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Harley, being male and very nicely fucked thank you, has gone off chasing r.e.m.'s. He is having his recurrent dream about dissolution. Therapy tells him it's an anxiety dream but Harley has his doubts. The dream feels so good. Therapy argues that this is because Harley only feels good when he feels bad. Harley is giving up on therapy.
It's one of those dreams where you have no body but you do have a very keen sense of place. The place is a sort of Greco-Irish Monterey, a stretch of blue water which Harley knows in incredible detail and all at once: every bluff and gulley, each eddy and wavelet, all the flora and fauna down to the last frond of kelp streaming in the tides. The place is haunted by a pod of great whales with whom Harley is intimate. One of these whales, who tours under the name Dupont, is trying to clarify things for Harley.
One day, Dupont explains, you dived into these waters without properly sealing your head. Et voila ...
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