(Entered in paper journal around 6:30 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I was in an apartment. It was night and dark. My mom had just left. She may have warned me about some person coming into the house. She might also have gone looking for that person, to stop him from threatening us.
A person unlocked the door and walked in, keeping his (?) back to me (and possibly to my brother or sister, who may also have been in the apartment). The man was really tall at first. But by the time I got to him he was less than waist-height, and he was carrying an umbrella. He looked like the old scientist character in the Satoshi Kon film Paprika.
A voice said, "It's Cecil. You've been had."
I fought in a weird way with the little man. The little man tried to grab me around the waist, mid-way between my hips and the bottom of my rib cage. I kept pushing the little man off by linking my pinkies with his and pushing him away.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
(6/23/07) the giant fly; what i never saw; two girls in one; lucid in reality
(Entered on Q-train, but don't know when.)
Dream #1
I lay in bed. I opened my eyes and looked at the wall (to my left). An insect, a small roach, I thought, climbed quickly down the wall. I was disappointed to have a roach in my house. I thought I would get up and kill it. But now I saw two on the wall. I thought I might be seeing things.
I closed my eyes and opened them again. There were lots of insects (flies?) climbing all over my wall. I leaped out of bed, possibly in a straight-bodied roll parallel to the floor and landing in a crouch facing the wall. The wall was full of insects. I wondered what I could do to get rid of the insects. I thought I might have to call an exterminator and leave my house for a little while.
Down on the lower, right section of the wall, or perhaps on the "left foot" corner of my bed, was a fly about the size of my fist. It seemed to call for me, and to control all the other insects so that they, too, would call me. I was afraid, but I got closer. The giant fly made a semi-melodic, buzzing sound, almost like wings beating against a champagne flute. The fly's body was spiny and shine, an orange-green, reflective color. It had orangish wings.
Dream #2
I walked into a nice, big dining room. There might not have been any table. The room was narrow and long. The walls were wood. Some dim, warm daylight came through a yellowish curtain at the other short end of the room. The door I walked in through was at the lower part of the right long wall. A little farther up that wall stood my co-worker and good friend CL. Between us was a chest of drawers.
I walked in and immediately turned to face the chest. CL asked me if I had brought XXXXX (can't remember). I had some green, fleshy-looking sack in my hands. I cut it open and pulled out a "flying saucer." This was something like a silver table ornament or serving tray. It looked like a cake tray with no glass top and with ridges or slots all through it. I put it on the chest.
I thought CL might be trying to hide this object from others, as part of an overall conspiracy. I thought CL might be trying to convince me as well that I hadn't seen the flying saucer. CL very harshly asked me a question insinuating that I had already told my co-worker JB about the flying saucer. I became tense and slightly afraid.
Dream #3
I sat in the front row at some show. The seating was all rows of folding chairs. The floor was white tile. The lights were brightish orange and fluorescent. The place was full of people. The "stage" was level with the floor. On the back wall (a back wall) was a screen against which was projected a karaoke video.
A song started up. The girl to my left, who looked like my co-worker and fellow-Assistant FA, said, "Oh, you should sing this one! You love these guys!" It took me a second before I recognized the song as a Smashing Pumpkins song.
But I couldn't "catch" the words fast enough to begin singing with the music. Plus, the words on the screen weren't the same as the words to the song. And the video would occasionally fade in and out unexpectedly. I told the girl that I did love this song, but that I didn't know it well enough to keep up.
I began cuddling with the girl. She had nice, dark skin. She wasn't thin, but she had the prettiness of a thin girl.
I was disappointed in myself for being so boring that I couldn't sing a song.
I now sat laying across the girl's chest. The girl now looked like one of my good friends, PD. She was still not thin. She wore a pastel turquoise-green, soft-fabric shirt. Below the collar, squared holes were cut out to look like an Egyptian necklace. The fabric between the holes was also strung in a way to look and feel like beads.
I ran my left finger along this "necklace" collar-piece. I also touched some jewelry on the girl's right upper arm. I felt like a child. I hoped this wouldn't turn the girl off and that we could still have sex. The girl said, "I will miss you very much when I am gone."
Dream #4
I woke up from a dream. I stood out of my bed by the foot of the bed and walked to the wall facing the foot of the bed. There was a wooden ladder folded against the wall. I was going to take it away from the wall, but I hung on one of the steps and looked at my wall. There was a yellowish, chipped substance dirtying the wall.
I didn't remember such messiness. At first I thought, Well, maybe I don't look at this wall well enough to have seen this dirty patch. Then I thought, No. This wall is different in another way: it's missing its little framing decorations: it's just completely smooth.
The discrepancy between this wall and my normal perception of my bedroom wall made me wonder where I was. I told myself, I just woke from a dream. I have to be awake. But I was now getting the strange feeling that life was a dream, and that I could wake into lucidity from waking life just as I would wake into lucidity in dreams.
I did something like what a person would do holding his breath and bracing for a plunge into a swimming pool. I thought, This is exactly what people think can't be done. And I'm trying to do it.
I felt the electric buzz (which, as I'd read in the literature, was a precursor, not for lucid dreams, but for out-of-body experiences). But when lucidity came, I realized that this had all been a dream after all. I wasn't "lucid" in (or ex-) reality. I was only lucid in my dream.
I wanted to explore the lucid dream, but I didn't believe I could imagine anything other than what I was presently seeing: the ladder and the wall. So I told myself, You are going to turn around clockwise. As you complete the turn you will wake back into waking life and you will be back in bed.
But even as I "held my breath, braced," and turned, I thought, Why am I doing this? If I'm lucid I should go exploring. But it was like I couldn't control myself, like I was being controlled by another will and now was in a gravitational spin that I couldn't pull out of.
Dream #1
I lay in bed. I opened my eyes and looked at the wall (to my left). An insect, a small roach, I thought, climbed quickly down the wall. I was disappointed to have a roach in my house. I thought I would get up and kill it. But now I saw two on the wall. I thought I might be seeing things.
I closed my eyes and opened them again. There were lots of insects (flies?) climbing all over my wall. I leaped out of bed, possibly in a straight-bodied roll parallel to the floor and landing in a crouch facing the wall. The wall was full of insects. I wondered what I could do to get rid of the insects. I thought I might have to call an exterminator and leave my house for a little while.
Down on the lower, right section of the wall, or perhaps on the "left foot" corner of my bed, was a fly about the size of my fist. It seemed to call for me, and to control all the other insects so that they, too, would call me. I was afraid, but I got closer. The giant fly made a semi-melodic, buzzing sound, almost like wings beating against a champagne flute. The fly's body was spiny and shine, an orange-green, reflective color. It had orangish wings.
Dream #2
I walked into a nice, big dining room. There might not have been any table. The room was narrow and long. The walls were wood. Some dim, warm daylight came through a yellowish curtain at the other short end of the room. The door I walked in through was at the lower part of the right long wall. A little farther up that wall stood my co-worker and good friend CL. Between us was a chest of drawers.
I walked in and immediately turned to face the chest. CL asked me if I had brought XXXXX (can't remember). I had some green, fleshy-looking sack in my hands. I cut it open and pulled out a "flying saucer." This was something like a silver table ornament or serving tray. It looked like a cake tray with no glass top and with ridges or slots all through it. I put it on the chest.
I thought CL might be trying to hide this object from others, as part of an overall conspiracy. I thought CL might be trying to convince me as well that I hadn't seen the flying saucer. CL very harshly asked me a question insinuating that I had already told my co-worker JB about the flying saucer. I became tense and slightly afraid.
Dream #3
I sat in the front row at some show. The seating was all rows of folding chairs. The floor was white tile. The lights were brightish orange and fluorescent. The place was full of people. The "stage" was level with the floor. On the back wall (a back wall) was a screen against which was projected a karaoke video.
A song started up. The girl to my left, who looked like my co-worker and fellow-Assistant FA, said, "Oh, you should sing this one! You love these guys!" It took me a second before I recognized the song as a Smashing Pumpkins song.
But I couldn't "catch" the words fast enough to begin singing with the music. Plus, the words on the screen weren't the same as the words to the song. And the video would occasionally fade in and out unexpectedly. I told the girl that I did love this song, but that I didn't know it well enough to keep up.
I began cuddling with the girl. She had nice, dark skin. She wasn't thin, but she had the prettiness of a thin girl.
I was disappointed in myself for being so boring that I couldn't sing a song.
I now sat laying across the girl's chest. The girl now looked like one of my good friends, PD. She was still not thin. She wore a pastel turquoise-green, soft-fabric shirt. Below the collar, squared holes were cut out to look like an Egyptian necklace. The fabric between the holes was also strung in a way to look and feel like beads.
I ran my left finger along this "necklace" collar-piece. I also touched some jewelry on the girl's right upper arm. I felt like a child. I hoped this wouldn't turn the girl off and that we could still have sex. The girl said, "I will miss you very much when I am gone."
Dream #4
I woke up from a dream. I stood out of my bed by the foot of the bed and walked to the wall facing the foot of the bed. There was a wooden ladder folded against the wall. I was going to take it away from the wall, but I hung on one of the steps and looked at my wall. There was a yellowish, chipped substance dirtying the wall.
I didn't remember such messiness. At first I thought, Well, maybe I don't look at this wall well enough to have seen this dirty patch. Then I thought, No. This wall is different in another way: it's missing its little framing decorations: it's just completely smooth.
The discrepancy between this wall and my normal perception of my bedroom wall made me wonder where I was. I told myself, I just woke from a dream. I have to be awake. But I was now getting the strange feeling that life was a dream, and that I could wake into lucidity from waking life just as I would wake into lucidity in dreams.
I did something like what a person would do holding his breath and bracing for a plunge into a swimming pool. I thought, This is exactly what people think can't be done. And I'm trying to do it.
I felt the electric buzz (which, as I'd read in the literature, was a precursor, not for lucid dreams, but for out-of-body experiences). But when lucidity came, I realized that this had all been a dream after all. I wasn't "lucid" in (or ex-) reality. I was only lucid in my dream.
I wanted to explore the lucid dream, but I didn't believe I could imagine anything other than what I was presently seeing: the ladder and the wall. So I told myself, You are going to turn around clockwise. As you complete the turn you will wake back into waking life and you will be back in bed.
But even as I "held my breath, braced," and turned, I thought, Why am I doing this? If I'm lucid I should go exploring. But it was like I couldn't control myself, like I was being controlled by another will and now was in a gravitational spin that I couldn't pull out of.
NOTEBOOK 12 - 6/29/07 to 9/8/07
I wonder what makes me always feel like going back over my memories and actually realizing that my emotions and psychology had certain time periods is an indicator of what a self-important jerk I am. I think I had that feeling the last time I prefaced one of my notebooks. I'm having it again.
Nothing that has happened in my life is important by any means. But there were different time periods in my life. And I do remember, as I'm going through these notebooks, that these time periods existed.
But it is kind of interesting that as all these non-important events were going on in my life during the writing of this notebook, the sky of the U.S. economy really was beginning to fall, while anybody who said the sky was falling was either called a Dr. Doom or a Chicken Little by all the people around them.
The first big event, as I remember things -- if you don't count the overall careening of the housing market as a big event -- was the collapse of Bear Stearns, which, as I remember things, became big news in August or September of 2007, but which, according to Wikipedia, really began on June 22, 2007.
Now, if I hadn't been so self-centered, I might have been able to see the sky falling. Instead, I remember seeing the Bear Stearns headline in the New York Post as I walked down the street to work. I remember trying really hard to convince myself that whatever it was that was happening to Bear Stearns was meaningless, as far as I was concerned. I had plenty of people to back me up in my beliefs.
So, as this notebook progressed, I personally focused on three events in my life. In the months preceding this notebook, my work as Assistant to my boss EB had been discontinued. My boss EB had been promoted to Analyst of a different industry. He was moved to sit near the people who covered industries similar to the one he was now covering. When I lost my boss EB, I lost my first "kind" mentor.
