Then, more recently, another dream with a similar detached mechanical dynamic, but free of the overt sexuality. A baby, neither male nor female, cries alone in a papoose. Somehow I know that only I can deal with it. (I am reminded of the other night at Yoshi's for Pharoah Sanders when a toddler walked by behind his parents, crying. I caught his eye and stopped his crying until he remembered what was up.) I take the baby under the arms out of the papoose, flip it over and settle it back down head first. The I immediately take it out and flip it over again. And again, and again.