text: Maya's Dreams: September 7, 1999
  dreams: September 7, 1999
  overindulgent imperialism
  I'm in a boat going down a river in the middle of the jungle. Kathie and Charley are in the boat with me. We are on the ultimate tropical trip. Then we stop and get out at a special store/resort designed for the foreign traveler. We walk into a room that is overflowing with luxurious resplendence, every detail polished to ornate perfection. It all has the theme of exoticism, with furniture, jewelry, household items, clothing, etc. made from resources of the rainforest. I look closer and see that everything has an attached pricetag; the costs are exorbitant. The ambiance is from the beginning of the 20th century, like imperial colonialism. The group of people who are with me are submissively respectful of the whole place, almost in awe that we get to be in such a lavish setting. I am put off by the materialism, overwhelmed by the manipulated use of natural goods. I see a fountain with flowing water, bamboo and jewels.
  There is now food and entertainment. I look down at the show from my balcony seat. There are dark-skinned native performers. I also see lots of furs -- shiny leopard and panther skins, their heads still attached. One is a shimmery blue color, obviously from a rare and exotic forest animal (some endangered type of leopard). I'm totally disgusted now, ashamed to be here on this side of the dominating role. I don't like it here at all. I feel nauseous.
  performing "My Mama"
  Granny, Mom, Lana and Lisa are here with me. They're tipsy and loud. Bob is here too.
  Someone is recruiting for a star role of a movie they're producing. S/he is going around the crowd of people in the room finding potentials for the part. Most of the chosen ones are young kids, bright and blonde. I've watched a couple of them do the trial bit in front of the camera. None were very talented, so I decide to try out for it. I am supposed to sing a song; the lyrics are displayed in front of me. I'm facing the camera, singing and dancing, doing a comical, dramatic routine. The song's chorus line is about "my Mama." I'm holding a little plastic figurine that's on a stick, waving it around as I sing. The whole thing is '30s style. I'm doing really well, and I can tell I'm impressing the people who are watching. I feel comfortable in front of the camera. At the very end I hold my last note for a long, long time.