As this notebook progressed, I was moved into working with a new boss, DO, while continuing to work with my boss BS. I actually gained a lot by working with DO. First of all, I got a third "kind" mentor -- not in DO, who was becoming a huge name and was not around very much, but in his Associate, MW, who, like my co-worker ES, would answer any questions I ever had about the stock market and research in general. Plus, DO ended up being one of those people who were thought of as Chicken Littles at first, but then became known as something of a sage once the market began falling irrevocably.
Not long after the beginning of this notebook, I also started up my relationship with my psychiatrist A. A month or so previously, I'd lost my psychiatrist RB, who'd moved out of state after her husband had gotten a new job. The dream in this notebook where I am writing a "mystical report" with my sister is, I'm pretty sure, the dream I wrote either just before or just after my first session with A.
My relationship with A lasted for a little more than four years, until about November of 2011. I stopped talking with A, then started speaking with her again, from Colorado, in August of 2012. But in early November of 2012, I stopped speaking with her once and for all.
For all the benefits I got intellectually from my relationship with A, I think I should have ended the relationship much sooner. As a friend, A was wonderful. As a teacher, especially as a guide to new Jungian writers, A was wonderful. But as an Analyst, A was not very good -- for me. She even almost admitted it to me on occasion, saying that she was not accustomed, after dealing for so many years with a certain clientele, to dealing with someone who had, and wanted to deal with, actually archetypal problems.
A was, at least to my personal perceptions, afraid of my dreams. And I wanted someone who could analyze my dreams. As I've said before, I eventually got so tired of trying to bring my dreams in to A for serious analysis that I eventually stopped bringing in my dreams altogether. And I think my frustration with my interactions with A eventually led me to have more emotional troubles than emotional healing.
This wasn't because of A's lack of skill, but simply because we weren't a correct pairing for therapy. I knew it, and A told me something to that effect. But neither I nor A really wanted to call it quits on our relationship, for one reason or another.
The time period of this book also marks the first time in a long time that I had some distance from my friend R. I'd had a severe emotional outburst toward R in early June of 2007. I didn't see him again after that until late September of 2007. And I didn't see him again after that until July of 2009. I would say it's definitely interesting to see how R changes as a character in my dreams from this notebook to notebook 13. In notebook 13, my dream-relationship with R, and his then-fiancee (now wife) L, take on a much more sexual tone.
(6/29/07) cupcake party; old eyes in the new times
(Entered in paper journal at 4 AM at home in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I was in a cubicle before an office. I sat like I was in a chair directly before the doorway to the office. A woman was in the office. she was darkly tanned, a little thick-bodied, with long, wavy, soft brown, and dark blonde hair. She wore a sleeveless, black shirt.
The woman told me, "I like you. You're smart and interesting and amazing." She then began singing to the effect of, "But no matter how I try, I just can't get myself to love you. It's no offense to you. I just can't feel anything for you." I thought it was a beautiful and charming song.
As the woman was partly through, a man walked up to us. He may have been my co-worker MW. The woman stopped singing, as if she thought she would get scolded for saying she didn't love me.
We were all heading downstairs for a celebration. I thought the celebration was for me, because I was doing such a great job. We went down a long escalator in a wide room with one or two other escalators in it. I was not interested in going to this thing, but I thinking of nice things to say.
We got down to a basement that looked like a school cafeteria built into a huge basement laundry room. There were only a couple long bench-tables in the whole space.
In now learned that this celebration was all about a group of people who had put together a really interesting project. They sat at a bench-table.
People were passing around cupcakes. They wanted me to have a plate with three large, frosted cupcakes on it all to myself. But I couldn't eat that much. I took one that looked like German chocolate cake. There was another one that was chocolate on chocolate, and another that was chocolate with blue frosting.
I stood up. Another group of people walked in. I gave them the two cupcakes. I told the group I couldn't possibly eat these cupcakes.
Dream #2
I was in a car with a long-haired, pale-skinned, young man. He kept sucking his mouth around and then away from his teeth, like he had a nervous disorder. He was very thin-faced. I saw him as if I were a camera filming him in the driver's seat. But I was myself, somewhere.
We drove through "New York," around "Central Park." The man told me, "People walk down routes they wouldn't have thought of walking down years ago. This city is different. You simply couldn't walk down those routes a few years ago: you'd get killed.
"We found safer routes in those days. The easiest way was by staying close to the libraries." As we passed gates into the park, the man said, ""You definitely didn't go into the park."
We passed a big library on a triangular corner. A lovely couple walked out. The man said, "Those two right there. That's a sign of the times. They would have gotten beaten up for sure. Now they walk around here shopping for groceries."
I stood out on the corner now, on a little plaza area before the library. There were a few Asian guys in suits handing out Christian literature. I was still seeing everything as if I were a movie camera. I thought this was a movie. I wondered how they got everybody to act so natural.
Dream #1
I was in a cubicle before an office. I sat like I was in a chair directly before the doorway to the office. A woman was in the office. she was darkly tanned, a little thick-bodied, with long, wavy, soft brown, and dark blonde hair. She wore a sleeveless, black shirt.
The woman told me, "I like you. You're smart and interesting and amazing." She then began singing to the effect of, "But no matter how I try, I just can't get myself to love you. It's no offense to you. I just can't feel anything for you." I thought it was a beautiful and charming song.
As the woman was partly through, a man walked up to us. He may have been my co-worker MW. The woman stopped singing, as if she thought she would get scolded for saying she didn't love me.
We were all heading downstairs for a celebration. I thought the celebration was for me, because I was doing such a great job. We went down a long escalator in a wide room with one or two other escalators in it. I was not interested in going to this thing, but I thinking of nice things to say.
We got down to a basement that looked like a school cafeteria built into a huge basement laundry room. There were only a couple long bench-tables in the whole space.
In now learned that this celebration was all about a group of people who had put together a really interesting project. They sat at a bench-table.
People were passing around cupcakes. They wanted me to have a plate with three large, frosted cupcakes on it all to myself. But I couldn't eat that much. I took one that looked like German chocolate cake. There was another one that was chocolate on chocolate, and another that was chocolate with blue frosting.
I stood up. Another group of people walked in. I gave them the two cupcakes. I told the group I couldn't possibly eat these cupcakes.
Dream #2
I was in a car with a long-haired, pale-skinned, young man. He kept sucking his mouth around and then away from his teeth, like he had a nervous disorder. He was very thin-faced. I saw him as if I were a camera filming him in the driver's seat. But I was myself, somewhere.
We drove through "New York," around "Central Park." The man told me, "People walk down routes they wouldn't have thought of walking down years ago. This city is different. You simply couldn't walk down those routes a few years ago: you'd get killed.
"We found safer routes in those days. The easiest way was by staying close to the libraries." As we passed gates into the park, the man said, ""You definitely didn't go into the park."
We passed a big library on a triangular corner. A lovely couple walked out. The man said, "Those two right there. That's a sign of the times. They would have gotten beaten up for sure. Now they walk around here shopping for groceries."
I stood out on the corner now, on a little plaza area before the library. There were a few Asian guys in suits handing out Christian literature. I was still seeing everything as if I were a movie camera. I thought this was a movie. I wondered how they got everybody to act so natural.
(6/30/07) decaf urn
Dream #1
I stood on a street like a main street of a small town. There was a beautiful, orange-metallic sunset that made all the building fronts glow. Something about the building fronts seemed flimsy, like cardboard boxes. I heard my friend R talking, as if he were behind me and to my right (?) but also as if I were imagining this whole scene and hearing him "in real life." R said, "Oh, PK? Isn't he the world economist for your company?" R said this in a way that was supposed to make me feel like I didn't know as much as he did.
I was in a store like a Kmart. The store seemed desolate. I sat or crouched by the back wall, with the wall to my left, looking at a row of boxes lining the wall. The stacks of boxes varied, but none was higher than ten feet tall.
I walked out of some back area and back out to this row of boxes lining the wall. I was carrying an orange-handled (to mark decaf) coffee urn in my left hand. I shuffled back and forth by the shorter stacks of boxes. I was telling someone behind me and to my right that I could find R's statements in a box, is if by opening the box, I would make R's actual voice come out.
I continued the conversation, which soon made me realize I needed to take the coffee urn to the back area. I took it back to the restroom. I saw there was an urn on the floor. I wondered why I'd need to bring this one in if there already was one in this room. I washed the urn in the sink. A small, dead roach fell off from some part of the urn.
I stood on a street like a main street of a small town. There was a beautiful, orange-metallic sunset that made all the building fronts glow. Something about the building fronts seemed flimsy, like cardboard boxes. I heard my friend R talking, as if he were behind me and to my right (?) but also as if I were imagining this whole scene and hearing him "in real life." R said, "Oh, PK? Isn't he the world economist for your company?" R said this in a way that was supposed to make me feel like I didn't know as much as he did.
I was in a store like a Kmart. The store seemed desolate. I sat or crouched by the back wall, with the wall to my left, looking at a row of boxes lining the wall. The stacks of boxes varied, but none was higher than ten feet tall.
I walked out of some back area and back out to this row of boxes lining the wall. I was carrying an orange-handled (to mark decaf) coffee urn in my left hand. I shuffled back and forth by the shorter stacks of boxes. I was telling someone behind me and to my right that I could find R's statements in a box, is if by opening the box, I would make R's actual voice come out.
I continued the conversation, which soon made me realize I needed to take the coffee urn to the back area. I took it back to the restroom. I saw there was an urn on the floor. I wondered why I'd need to bring this one in if there already was one in this room. I washed the urn in the sink. A small, dead roach fell off from some part of the urn.
(7/2/07) blue little angels; funniest faces, wackiest names
(Entered in paper journal at 6 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I stood on an airstrip with my family. It was a clear day. We were getting ready to watch a Blue Angels show. The jets stood before us. I was surprised that they were so small. They looked like helicopters, too. They had white bodies and reddish striping. They threw out a lot of clear exhaust.
I was in the cabin of a plane about the size of a passenger jet or cargo plane. And now the little "Blue Angels" jets began flying out the "side door" of the cabin. I somehow figured that this made perfect sense.
Dream #2
My co-worker AS asked me to find a report for her called "Funniest Faces." I was surprised that my company had actually printed an investment report with a name like that. I'd never heard of it before. I saw that it was by a person I'd also never heard of before. I also "knew" that my co-worker DC had written a report called "Wackiest Names."
Dream #1
I stood on an airstrip with my family. It was a clear day. We were getting ready to watch a Blue Angels show. The jets stood before us. I was surprised that they were so small. They looked like helicopters, too. They had white bodies and reddish striping. They threw out a lot of clear exhaust.
I was in the cabin of a plane about the size of a passenger jet or cargo plane. And now the little "Blue Angels" jets began flying out the "side door" of the cabin. I somehow figured that this made perfect sense.
Dream #2
My co-worker AS asked me to find a report for her called "Funniest Faces." I was surprised that my company had actually printed an investment report with a name like that. I'd never heard of it before. I saw that it was by a person I'd also never heard of before. I also "knew" that my co-worker DC had written a report called "Wackiest Names."
(7/3/07) a driving emergency
(Entered in paper journal at 5:56 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
Am image of my own face, up close, in slight shade. My face very scraggly, some crust of dead skin barely hanging off my chin.
I heard a TV (?) news announcement, a woman speaking, saying that different cities had been making emergency plans. It might have been announced that Washington DC had driving routes out of buildings and possibly out of town.
The emergency became a man who had driven into "a wife and son." A certain policeman was investigating this. But now the policeman was the man who had hit "his wife and son." The son, in my mind's eye, looked like a girl -- long, blonde hair. The son may also have been wearing a dress. He had huge, blue eyes.
