side, I was thinking to myself that the last two or three times I've visited Chicago, I've enjoyed what I perceived to be 'atmosphere', and felt energetic and upbeat; but this time I was not enjoying it, its spell was sort of wearing off on me, it seemed to be losing its 'atmosphere'.

 

Carise Skinner also lived in Hyde Park in the dream. She was living in a big house with nice lawns and landscaping in front of the house. Her face and body looked short and small, she looked pretty, human, healthy, lively, good natured, and quite intelligent. I met with her and talked with her in front of her house. The sun was shining and she was smiling.

 

At the end I was standing by this big crate lying on the ground; I had in my hand what seemed like a little white porcelain bird, a little smaller than the size of a hand, it was yet another of the pieces of bric a brac my brother Sasanka (we're Anglo-Indian) takes such pleasure in collecting. This India Indian soldier wearing a light brown uniform and a brown beret was standing by  the crate. The idea was that the little white bird was to be packed in the crate. I was feeling irritated remembering how yet again recently my brother had been rude and aggressive with me, I said something that expressed my irritation, and the India-Indian soldier objected to my expression of being irritated with him, although my brother's behavior had been such, that for the person on the receiving end of it to be irritated, would be perfectly understandable.