I saw the car. It was tipped over in front of a house. The house looked like it was on a stage, but also like just behind it and on its right were the rushing remnants of an elevated train or highway. I thought, and hoped, a little, that I would see the crash in replay. I thought I would get some meaning, some answer, if I could see the death.
I felt like the man was around here. I thought he might have killed himself in the crash. I also thought he might have been getting ready to kill himself, possibly by slicing his throat while he was in the house. I hoped that if that were the case I might at least be able to see it, if not the car crash.
Dream #1
Am image of my own face, up close, in slight shade. My face very scraggly, some crust of dead skin barely hanging off my chin.
I heard a TV (?) news announcement, a woman speaking, saying that different cities had been making emergency plans. It might have been announced that Washington DC had driving routes out of buildings and possibly out of town.
The emergency became a man who had driven into "a wife and son." A certain policeman was investigating this. But now the policeman was the man who had hit "his wife and son." The son, in my mind's eye, looked like a girl -- long, blonde hair. The son may also have been wearing a dress. He had huge, blue eyes.
I saw the car. It was tipped over in front of a house. The house looked like it was on a stage, but also like just behind it and on its right were the rushing remnants of an elevated train or highway. I thought, and hoped, a little, that I would see the crash in replay. I thought I would get some meaning, some answer, if I could see the death.
I felt like the man was around here. I thought he might have killed himself in the crash. I also thought he might have been getting ready to kill himself, possibly by slicing his throat while he was in the house. I hoped that if that were the case I might at least be able to see it, if not the car crash.
(7/4/07) tinted window; orange sparks
(Entered in paper journal at 8:35 AM at Ozzie's cafe on Seventh Avenue and Lincoln Place in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I sat on the floor in a living room. My sister sat on the right end of a couch to my left. I may have been sitting with my back against the right end of the couch, so my sister was directly to my left and above me. We both wrote in a notebook. We were writing a plan or a structured report, but it had to do with something mystical.
I stopped in the middle of writing (my sister and I were writing the same thing at the same speed, and we both stopped at the same time). I looked to the wall to the right. There were two roaches. I went to the wall. My sister stood behind me.
I said, "Well, we can just kill these roaches." But now I saw a lot of tiny, tiny roaches on the wall. It was like clouds of gnats. I didn't know what to do.
I saw out a window on the left side of the room. I was far from the window. The room was dim. The window must also have been tinted: it looked like full day outside, but the sky was a heavy, thick, though vivid blue. There were some redbrick building tops before the sky, and something like a heavy, steel beam over the top view just outside the window.
Dream #2
I stood under something like a bridge and saw orange curtains of thick sparks flow down before a sea-green sky like orange sun gleams on the crests of rolling waves in a river.
Dream #1
I sat on the floor in a living room. My sister sat on the right end of a couch to my left. I may have been sitting with my back against the right end of the couch, so my sister was directly to my left and above me. We both wrote in a notebook. We were writing a plan or a structured report, but it had to do with something mystical.
I stopped in the middle of writing (my sister and I were writing the same thing at the same speed, and we both stopped at the same time). I looked to the wall to the right. There were two roaches. I went to the wall. My sister stood behind me.
I said, "Well, we can just kill these roaches." But now I saw a lot of tiny, tiny roaches on the wall. It was like clouds of gnats. I didn't know what to do.
I saw out a window on the left side of the room. I was far from the window. The room was dim. The window must also have been tinted: it looked like full day outside, but the sky was a heavy, thick, though vivid blue. There were some redbrick building tops before the sky, and something like a heavy, steel beam over the top view just outside the window.
Dream #2
I stood under something like a bridge and saw orange curtains of thick sparks flow down before a sea-green sky like orange sun gleams on the crests of rolling waves in a river.
(7/7/07) was he the real deal?
(Entered in paper journal at 8:15 AM at Ozzie's cafe (not sure which) in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
Some people called to a group of us who were in another room in an office floor. They said, "Come look how your boss BS is standing."
We went into the office, which was a huge, empty room. We looked out the window to tall, tall rooftops that nevertheless seemed to be about twenty stories below us. People who looked like BS stood on occasional rooftops. I couldn't figure out which one was the real BS. Eventually I did.
The atmosphere outside as orange with sunset. Inside it was a dimmer orange.
Dream #1
Some people called to a group of us who were in another room in an office floor. They said, "Come look how your boss BS is standing."
We went into the office, which was a huge, empty room. We looked out the window to tall, tall rooftops that nevertheless seemed to be about twenty stories below us. People who looked like BS stood on occasional rooftops. I couldn't figure out which one was the real BS. Eventually I did.
The atmosphere outside as orange with sunset. Inside it was a dimmer orange.
(7/10/07) reaching out, pushing away; up the walls
(Entered in paper journal at 6:20 AM at Starbucks on 29th Street and Fifth Avenue in Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I saw my co-worker MA in the office. I reached my hands out toward him in a weird way, holding both my arms out straight in front of me, maybe slightly bent, with my hands bending inward toward each other at the wrists, the palms facing outward, toward MA. I felt like I was trying to contact MA, like I may not have been quite there.
Dream #2
I was in an asphalt lot, possibly a schoolyard. I was with a group of people. They seemed older than I, but possibly around my age. The day was bright and clear and hot. We all stood listening to someone. I broke off for some reason.
I bounded around the schoolyard. Eventually I found that I could run on the walls of the yard, i.e. parallel to the ground. The walls were like cinder blocks, but they had a weird texture to them. I was now showing someone else, a man a little older than I, that there was nothing supernatural about running on the walls: it was just a matter of momentum.
The yard was now divided, by concrete walls and chain link fences (simultaneously or alternately?) which were covered at their feet with thick weeds, into four sections. The group of people were in the upper, left quadrant. At first, the man and I were in the lower, left quadrant. Somehow my running (I don't know if he ever ran) got us into the lower, right quadrant.
We may have been in the upper, right quadrant when I saw the group of people in the upper, left quadrant. I felt like those people might have been judging me for not being in the same quadrant as they, but also for being crazy enough to think that I could actually run on the walls.
I was fighting to get back into the quadrant with everybody else. But I could only get so far up the barriers: they were topped with sprawly coils of barbed wire, especially the chain link fences (which may have been the barrier between the left and right quadrants).
I tried not to panic in front of the other man. Instead, I acted like I was teaching him. Eventually I had a new theory: I could bounce off the fence and pull myself, in a parabola "parallel" to the ground, back to the fence at a higher point. In that way I could make a jump close enough to the barbed wire to get over it. But, I thought, if I"m not even supposed to be able to run on the walls, what makes me think I would be able to jump up the walls?
Dream #1
I saw my co-worker MA in the office. I reached my hands out toward him in a weird way, holding both my arms out straight in front of me, maybe slightly bent, with my hands bending inward toward each other at the wrists, the palms facing outward, toward MA. I felt like I was trying to contact MA, like I may not have been quite there.
Dream #2
I was in an asphalt lot, possibly a schoolyard. I was with a group of people. They seemed older than I, but possibly around my age. The day was bright and clear and hot. We all stood listening to someone. I broke off for some reason.
I bounded around the schoolyard. Eventually I found that I could run on the walls of the yard, i.e. parallel to the ground. The walls were like cinder blocks, but they had a weird texture to them. I was now showing someone else, a man a little older than I, that there was nothing supernatural about running on the walls: it was just a matter of momentum.
The yard was now divided, by concrete walls and chain link fences (simultaneously or alternately?) which were covered at their feet with thick weeds, into four sections. The group of people were in the upper, left quadrant. At first, the man and I were in the lower, left quadrant. Somehow my running (I don't know if he ever ran) got us into the lower, right quadrant.
We may have been in the upper, right quadrant when I saw the group of people in the upper, left quadrant. I felt like those people might have been judging me for not being in the same quadrant as they, but also for being crazy enough to think that I could actually run on the walls.
I was fighting to get back into the quadrant with everybody else. But I could only get so far up the barriers: they were topped with sprawly coils of barbed wire, especially the chain link fences (which may have been the barrier between the left and right quadrants).
I tried not to panic in front of the other man. Instead, I acted like I was teaching him. Eventually I had a new theory: I could bounce off the fence and pull myself, in a parabola "parallel" to the ground, back to the fence at a higher point. In that way I could make a jump close enough to the barbed wire to get over it. But, I thought, if I"m not even supposed to be able to run on the walls, what makes me think I would be able to jump up the walls?
Saturday, March 2, 2013
(7/11/07) the horror of a farewell kiss
Dream #1
I walked up steps from a basement which was more like a storm cellar planted in the center of a living room. The swinging doors of this "cellar" were held open (at first?) by a woman.
As I walked up the steps I held 3D glasses to my face. The woman (or I?), pretending we were in a 3D horror movie, shouted, "No! No! No!!!" The woman held er cheeks and shook her head.
I stood beside the woman (as if to comfort her?). But the woman may have laughed and pushed me away gently. The woman was a little older than I and had a very "suburban mother" look.
I stood by a front door. I may have been telling my friend R goodbye. A pretty, blonde girl came up to us. The girl said, "I'm a Dominican. We say goodbye with kisses."
I obliged the girl by walking up to her, embracing her, and kissing her, probably just on the cheeks, though I pressed hard, as if I meant this innocent-seeming kiss to be passionate.
I walked up steps from a basement which was more like a storm cellar planted in the center of a living room. The swinging doors of this "cellar" were held open (at first?) by a woman.
As I walked up the steps I held 3D glasses to my face. The woman (or I?), pretending we were in a 3D horror movie, shouted, "No! No! No!!!" The woman held er cheeks and shook her head.
I stood beside the woman (as if to comfort her?). But the woman may have laughed and pushed me away gently. The woman was a little older than I and had a very "suburban mother" look.
I stood by a front door. I may have been telling my friend R goodbye. A pretty, blonde girl came up to us. The girl said, "I'm a Dominican. We say goodbye with kisses."
I obliged the girl by walking up to her, embracing her, and kissing her, probably just on the cheeks, though I pressed hard, as if I meant this innocent-seeming kiss to be passionate.
(7/12/07) incriminating myself
(Entered in paper journal at 8:32 PM at home in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I was in a big building like a convention center, big-box retailer, and church combined. I was with a thuggish, Mexican boy. A friend who was like me separated from me at the exit. The exit was just a wide, garage- or loading-dock-style doorway.
A lot of people milled in and out between my friend and I -- we stood at opposite ends of the exit. We were tying to be "slick" by not letting on that we knew each other to all the people walking between us. We were proud: we thought we were troublemakers.
Somehow I also felt like myself. I felt like I was walking between the two guys. I felt like at least the guy I was (even presently?) was actually not a thug but a cop who was watching me. He/I thought he/I was being "slick" by watching me and waiting for me to cause trouble so he/I could catch me.
I tried to blend in with the crowd, but I ended up on the outskirts.
Dream #1
I was in a big building like a convention center, big-box retailer, and church combined. I was with a thuggish, Mexican boy. A friend who was like me separated from me at the exit. The exit was just a wide, garage- or loading-dock-style doorway.
A lot of people milled in and out between my friend and I -- we stood at opposite ends of the exit. We were tying to be "slick" by not letting on that we knew each other to all the people walking between us. We were proud: we thought we were troublemakers.
Somehow I also felt like myself. I felt like I was walking between the two guys. I felt like at least the guy I was (even presently?) was actually not a thug but a cop who was watching me. He/I thought he/I was being "slick" by watching me and waiting for me to cause trouble so he/I could catch me.
I tried to blend in with the crowd, but I ended up on the outskirts.
(7/13/07) snob of scrap heap; my new place is taken; naked before co-worker
(Entered in paper journal at 6:30 PM on Q-train from Manhattan to Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I stood on the opposite end of a heap of junk from a man about my age. The heap of junk was right next to a scraggly chain link fence and was mostly scrapped material like rusted sheet metal, bed frames, springs, and pieces of scrap wood.
I made a smart-alecky comment about the pile of scrap material, like "Well, I guess we shouldn't be surprised, knowing how people are." I sneered as if I thought I was being funny, but I was hollowly disappointed in my snobby demeanor.
Dream #2
It was the dark of night. I had gone to the backyard of "my house." The backyard was like the backyard of the house where my family lived during my final years of high school.
I might have been looking for my landlady, who may have been my mother at first. I had been talking with my mother/"landlady" (the landlady being my landlady D from the place I'd lived in from May of 2006 through January of 2007) about some troubles my neighbors had been giving me.
My landlady gave me a light push backwards and told me she would take care of things. She opened the door to a separate apartment (like a mini-house) that was where my mom's garage would have been at my family's old house. My landlady opened the door just a crack and walked in, leaving me behind.
At first I thought this was a new place my landlady was allowing me to have. But when I looked inside I saw a poster on the wall, either of an island in the ocean or of a pretty pop singer. By this I understood the place was already taken. It couldn't, therefore, be meant for me. The room was very dark: I'm not sure, actually, how I even managed to see inside. I stayed outside. I thought, What's my landlady doing going in there? It's somebody else's place.
A short, very thin, black man, maybe a little younger than I, walked in front of me and into the apartment. The man wore a deep, vivid blue polo shirt. He may have had a cast or some white bandages on his left arm. Something about the man seemed very feminine. I was surprised by how gentle he had been walking in front of me: I had expected him to be a lot meaner.
Dream #3
I lay on a bed or couch. I was naked. My co-worker EB stood in front of me, fully clothed. I lay on my side, facing EB. My body felt soft, almost feminine. I may have had a shaved crotch.
Dream #1
I stood on the opposite end of a heap of junk from a man about my age. The heap of junk was right next to a scraggly chain link fence and was mostly scrapped material like rusted sheet metal, bed frames, springs, and pieces of scrap wood.
I made a smart-alecky comment about the pile of scrap material, like "Well, I guess we shouldn't be surprised, knowing how people are." I sneered as if I thought I was being funny, but I was hollowly disappointed in my snobby demeanor.
Dream #2
It was the dark of night. I had gone to the backyard of "my house." The backyard was like the backyard of the house where my family lived during my final years of high school.
I might have been looking for my landlady, who may have been my mother at first. I had been talking with my mother/"landlady" (the landlady being my landlady D from the place I'd lived in from May of 2006 through January of 2007) about some troubles my neighbors had been giving me.
My landlady gave me a light push backwards and told me she would take care of things. She opened the door to a separate apartment (like a mini-house) that was where my mom's garage would have been at my family's old house. My landlady opened the door just a crack and walked in, leaving me behind.
At first I thought this was a new place my landlady was allowing me to have. But when I looked inside I saw a poster on the wall, either of an island in the ocean or of a pretty pop singer. By this I understood the place was already taken. It couldn't, therefore, be meant for me. The room was very dark: I'm not sure, actually, how I even managed to see inside. I stayed outside. I thought, What's my landlady doing going in there? It's somebody else's place.
A short, very thin, black man, maybe a little younger than I, walked in front of me and into the apartment. The man wore a deep, vivid blue polo shirt. He may have had a cast or some white bandages on his left arm. Something about the man seemed very feminine. I was surprised by how gentle he had been walking in front of me: I had expected him to be a lot meaner.
Dream #3
I lay on a bed or couch. I was naked. My co-worker EB stood in front of me, fully clothed. I lay on my side, facing EB. My body felt soft, almost feminine. I may have had a shaved crotch.
(7/15/07) gold-mining area; valley of the shadow; the yellow hummer
(Entered in paper journal at 8 AM at Starbucks on Ninth Street and Second Avenue.)
Dream #1
It was a clear day. I stood atop a hill of piled soil. A female friend was with me. We were talking with a man who may have been a boss of ours. We were in some gold-mining area. We were discussing a weird semantic issue. It made me think I needed to get rid of my idea of obtaining gold from this area.
I walked down the ridge of the hill to a certain height and then jumped the rest of the way (ten feet, I told myself) to the ground.
Dream #2
It was a sunny day. A man stood on a park lawn, possibly looking out on a river. The man may have been standing with other people, talking with them. Behind them was a man who looked like Adam Sandler, except maybe a little skinny. This man was supposed to be me. The man was autistic.
The man said, "Do you remember when you didn't let me watch the show XXXXX?" The man got more upset about it, muttering and muttering.
I saw (as if I stood in front of everybody facing away from the river and toward them) how the "Adam Sandler" man's figure was becoming dimmer and tinted with deep orange. I couldn't figure out what was happening -- if it was something with my vision or something "unreal." But I saw how the man had worked himself into such a panic that he was pulling himself out of the world completely. His figure became like a black hole from a cutout of reality.
Now that black shape pixelated, became vague, made a fluttery, electronic, popping sound, and disappeared. I saw the man standing by himself in a similar lawn. He was in a world by himself. He knew, to some degree, that he had pulled himself out of the world of interaction with others by having gotten so upset. The man spoke, as if speaking to his caretaker, trying to acquiesce in some way regarding the TV show he'd missed, as if speaking to the air in this other world would get the message through.
The man "woke up" and was standing, some time later, in the park again. He was now a skinny, tall, white boy with long, frizzy-curly hair and blue eyes. He stood facing and edging into a leafless shrub. Two guys stood on either side of him, at an awkward angle to the shrub, possibly throwing a ball to each other. They had to throw the ball over the shrub in some weird way.
Dream #3
I floated over a computerized map, possibly of the whole world. The land was in tan. Clouds were in pink. I descended down below the clouds. Below the clouds it was like the clouds were hard, flat panels. The land forms were canyon-like slopes broken up by networks of rivers. The rivers looked real. Everything else looked like computer animation. There was no vegetation. It only seemed like a few hundred feet, at most, between the rivers and the clouds.
I told myself I was in Asia. I was looking for the particular boss of some company. I flew around a building, the only building in this whole landscape, a tall, shimmery building with a parking garage as its base. The garage was just a simple structure of concrete columns, ramps, and platform-levels. The garage was, I could see, only sparsely populated with cars.
On the top level, at the base of the actual structure (as one would think of it) of the building, at least two cars were parked so they were actually propped up, leaning against the building. One of these vehicles was a yellow Hummer.
Dream #1
It was a clear day. I stood atop a hill of piled soil. A female friend was with me. We were talking with a man who may have been a boss of ours. We were in some gold-mining area. We were discussing a weird semantic issue. It made me think I needed to get rid of my idea of obtaining gold from this area.
I walked down the ridge of the hill to a certain height and then jumped the rest of the way (ten feet, I told myself) to the ground.
Dream #2
It was a sunny day. A man stood on a park lawn, possibly looking out on a river. The man may have been standing with other people, talking with them. Behind them was a man who looked like Adam Sandler, except maybe a little skinny. This man was supposed to be me. The man was autistic.
The man said, "Do you remember when you didn't let me watch the show XXXXX?" The man got more upset about it, muttering and muttering.
I saw (as if I stood in front of everybody facing away from the river and toward them) how the "Adam Sandler" man's figure was becoming dimmer and tinted with deep orange. I couldn't figure out what was happening -- if it was something with my vision or something "unreal." But I saw how the man had worked himself into such a panic that he was pulling himself out of the world completely. His figure became like a black hole from a cutout of reality.
Now that black shape pixelated, became vague, made a fluttery, electronic, popping sound, and disappeared. I saw the man standing by himself in a similar lawn. He was in a world by himself. He knew, to some degree, that he had pulled himself out of the world of interaction with others by having gotten so upset. The man spoke, as if speaking to his caretaker, trying to acquiesce in some way regarding the TV show he'd missed, as if speaking to the air in this other world would get the message through.
The man "woke up" and was standing, some time later, in the park again. He was now a skinny, tall, white boy with long, frizzy-curly hair and blue eyes. He stood facing and edging into a leafless shrub. Two guys stood on either side of him, at an awkward angle to the shrub, possibly throwing a ball to each other. They had to throw the ball over the shrub in some weird way.
Dream #3
I floated over a computerized map, possibly of the whole world. The land was in tan. Clouds were in pink. I descended down below the clouds. Below the clouds it was like the clouds were hard, flat panels. The land forms were canyon-like slopes broken up by networks of rivers. The rivers looked real. Everything else looked like computer animation. There was no vegetation. It only seemed like a few hundred feet, at most, between the rivers and the clouds.
I told myself I was in Asia. I was looking for the particular boss of some company. I flew around a building, the only building in this whole landscape, a tall, shimmery building with a parking garage as its base. The garage was just a simple structure of concrete columns, ramps, and platform-levels. The garage was, I could see, only sparsely populated with cars.
On the top level, at the base of the actual structure (as one would think of it) of the building, at least two cars were parked so they were actually propped up, leaning against the building. One of these vehicles was a yellow Hummer.
(7/17/07) scary music video; red landscape; two museum rooms; lesbians and mother; it all leads to death
(Entered in paper journal at 5:48 AM at Starbucks on 17th Street and Broadway.)
Dream #1
A music video by Gloria Estefan. Estefan's was done up like from the 1940s. The scenes would change from Estefan's standing by herself and singing to the camera to standing and singing in a big, "unfinished"-style bedroom with one or two other women. Estefan's outfits changed, but she generally wore pale colored, satiny, shortish dresses. Estefan's song was to the women, about how she and they always fight and think they're going to break up, but how eventually she gets back together with them.
At "the end" of the video, Estefan was in a dim and small, but elegant-looking bedroom. Estefan wore a black dress. She looked a little fat. She sang about how she could never give up loving so many beautiful girls. She gave a weird, "who me?" troublemaker expression that one might see on an old man in a Fellini film. She reclined on the floor with her hands behind her head. She looked very relaxed. She had a black blanket over her.
From behind Estefan's right shoulder, as if out of the ground, came the head of a Hispanic boy who was somewhat attractive, except that his brow was pulled out a few inches, his eyebrows were very thick, and his mouth awas full of disarranged, misshapen teeth. I saw from the woman's view, i.e. lying on the ground, a man standing over the woman with a machine gun pointed at her.
Now I saw, as if watching a movie, army men in a bedroom with a weird, circular, Asian-style (?) window. The room itself seemed to be ancient, made out of solid, crafted stone. The army men ran at a window, as if the woman had escaped out of it.
The room had gone from being full of men to being empty except a constant "drip" of men (like in an old Nintendo game) appearing just to run at the window. But when the men would jump through the window something awful would happen to them. They would dissolve into a bunch of flying pieces of flesh. I was disgusted, but I tried to look harder at what was happening.
I now stood outside the room, in the dark night. A yellow glow came through the window from the room. The window was key-shaped, with a lattice of intricate, wooden designs in shards at its lower, right edge. Some men would jump through it and become creatures like ravens. Some would jump through and become just clumps of fleshy feathers that fluttered through the air for a moment and then fell scattered all over the ground. Some would jump through and seem fine for a step or two before bloating out into mutated "birdmen" and falling down, dead.
One man didn't even make it through. His top half fell over the outside wall, and he hung there, his back coated in grey-black feathers.
A bunch of soldiers jumped through the window. They stood in a loose formation, facing at a wide, relaxed diagonal to the wall. They held their guns ready to shoot something that may have been up a couple stories.
I was the woman. I stood among the soldiers. Somehow the soldiers didn't see me, but I felt like they would son, and that they would then kill me. I guessed I couldn't escape them. I stood among them, in their loose ranks.
The men were all white, not overly muscular, somewhat red-tanned, most of them with close-cut, darkish blonde hair. I kept waiting for the awful thing to happen to them, like it had happened to the others who had gone through the window, so that they would die before noticing and killing me. I thought, Nobody lasts this long after jumping through the window.
Suddenly the soldiers all grabbed their ears as if they were hearing an awful sound. I thought, It's finally happening. But nothing much happened. One or two of the men may have had some slight melting on their faces. But mostly the soldiers were just made angry by the awful sound. They still didn't see me, but I felt like now, because of the infuriating sound, the men would most certainly kill me if they saw me.
Dream #2
An art work named after a Colorado resort town, possibly Vail or Steamboat. It was a painting like a view from space. The paint was laid on so thick that everything was three-dimensional. It was supposed to be completely realistic, but the "snow" depicted was all red, except at the peaks of some high mountains, where it was actually white. The last name of the artist may have been Burroughs.
I thought the work was very good. I didn't think the work was realistic, per se. But I did think that the red produced a lovely kind of "realistic" atmosphere.
Dream #3
I walked down a hallway with someone, possibly a woman, behind me (and to my right?). The hallway was dim and soothing, but with plain, white tiles and white walls. The hallway ended in a T-shape. At this intersection the walls and floor were black.
Both arms of the T were museum exhibits. I (and probably my friend) had a ticket that would get into both exhibits. The exhibit on the right was the one I had come for: either some unique, colorful sculptures or some kind of photography.
The exhibit on my left caught me totally by surprise: I'd had no idea there was a hall on the left. I wanted to see what it was, even though I thought I would wait to go inside until I had been to the exhibit on the right.
An old man in a security-uniform tie and jacket stood by a clear, plexiglass, turnstile gate to the art exhibit. I didn't want to make the old man think I was trying to get into the left exhibit without showing my ticket, and I didn't see a ticket-taker at this exhibit. So I crept only a couple inches into the exhibit, where the old man could still see me, so I could see the exhibit's name and some of the works on display.
The room was dim, with soft, deep-tan walls. The name of the artist whose works were on display was something like Isamu Noguchi. It might have been more like Tomiguchi.
There was some kind of sculpture in the room. But what mainly caught my eye were silhouette profiles, of black overlaid with cutout, white paper (i.e. the cutout, white paper made the profile seen on the underlying black paper). The profiles were framed very nicely and looked like profiles of nineteenth-century people, mostly children.
The old man cleared his throat at me. I looked back. I sheepishly headed his way. I really desired to show the old man that I wasn't a crook, that I had a ticket, and that I wasn't trying to get into the exhibit without a ticket.
I walked up to the plexiglass gate. The ticket had a barcode. The barcode needed to be ran against a scanner. The waist-high gates would then open. I got nervous about whether my ticket would work at all, or if it would show that I didn't have the right to go into the left exhibit.
I looked into the right exhibit. The walls were black. There were a couple metallic staircases leading up to a short second level. Some blue spotlights slightly glowed amid the overall natural-feeling incandescence, lending tiny, indigo-violet twinkles to the metallic and plexiglass surfaces around me. I felt like I was in some areas from the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum.
Dream #4
Two Asian girls wearing puffy outfits that looked like exaggerations of towels wrapped around their bodies. One girl wore a yellow outfit. The other girl wore a blue outfit. The girls were in a big bedroom that was in an old, Asian style but also had touches like a modern college dorm room.
A (very tall!) woman dressed like the evil mother in Ivan the Terrible came into the room. I don't know if the old woman was a mother to one of the daughters. I don't feel like she was, even though I seem to have thought of her as a mother. The woman was distraught because the two girls were in love with each other and were even planning to marry each other.
The girls knew how distraught the woman was. So, to tease the old mother, they stood in front of her and faced each other. They said to the mother, not regarding her, almost regarding each other, but looking slightly up as if to acknowledge slightly that they were speaking to the mother, "We have decided that we love each other like sisters. Yes, we've decided that we really are like sisters. We need to accept that and be like sisters to each other." The old mother was relieved.
Now my view closed up on the girls as they spoke more and more erotically and got closer and closer to each other. They kissed each other, then held hands and bounded lightly to the door, saying, "But we're still in love with each other, too, and we're still going to get married!"
The girls seemed, by having bounded to the door, to be ushering the old mother to the door, thus telling the old mother to leave the room. The old mother was upset again. Some part of her seemed like an old, bald man.
Dream #5
I sat eating long strips of roast beef. A man walked past me and to a door to my left, perhaps telling me, as he passed, that he was going hunting.
I said something to ridicule the man. I thought, It all leads to death. Killing leads to death. Eating dead things just tears up your insides and kills you faster.
I wondered why I was saying all this to myself if I was sitting here eating meat right now. The meat wasn't roast beef. It was like strips of deer or elk meat. I ate it off something like a stretched skin, like on a drum. Something felt Native American about it. The strips of meat themselves seemed fringed and tassled.
Dream #1
A music video by Gloria Estefan. Estefan's was done up like from the 1940s. The scenes would change from Estefan's standing by herself and singing to the camera to standing and singing in a big, "unfinished"-style bedroom with one or two other women. Estefan's outfits changed, but she generally wore pale colored, satiny, shortish dresses. Estefan's song was to the women, about how she and they always fight and think they're going to break up, but how eventually she gets back together with them.
At "the end" of the video, Estefan was in a dim and small, but elegant-looking bedroom. Estefan wore a black dress. She looked a little fat. She sang about how she could never give up loving so many beautiful girls. She gave a weird, "who me?" troublemaker expression that one might see on an old man in a Fellini film. She reclined on the floor with her hands behind her head. She looked very relaxed. She had a black blanket over her.
From behind Estefan's right shoulder, as if out of the ground, came the head of a Hispanic boy who was somewhat attractive, except that his brow was pulled out a few inches, his eyebrows were very thick, and his mouth awas full of disarranged, misshapen teeth. I saw from the woman's view, i.e. lying on the ground, a man standing over the woman with a machine gun pointed at her.
Now I saw, as if watching a movie, army men in a bedroom with a weird, circular, Asian-style (?) window. The room itself seemed to be ancient, made out of solid, crafted stone. The army men ran at a window, as if the woman had escaped out of it.
The room had gone from being full of men to being empty except a constant "drip" of men (like in an old Nintendo game) appearing just to run at the window. But when the men would jump through the window something awful would happen to them. They would dissolve into a bunch of flying pieces of flesh. I was disgusted, but I tried to look harder at what was happening.
I now stood outside the room, in the dark night. A yellow glow came through the window from the room. The window was key-shaped, with a lattice of intricate, wooden designs in shards at its lower, right edge. Some men would jump through it and become creatures like ravens. Some would jump through and become just clumps of fleshy feathers that fluttered through the air for a moment and then fell scattered all over the ground. Some would jump through and seem fine for a step or two before bloating out into mutated "birdmen" and falling down, dead.
One man didn't even make it through. His top half fell over the outside wall, and he hung there, his back coated in grey-black feathers.
A bunch of soldiers jumped through the window. They stood in a loose formation, facing at a wide, relaxed diagonal to the wall. They held their guns ready to shoot something that may have been up a couple stories.
I was the woman. I stood among the soldiers. Somehow the soldiers didn't see me, but I felt like they would son, and that they would then kill me. I guessed I couldn't escape them. I stood among them, in their loose ranks.
The men were all white, not overly muscular, somewhat red-tanned, most of them with close-cut, darkish blonde hair. I kept waiting for the awful thing to happen to them, like it had happened to the others who had gone through the window, so that they would die before noticing and killing me. I thought, Nobody lasts this long after jumping through the window.
Suddenly the soldiers all grabbed their ears as if they were hearing an awful sound. I thought, It's finally happening. But nothing much happened. One or two of the men may have had some slight melting on their faces. But mostly the soldiers were just made angry by the awful sound. They still didn't see me, but I felt like now, because of the infuriating sound, the men would most certainly kill me if they saw me.
Dream #2
An art work named after a Colorado resort town, possibly Vail or Steamboat. It was a painting like a view from space. The paint was laid on so thick that everything was three-dimensional. It was supposed to be completely realistic, but the "snow" depicted was all red, except at the peaks of some high mountains, where it was actually white. The last name of the artist may have been Burroughs.
I thought the work was very good. I didn't think the work was realistic, per se. But I did think that the red produced a lovely kind of "realistic" atmosphere.
Dream #3
I walked down a hallway with someone, possibly a woman, behind me (and to my right?). The hallway was dim and soothing, but with plain, white tiles and white walls. The hallway ended in a T-shape. At this intersection the walls and floor were black.
Both arms of the T were museum exhibits. I (and probably my friend) had a ticket that would get into both exhibits. The exhibit on the right was the one I had come for: either some unique, colorful sculptures or some kind of photography.
The exhibit on my left caught me totally by surprise: I'd had no idea there was a hall on the left. I wanted to see what it was, even though I thought I would wait to go inside until I had been to the exhibit on the right.
An old man in a security-uniform tie and jacket stood by a clear, plexiglass, turnstile gate to the art exhibit. I didn't want to make the old man think I was trying to get into the left exhibit without showing my ticket, and I didn't see a ticket-taker at this exhibit. So I crept only a couple inches into the exhibit, where the old man could still see me, so I could see the exhibit's name and some of the works on display.
The room was dim, with soft, deep-tan walls. The name of the artist whose works were on display was something like Isamu Noguchi. It might have been more like Tomiguchi.
There was some kind of sculpture in the room. But what mainly caught my eye were silhouette profiles, of black overlaid with cutout, white paper (i.e. the cutout, white paper made the profile seen on the underlying black paper). The profiles were framed very nicely and looked like profiles of nineteenth-century people, mostly children.
The old man cleared his throat at me. I looked back. I sheepishly headed his way. I really desired to show the old man that I wasn't a crook, that I had a ticket, and that I wasn't trying to get into the exhibit without a ticket.
I walked up to the plexiglass gate. The ticket had a barcode. The barcode needed to be ran against a scanner. The waist-high gates would then open. I got nervous about whether my ticket would work at all, or if it would show that I didn't have the right to go into the left exhibit.
I looked into the right exhibit. The walls were black. There were a couple metallic staircases leading up to a short second level. Some blue spotlights slightly glowed amid the overall natural-feeling incandescence, lending tiny, indigo-violet twinkles to the metallic and plexiglass surfaces around me. I felt like I was in some areas from the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum.
Dream #4
Two Asian girls wearing puffy outfits that looked like exaggerations of towels wrapped around their bodies. One girl wore a yellow outfit. The other girl wore a blue outfit. The girls were in a big bedroom that was in an old, Asian style but also had touches like a modern college dorm room.
A (very tall!) woman dressed like the evil mother in Ivan the Terrible came into the room. I don't know if the old woman was a mother to one of the daughters. I don't feel like she was, even though I seem to have thought of her as a mother. The woman was distraught because the two girls were in love with each other and were even planning to marry each other.
The girls knew how distraught the woman was. So, to tease the old mother, they stood in front of her and faced each other. They said to the mother, not regarding her, almost regarding each other, but looking slightly up as if to acknowledge slightly that they were speaking to the mother, "We have decided that we love each other like sisters. Yes, we've decided that we really are like sisters. We need to accept that and be like sisters to each other." The old mother was relieved.
Now my view closed up on the girls as they spoke more and more erotically and got closer and closer to each other. They kissed each other, then held hands and bounded lightly to the door, saying, "But we're still in love with each other, too, and we're still going to get married!"
The girls seemed, by having bounded to the door, to be ushering the old mother to the door, thus telling the old mother to leave the room. The old mother was upset again. Some part of her seemed like an old, bald man.
Dream #5
I sat eating long strips of roast beef. A man walked past me and to a door to my left, perhaps telling me, as he passed, that he was going hunting.
I said something to ridicule the man. I thought, It all leads to death. Killing leads to death. Eating dead things just tears up your insides and kills you faster.
I wondered why I was saying all this to myself if I was sitting here eating meat right now. The meat wasn't roast beef. It was like strips of deer or elk meat. I ate it off something like a stretched skin, like on a drum. Something felt Native American about it. The strips of meat themselves seemed fringed and tassled.
(7/18/07) bed of a truck
(Entered in paper journal at 8:13 PM at home.)
Dream #1
I was in a van with a group of people. The van was white or pale, with a wide, work-van (emptyish, metallic) feel. We were just starting to drive, trying to get somewhere. But something was making us hesitant, possibly that we hadn't found some members of our group.
Two young men walked past the van. At first we might have thought we should let them in. Then someone in the van said, "No. They're cops. You can always tell, the way they try to dress like they're cool. But they're not."
One of the men was very close-shaven and wore a baseball cap, had a wiry, gaunt look, and was very pale white. The other had tight-to-the-head dreads, down about to the level of his jaw, and a little stubble. He was pale-brown, maybe Black Hispanic, with green eyes.
It somehow became somewhat obvious to me that these guys were cops. I thought, "But then everybody in the van must think I'm a cop, too!"
It was a nice, clear day. I stood in the bed of a truck. We drove down a back road on either side of which were narrow strips of grass bordered by tall trees or farmland. The bed of the truck had no walls and no roof, just barriers on the sides and L-shaped, metal poles in the corners. The bed didn't seem to be even, either: it seemed to step up in halves or quadrants. Everybody must have been in what I still thought of as the "van," which was probably now the cab of this "truck."
The truck was driving forward, as normal, and I stood at the back end of the bed, looking out toward the back of the truck, but I watched the road pass below me and the scenery pass beside me like I was at the front of the truck looking forward.
Somehow we had stopped or slowed down enough to let a tall, skinny, middle-aged, black man approach the car. He had close-cut, salt& pepper hair and beard, brown skin, and wore a brownish-green shirt and shorts. I thought, Why are they letting this guy on? He's a druggie and he wants to corrupt us all.
We were moving again, the truck probably moving forward from the front (in my perception as well as physically). I sat on a bench on the left side of the bed, watching a (white?) man, one of my crew members, talking with the black man while sitting on a bench on the right side of the bed.
Against my instinct, I was making an effort to be polite and listen to what the two men were saying. They tried to include me in the conversation. As I tried to respond, I heard a conversation in the back of my head. The conversation in the back of my head took over. It became a script, outlined with presentation-style headings and formats, on paper in a three-ring binder.
The black man sat to my left on the bench. I was pointing out different parts of the script as I heard it in my head. But it may also have been like we were speaking it out with each other.
Dream #1
I was in a van with a group of people. The van was white or pale, with a wide, work-van (emptyish, metallic) feel. We were just starting to drive, trying to get somewhere. But something was making us hesitant, possibly that we hadn't found some members of our group.
Two young men walked past the van. At first we might have thought we should let them in. Then someone in the van said, "No. They're cops. You can always tell, the way they try to dress like they're cool. But they're not."
One of the men was very close-shaven and wore a baseball cap, had a wiry, gaunt look, and was very pale white. The other had tight-to-the-head dreads, down about to the level of his jaw, and a little stubble. He was pale-brown, maybe Black Hispanic, with green eyes.
It somehow became somewhat obvious to me that these guys were cops. I thought, "But then everybody in the van must think I'm a cop, too!"
It was a nice, clear day. I stood in the bed of a truck. We drove down a back road on either side of which were narrow strips of grass bordered by tall trees or farmland. The bed of the truck had no walls and no roof, just barriers on the sides and L-shaped, metal poles in the corners. The bed didn't seem to be even, either: it seemed to step up in halves or quadrants. Everybody must have been in what I still thought of as the "van," which was probably now the cab of this "truck."
The truck was driving forward, as normal, and I stood at the back end of the bed, looking out toward the back of the truck, but I watched the road pass below me and the scenery pass beside me like I was at the front of the truck looking forward.
Somehow we had stopped or slowed down enough to let a tall, skinny, middle-aged, black man approach the car. He had close-cut, salt& pepper hair and beard, brown skin, and wore a brownish-green shirt and shorts. I thought, Why are they letting this guy on? He's a druggie and he wants to corrupt us all.
We were moving again, the truck probably moving forward from the front (in my perception as well as physically). I sat on a bench on the left side of the bed, watching a (white?) man, one of my crew members, talking with the black man while sitting on a bench on the right side of the bed.
Against my instinct, I was making an effort to be polite and listen to what the two men were saying. They tried to include me in the conversation. As I tried to respond, I heard a conversation in the back of my head. The conversation in the back of my head took over. It became a script, outlined with presentation-style headings and formats, on paper in a three-ring binder.
The black man sat to my left on the bench. I was pointing out different parts of the script as I heard it in my head. But it may also have been like we were speaking it out with each other.
Monday, February 25, 2013
(7/20/07) a view of the monument
(Entered in paper journal at 5:37 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I was in a house, alone. I lay in a bedroom that was probably a mess. Bright sun came in through the windows. I was happy to be by myself.
I felt a presence. I knew it was my mother. I went into the hallway. My co-worker EB stood in the hallway, possibly with my mom back in the distance, and behind a lot of clutter, possibly bikes. I wondered how I was going to get out of this place with so much stuff in the way.
It was night. I flew over treetops and possibly small rows of shop buildings in a small area of New York City or a small town.
I heard or remembered a conversation I'd had with my boss BS about how I had made the logistics of a date too difficult for the woman to want to do on the date again. First of all, we'd gone out to some restaurant at the outskirts of (this part of?) town. Second we'd had to walk all the way there.
I flew over an open road at night. I then stood beside a steep slope of wall, almost like a huge pane of solar paneling. It was early morning. BS stood beside me. We seemed to be crowded into a narrow trench near the wide wall by trees and a deep cliff behind us. BS asked me why I didn't work hard to improve the way I presented myself to women.
It was a bright day. I stood on a stone walkway that curved around and around a section of a stone building. The walkway and the building were greyish-peach colored. This building was part of an historical park or campus.
I think part of the walkway was blocked by a plywood board standing on its side, maybe with a wide sheet of paper hanging off it. I might have thought I wasn't allowed up. But I saw a few people, two couples, probably, walking down the path from behind the barrier, coming in my direction.
Now I had flown up to the top of this building. I looked down on the park/campus. I was very high up. The land around me must have been tall, rolling hills.
I heard a narrator discussing the old times, when Thomas Jefferson had founded this place. I saw the place alternately in black and white, like an old film, and in color, like my regular view.
The narrator's speech focused on a monument, like the Thomas Jefferson Memorial monument in Washington, DC. I was sure it couldn't be the Jefferson Memorial: I wasn't in the right place. I thought I would fly down to it and see what the monument was. I felt like there was a dark metal (bronze?) figure inside.
I couldn't stop looking at the the monument, even though I kept trying to look in other places. The land around the monument slowly got soggier and soggier, like a barren field, once lawn, after a heavy rain.
I yelled to the film that was being narrated, "Stop looking at the monument! I want to see other things!"
I now heard narration of a documentary which I was actually enacting. I was floating down the side of a building and landing momentarily in columned openings in the building. Eventually I was at the base of the building, possibly at the foot of a tall hill.
The narration had been about a man who had gone insane and thought he could hop down the side of a building. But, I thought, I did just do that!
I looked back up to the top of the building.
Dream #1
I was in a house, alone. I lay in a bedroom that was probably a mess. Bright sun came in through the windows. I was happy to be by myself.
I felt a presence. I knew it was my mother. I went into the hallway. My co-worker EB stood in the hallway, possibly with my mom back in the distance, and behind a lot of clutter, possibly bikes. I wondered how I was going to get out of this place with so much stuff in the way.
It was night. I flew over treetops and possibly small rows of shop buildings in a small area of New York City or a small town.
I heard or remembered a conversation I'd had with my boss BS about how I had made the logistics of a date too difficult for the woman to want to do on the date again. First of all, we'd gone out to some restaurant at the outskirts of (this part of?) town. Second we'd had to walk all the way there.
I flew over an open road at night. I then stood beside a steep slope of wall, almost like a huge pane of solar paneling. It was early morning. BS stood beside me. We seemed to be crowded into a narrow trench near the wide wall by trees and a deep cliff behind us. BS asked me why I didn't work hard to improve the way I presented myself to women.
It was a bright day. I stood on a stone walkway that curved around and around a section of a stone building. The walkway and the building were greyish-peach colored. This building was part of an historical park or campus.
I think part of the walkway was blocked by a plywood board standing on its side, maybe with a wide sheet of paper hanging off it. I might have thought I wasn't allowed up. But I saw a few people, two couples, probably, walking down the path from behind the barrier, coming in my direction.
Now I had flown up to the top of this building. I looked down on the park/campus. I was very high up. The land around me must have been tall, rolling hills.
I heard a narrator discussing the old times, when Thomas Jefferson had founded this place. I saw the place alternately in black and white, like an old film, and in color, like my regular view.
The narrator's speech focused on a monument, like the Thomas Jefferson Memorial monument in Washington, DC. I was sure it couldn't be the Jefferson Memorial: I wasn't in the right place. I thought I would fly down to it and see what the monument was. I felt like there was a dark metal (bronze?) figure inside.
I couldn't stop looking at the the monument, even though I kept trying to look in other places. The land around the monument slowly got soggier and soggier, like a barren field, once lawn, after a heavy rain.
I yelled to the film that was being narrated, "Stop looking at the monument! I want to see other things!"
I now heard narration of a documentary which I was actually enacting. I was floating down the side of a building and landing momentarily in columned openings in the building. Eventually I was at the base of the building, possibly at the foot of a tall hill.
The narration had been about a man who had gone insane and thought he could hop down the side of a building. But, I thought, I did just do that!
I looked back up to the top of the building.
(7/23/07) ill-timed illness; hotmail at work; radio interview; changing flight; slow liftoff; variations on jk rowling
(Entered in paper journal at 5:50 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I lay on a couch in the dark. I was covered in blankets. I spoke on the phone with someone who asked if I could cover the phones for the Analyst MH as well, since he would be out. I saw his extension, 3431 or 2431, in my had. The person said, "MH got sick at a really bad time. When he gets back in, we'll have to have a disciplinary discussion with him.
My boss BS and another Analyst, SM, stood at my feet, on my left, i.e. facing the couch. They walked around to my right and then up past my head. They pulled open some blinds and let in a lot of daylight.
Dream #2
I was in the office, which was different from waking life. The entire floor was only half-lit. There were two aisles of cubicles that went in long rows of six or seven cubicles. Beside that were probably more aisles of cubicles. At the end of the aisles was a little bit of empty floor space and then a brightly lit, tiny elevator bank. My cubicle was at the front right corner, facing the elevator bank.
I turned my computer on. Then I remembered I had an appointment with my psychiatrist A this morning. I told my boss BS, "I know it's spur of the moment notice, but can I leave?"
BS' face turned kind of weak and muttery. BS said, "Well, yeah, go..."
I said, "It's on the spur of the moment, I know. So said no if I can't go."
BS said, "No. I'd rather you didn't go. I'm gonna need you here today."
BS walked away as I said okay.
I spoke with a couple people and then went back to my desk. I had vines like grapevines growing over my desk. My computer was a laptop. It was only about halfway open. I saw Hotmail up on my screen. I couldn't figure why that would be there: employees weren't allowed to use personal email accounts, like Hotmail, in the office.
I tried to shut the Hotmail off. BS walked by and asked what was wrong. I said, "Somehow Hotmail came up on my screen."
Dream #3
I sat in a brightly lit basement. It was a radio station. I was going to be interviewed as a part of my job. At present some outside correspondent was doing something like a traffic report. In the station, we may have seen the man or the stuff he was talking about on a TV screen. The view was of a straight road in a green field on a grey day.
I thought, Am I going to be late doing this interview? It was as if, on some level of reality, I wasn't really in the studio yet.
Dream #4
I stood before the counter at an airport. The counter and room looked more like an old, cozy hotel. A tall, gaunt, white, bald man with a grey mustache and heavy eyebrows stood behind the counter. The man said, "I don't recognize you. Do you have ID?"
I showed the man my ID and said, "You can ask people if you like. I come here all the time. All I'm trying to do is see if I'm late for my flight. I was scheduled to leave at 12:20 PM. And now it's --" (I craned my neck forward to look around at the man's computer screen) "-- 1:02 PM?! Oh, no!"
I started crying. I said, "I missed my flight! Is there any way I can get a ticket for a different flight?"
Two or three people, maybe two guys and a girl, roughly twenty-five years old, walked around the old man cheerfully. They spoke happily about my problem and how it could probably be fixed. They walked away. The old man started wandering off.
I asked, "Aren't you going to see about getting me a new flight?"
The man said, "We have other things to do. We'll get to you." He left.
The young men and woman were now bringing out plates of food from a bar and grill that was off to my left. One of the plates was big chunks of meat covered in sauce that looked like ranch dressing.
Dream #5
Black and white, grainy view like old film footage. A narrator spoke about the first space flight, which had been made by the Russians.
I watched a "space shuttle" launch, then travel parallel with the ground, maybe only a couple hundred feet above the ground. The "shuttle" looked like a sci-fi spacecraft, or a child's drawing. It was like two cylinders in the back which ended in rockets and which joined in the front to one cylinder which pointed at the front.
The craft began lifting as it flew over the ocean. It lifted so slowly I at first thought that it was getting ready to lose control and crash. The view was momentarily from behind it as it rose above a patchy plane of clouds. I knew now that the craft wouldn't crash. But watching it rise (view from in front of the craft, looking back at it) so slowly, at such a gentle angle, I doubted the craft could ever actually leave the earth.
The craft slowly increased its angle and speed. I now wondered if the view was going to catch the craft traveling so quickly and steeply. I didn't think the view would actually be able to travel with the craft.
Dream #6
I was in a bedroom (?) with a few people of different ages (probably up to my age). Everybody was in a slighty frenzy, not angry, just unsettled. They were all talking about the new Harry Potter book. At the same time they were passing around the previous Harry Potter books. The covers of these books looked weird, like cheap second editions -- or rather like the old sensational film posters (i.e. L'enfant de Paris) that were (at the time I entered this dream in the paper journal) on display in the MoMA film center.
I got a good enough look at all the volumes, as they were rapidly passed from hand to hand, that when someone called out, "It's too bad we don't have all seven volumes right here," I could shout out, "But we do!"
Someone yelled at me, "No, we don't!"
I said, "Yes, we do! Look!" As I pointed to each book as it transferred from hand to hand, I counted out the volumes. "One, two, three, four, five, six. And there's seven!"
I now saw a copy of the book like a wide-opening coffee table book. The right half of the cover was the cover of the new Harry Potter book. As I "heard" some TV or magazine story about J.K. Rowling my view slowly moved to the left side of the cover.
I thought, I've heard a lot of people talk about how much of a bitch (???!!!) J.K. Rowling is. I wondreed what she looked like. On the left side of the cover was a photo of Rowling. She looked like an Italian mother from Brooklyn -- black hair, blue sweater, kind of no-nonsense expression. In the photo, "Rowling" was painting some huge, abstract mural, looking back and smiling at the camera.
Now there was a view of her (not on the book, but like in life) standing behind a glass-paned front door. The view was in front of the door, to catch the glass' reflection of a field of flowers, bands of color -- yellow, purple, and white, with a vague green band -- and a feeling of mountains and sky in the distance.
In this view "Rowling" looked a lot older. Her hair was cut short and was reddish-brown, very tough. "Rowling's" face was round; her nose, nubby; her eyes, pale blue. I think I felt a wish in her that she could become young again.
Dream #1
I lay on a couch in the dark. I was covered in blankets. I spoke on the phone with someone who asked if I could cover the phones for the Analyst MH as well, since he would be out. I saw his extension, 3431 or 2431, in my had. The person said, "MH got sick at a really bad time. When he gets back in, we'll have to have a disciplinary discussion with him.
My boss BS and another Analyst, SM, stood at my feet, on my left, i.e. facing the couch. They walked around to my right and then up past my head. They pulled open some blinds and let in a lot of daylight.
Dream #2
I was in the office, which was different from waking life. The entire floor was only half-lit. There were two aisles of cubicles that went in long rows of six or seven cubicles. Beside that were probably more aisles of cubicles. At the end of the aisles was a little bit of empty floor space and then a brightly lit, tiny elevator bank. My cubicle was at the front right corner, facing the elevator bank.
I turned my computer on. Then I remembered I had an appointment with my psychiatrist A this morning. I told my boss BS, "I know it's spur of the moment notice, but can I leave?"
BS' face turned kind of weak and muttery. BS said, "Well, yeah, go..."
I said, "It's on the spur of the moment, I know. So said no if I can't go."
BS said, "No. I'd rather you didn't go. I'm gonna need you here today."
BS walked away as I said okay.
I spoke with a couple people and then went back to my desk. I had vines like grapevines growing over my desk. My computer was a laptop. It was only about halfway open. I saw Hotmail up on my screen. I couldn't figure why that would be there: employees weren't allowed to use personal email accounts, like Hotmail, in the office.
I tried to shut the Hotmail off. BS walked by and asked what was wrong. I said, "Somehow Hotmail came up on my screen."
Dream #3
I sat in a brightly lit basement. It was a radio station. I was going to be interviewed as a part of my job. At present some outside correspondent was doing something like a traffic report. In the station, we may have seen the man or the stuff he was talking about on a TV screen. The view was of a straight road in a green field on a grey day.
I thought, Am I going to be late doing this interview? It was as if, on some level of reality, I wasn't really in the studio yet.
Dream #4
I stood before the counter at an airport. The counter and room looked more like an old, cozy hotel. A tall, gaunt, white, bald man with a grey mustache and heavy eyebrows stood behind the counter. The man said, "I don't recognize you. Do you have ID?"
I showed the man my ID and said, "You can ask people if you like. I come here all the time. All I'm trying to do is see if I'm late for my flight. I was scheduled to leave at 12:20 PM. And now it's --" (I craned my neck forward to look around at the man's computer screen) "-- 1:02 PM?! Oh, no!"
I started crying. I said, "I missed my flight! Is there any way I can get a ticket for a different flight?"
Two or three people, maybe two guys and a girl, roughly twenty-five years old, walked around the old man cheerfully. They spoke happily about my problem and how it could probably be fixed. They walked away. The old man started wandering off.
I asked, "Aren't you going to see about getting me a new flight?"
The man said, "We have other things to do. We'll get to you." He left.
The young men and woman were now bringing out plates of food from a bar and grill that was off to my left. One of the plates was big chunks of meat covered in sauce that looked like ranch dressing.
Dream #5
Black and white, grainy view like old film footage. A narrator spoke about the first space flight, which had been made by the Russians.
I watched a "space shuttle" launch, then travel parallel with the ground, maybe only a couple hundred feet above the ground. The "shuttle" looked like a sci-fi spacecraft, or a child's drawing. It was like two cylinders in the back which ended in rockets and which joined in the front to one cylinder which pointed at the front.
The craft began lifting as it flew over the ocean. It lifted so slowly I at first thought that it was getting ready to lose control and crash. The view was momentarily from behind it as it rose above a patchy plane of clouds. I knew now that the craft wouldn't crash. But watching it rise (view from in front of the craft, looking back at it) so slowly, at such a gentle angle, I doubted the craft could ever actually leave the earth.
The craft slowly increased its angle and speed. I now wondered if the view was going to catch the craft traveling so quickly and steeply. I didn't think the view would actually be able to travel with the craft.
Dream #6
I was in a bedroom (?) with a few people of different ages (probably up to my age). Everybody was in a slighty frenzy, not angry, just unsettled. They were all talking about the new Harry Potter book. At the same time they were passing around the previous Harry Potter books. The covers of these books looked weird, like cheap second editions -- or rather like the old sensational film posters (i.e. L'enfant de Paris) that were (at the time I entered this dream in the paper journal) on display in the MoMA film center.
I got a good enough look at all the volumes, as they were rapidly passed from hand to hand, that when someone called out, "It's too bad we don't have all seven volumes right here," I could shout out, "But we do!"
Someone yelled at me, "No, we don't!"
I said, "Yes, we do! Look!" As I pointed to each book as it transferred from hand to hand, I counted out the volumes. "One, two, three, four, five, six. And there's seven!"
I now saw a copy of the book like a wide-opening coffee table book. The right half of the cover was the cover of the new Harry Potter book. As I "heard" some TV or magazine story about J.K. Rowling my view slowly moved to the left side of the cover.
I thought, I've heard a lot of people talk about how much of a bitch (???!!!) J.K. Rowling is. I wondreed what she looked like. On the left side of the cover was a photo of Rowling. She looked like an Italian mother from Brooklyn -- black hair, blue sweater, kind of no-nonsense expression. In the photo, "Rowling" was painting some huge, abstract mural, looking back and smiling at the camera.
Now there was a view of her (not on the book, but like in life) standing behind a glass-paned front door. The view was in front of the door, to catch the glass' reflection of a field of flowers, bands of color -- yellow, purple, and white, with a vague green band -- and a feeling of mountains and sky in the distance.
In this view "Rowling" looked a lot older. Her hair was cut short and was reddish-brown, very tough. "Rowling's" face was round; her nose, nubby; her eyes, pale blue. I think I felt a wish in her that she could become young again.
(7/25/07) control of the pole
(Entered in paper journal at 5:45 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I stood in a misty landscape, possibly moving as if on a train, in the dim evening. I heard a woman talk about how much it cost to live in this area. I saw a figure like $612,000 per year in my head. The woman spoke, probably about this figure, as if she had gotten a good deal. I thought, Why is it so expensive to live here?
I stood in a tall, wide building like an emptied warehouse with a handful of desks in it. There may have been no glass in the windows -- the building mostly open to the bright morning air. The walls gave off a bluish tint. They were like rough, unfinished concrete.
My co-worker MW sat at a teacher's desk at the "head" (more like the side) of the room, giving the Sales department a presentation on research his team had done on housing prices. The members of the Sales department sat in students' desks.
I had left my copy of MW's printed presentation over the blackboard, off to the right of the sales force. I reached up and grabbed it.
The presentation may have been over now. I walked up to a young man in the back row who may have been sleeping. (The seats were now arranged perpendicular to how they had been before, facing now to the left of the building instead of the right half of the back wall. The seats were also rows, long tables, instead of single desks.)
The young man, white or Hispanic, had a thug-like look to him. He wore a big, baggy, white jacket with blue designs on it. When he looked up at me from under the hood of his jacket it was like he was looking out from under a rock. I was afraid -- like I was afraid of telling the young man something he didn't like. But all I wanted to do was tell the young man that the presentation was over and that we were all leaving.
I was in a hallway of a smallish suburban house. I was walking into "my bedroom" (?), which was to my left. I had to grab some notebooks to get ready for a presentation. I was embarrassed by how shaken up I had let the young man's mean gaze get me. But I tried to convince myself that I wasn't shaken up at all.
When I grabbed some notebooks out of a wicker basket high up on a bookcase, two or three other notebooks started slipping down. I tried to hold them in place, but they became unmanageable and slid down to the ground. I knew that I couldn't control the notebooks because I had let myself become jittery and clumsy -- because the young man's mean gaze had shaken me up.
I got angry, indignant, and stomped out of the room. I walked along a flagstone path. The house I'd been in was now down a short but steep slope off to my right. To my left was a vista of desert mountains.
I stood huddled against a pole, or possibly a phone booth. I looked over my left shoulder, behind me. I thought, I'm so bored with my life, my job. I wish I could get out of here.
I looked out over the vista of desert mountains. One mountain I saw was, on the far right, mostly green with trees. In the center it had a vertical striation of basalt-like maroon stone and tan stone that spread out into wide stripes at the base. This section of the mountain had new cookie-cutter house on the slope and the base.
The far left section of mountain was like a mountain that had been covered in geometric, fluorescent plastic. In some patches it was green and in some patches it was orange. There were houses on the mountain here, too. The houses were also plasticky, like the mountains.
(At this point I got off the train and headed into work. I resumed the paper journal entry at 6:14 PM, after work, and after a visit to my psychiatrist A, I believe. I wrote at the Starbucks on 29th Street and Fifth Avenue in Manhattan.)
I had finished dealing with a group of bullies who were being verbally abusive. They had stopped I was now standing on a porch. Now one of the bullies came at me with physical threats. The bully was a scrappy, black boy with a black sweat-hoodie jacket, black t-shirt, black jeans, and a squarish, red baseball cap with the bill tilted rakishly to the right side of his head.
At first I thought I would avoid the boy by getting away from the porch while he calmed down. But as I left the porch the landscape became harder to traverse: it was slowly cluttered with broken pieces of scaffolding, metallic fragments like off of large pipe-seals or caps. I walked until i had to jump from stable piece to stable piece. I worked my way counter-clockwise around a huge boundary of standing blue scaffolding-wall.
At the same time I heard the boy's friends say, "If he doesn't face him," (i.e. if I didn't face the bully) "he" (the bully) "will just think he" (I) "is a chicken shit, and he'll keep attacking."
I got around the final bend of the scaffolding, knowing I'd have to face the bully. I was ready. He stood maybe twenty-five meters away, across a span of scrap wood and metal, like the debris of a house that had been hit by a storm.
The boy swung a long, red pole at me. The pole was like plastic-coated metal. The red "plastic" was ribbed, almost like the ribbing on the hose of a vacuum cleaner at a car wash. I grabbed the pole. The boy swung the pole with me at the end of it. He was trying to throw me off it so he could hit me with it.
But I was slowly gaining an understanding of how the boy was using the pole. I was about to turn the tables, to use my understanding to leverage the boy's actions against him.
The boy dropped his end of the pole, thinking I would fall with the pole, flat on the ground. But I was ready for this move. I landed on my feet, and I now had complete control of the pole. I was about to begin hitting the boy with the pole.
Dream #1
I stood in a misty landscape, possibly moving as if on a train, in the dim evening. I heard a woman talk about how much it cost to live in this area. I saw a figure like $612,000 per year in my head. The woman spoke, probably about this figure, as if she had gotten a good deal. I thought, Why is it so expensive to live here?
I stood in a tall, wide building like an emptied warehouse with a handful of desks in it. There may have been no glass in the windows -- the building mostly open to the bright morning air. The walls gave off a bluish tint. They were like rough, unfinished concrete.
My co-worker MW sat at a teacher's desk at the "head" (more like the side) of the room, giving the Sales department a presentation on research his team had done on housing prices. The members of the Sales department sat in students' desks.
I had left my copy of MW's printed presentation over the blackboard, off to the right of the sales force. I reached up and grabbed it.
The presentation may have been over now. I walked up to a young man in the back row who may have been sleeping. (The seats were now arranged perpendicular to how they had been before, facing now to the left of the building instead of the right half of the back wall. The seats were also rows, long tables, instead of single desks.)
The young man, white or Hispanic, had a thug-like look to him. He wore a big, baggy, white jacket with blue designs on it. When he looked up at me from under the hood of his jacket it was like he was looking out from under a rock. I was afraid -- like I was afraid of telling the young man something he didn't like. But all I wanted to do was tell the young man that the presentation was over and that we were all leaving.
I was in a hallway of a smallish suburban house. I was walking into "my bedroom" (?), which was to my left. I had to grab some notebooks to get ready for a presentation. I was embarrassed by how shaken up I had let the young man's mean gaze get me. But I tried to convince myself that I wasn't shaken up at all.
When I grabbed some notebooks out of a wicker basket high up on a bookcase, two or three other notebooks started slipping down. I tried to hold them in place, but they became unmanageable and slid down to the ground. I knew that I couldn't control the notebooks because I had let myself become jittery and clumsy -- because the young man's mean gaze had shaken me up.
I got angry, indignant, and stomped out of the room. I walked along a flagstone path. The house I'd been in was now down a short but steep slope off to my right. To my left was a vista of desert mountains.
I stood huddled against a pole, or possibly a phone booth. I looked over my left shoulder, behind me. I thought, I'm so bored with my life, my job. I wish I could get out of here.
I looked out over the vista of desert mountains. One mountain I saw was, on the far right, mostly green with trees. In the center it had a vertical striation of basalt-like maroon stone and tan stone that spread out into wide stripes at the base. This section of the mountain had new cookie-cutter house on the slope and the base.
The far left section of mountain was like a mountain that had been covered in geometric, fluorescent plastic. In some patches it was green and in some patches it was orange. There were houses on the mountain here, too. The houses were also plasticky, like the mountains.
(At this point I got off the train and headed into work. I resumed the paper journal entry at 6:14 PM, after work, and after a visit to my psychiatrist A, I believe. I wrote at the Starbucks on 29th Street and Fifth Avenue in Manhattan.)
I had finished dealing with a group of bullies who were being verbally abusive. They had stopped I was now standing on a porch. Now one of the bullies came at me with physical threats. The bully was a scrappy, black boy with a black sweat-hoodie jacket, black t-shirt, black jeans, and a squarish, red baseball cap with the bill tilted rakishly to the right side of his head.
At first I thought I would avoid the boy by getting away from the porch while he calmed down. But as I left the porch the landscape became harder to traverse: it was slowly cluttered with broken pieces of scaffolding, metallic fragments like off of large pipe-seals or caps. I walked until i had to jump from stable piece to stable piece. I worked my way counter-clockwise around a huge boundary of standing blue scaffolding-wall.
At the same time I heard the boy's friends say, "If he doesn't face him," (i.e. if I didn't face the bully) "he" (the bully) "will just think he" (I) "is a chicken shit, and he'll keep attacking."
I got around the final bend of the scaffolding, knowing I'd have to face the bully. I was ready. He stood maybe twenty-five meters away, across a span of scrap wood and metal, like the debris of a house that had been hit by a storm.
The boy swung a long, red pole at me. The pole was like plastic-coated metal. The red "plastic" was ribbed, almost like the ribbing on the hose of a vacuum cleaner at a car wash. I grabbed the pole. The boy swung the pole with me at the end of it. He was trying to throw me off it so he could hit me with it.
But I was slowly gaining an understanding of how the boy was using the pole. I was about to turn the tables, to use my understanding to leverage the boy's actions against him.
The boy dropped his end of the pole, thinking I would fall with the pole, flat on the ground. But I was ready for this move. I landed on my feet, and I now had complete control of the pole. I was about to begin hitting the boy with the pole.
(7/31/07) the time of scarcity following the war
(Entered in paper journal at 6:30 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I sat at a long, wood desk that reached halfway across the room. The room was like a classroom. The lights were off, and dim, mid-day, natural light came in through the windows. I was writing out or drawing a spreadsheet. I was trying to find people in a specific area, maybe Texas.
I may have stood up, turned around, and brought the spreadsheet in to my boss BS. I then walked into a place like a construction workshop. A lot of women were working in the shop. The shop was smallish and full of pipes and columns.
I had the memory of a conversation about making cars. The conversation may have been with an older man. The man may have said something like, "It's easy to make one half of the car and to make the other half and to put them together. But the whole car is only made by people who care."
As I remembered this, and felt like I agreed with it, most of the women funneled out of the workshop. I worried for a moment that I had offended the women with my thought; after all, I reflected, they were working to make cars.
One woman, an Asian woman, was still working. She stood as if on a stool or platform, to reach the top of a wooden table that was maybe six feet high, almost like the top bunk of a bunk bed.
Under the table was an arrangement of hoses and pipes. All the pipes were black and had a clean, plasticky, but lusterless, look about them. Some of the pipes, tubes, and hoses were even and straight; others coned outwards and then back inward for a portion; others had accordion-like portions.
The pipes were all of varying sizes. Some of the larger pipes, tubes, and hoses extended from under the table and out along the rest of the workshop. I walked to the left end of the workshop, looking down at the pipes.
The woman told me, "We aren't done yet. We still have to paint this set of pipes yellow." I saw that some of the pipes, pretty much one coherent line of interwound pipes, were now painted yellow. The woman continued, "We even have to paint the engine parts."
I didn't quite understand the woman's statement. I asked, "So suppose I wanted to paint blue the series of pipes that connect to the air conditioning system?" I imagined or saw a series of pipes now painted blue. The first pipe that came out from the under the table was shallowly "J" shaped and nestled in a metal vessel like a bedpan, which was also painted blue.
I continued, asking, "Would I also --"
The woman picked up on my statement and continued it, " -- the engine parts blue as well. But blue isn't a color we use for that part of the system." (She may actually have said, "Blue isn't a color we use very often.")
The woman stood on the ground, where I had been standing while looking at the yellow and blue pipes. I stood across the workshop from the woman, with my back to a long writing desk. To the woman's left was a black pipe that had been painted white. The woman was speaking about painting this system of pipes white.
I heard a man talking. My view changed into reading. I read as I heard the man speak. The man spoke about how he would have done things differently in his youth if he could have. He said he would have run, played football, and skied.
At first I thought the man was speaking about all these activities in a demeaning way, as if he were doing them now and they made him an animal. But now I understood that these were activities of the leisure class, the highest class.
The man said, "I would have gone for any of the very few positions that everybody was scrambling for at the time of scarcity following the war."
Dream #1
I sat at a long, wood desk that reached halfway across the room. The room was like a classroom. The lights were off, and dim, mid-day, natural light came in through the windows. I was writing out or drawing a spreadsheet. I was trying to find people in a specific area, maybe Texas.
I may have stood up, turned around, and brought the spreadsheet in to my boss BS. I then walked into a place like a construction workshop. A lot of women were working in the shop. The shop was smallish and full of pipes and columns.
I had the memory of a conversation about making cars. The conversation may have been with an older man. The man may have said something like, "It's easy to make one half of the car and to make the other half and to put them together. But the whole car is only made by people who care."
As I remembered this, and felt like I agreed with it, most of the women funneled out of the workshop. I worried for a moment that I had offended the women with my thought; after all, I reflected, they were working to make cars.
One woman, an Asian woman, was still working. She stood as if on a stool or platform, to reach the top of a wooden table that was maybe six feet high, almost like the top bunk of a bunk bed.
Under the table was an arrangement of hoses and pipes. All the pipes were black and had a clean, plasticky, but lusterless, look about them. Some of the pipes, tubes, and hoses were even and straight; others coned outwards and then back inward for a portion; others had accordion-like portions.
The pipes were all of varying sizes. Some of the larger pipes, tubes, and hoses extended from under the table and out along the rest of the workshop. I walked to the left end of the workshop, looking down at the pipes.
The woman told me, "We aren't done yet. We still have to paint this set of pipes yellow." I saw that some of the pipes, pretty much one coherent line of interwound pipes, were now painted yellow. The woman continued, "We even have to paint the engine parts."
I didn't quite understand the woman's statement. I asked, "So suppose I wanted to paint blue the series of pipes that connect to the air conditioning system?" I imagined or saw a series of pipes now painted blue. The first pipe that came out from the under the table was shallowly "J" shaped and nestled in a metal vessel like a bedpan, which was also painted blue.
I continued, asking, "Would I also --"
The woman picked up on my statement and continued it, " -- the engine parts blue as well. But blue isn't a color we use for that part of the system." (She may actually have said, "Blue isn't a color we use very often.")
The woman stood on the ground, where I had been standing while looking at the yellow and blue pipes. I stood across the workshop from the woman, with my back to a long writing desk. To the woman's left was a black pipe that had been painted white. The woman was speaking about painting this system of pipes white.
I heard a man talking. My view changed into reading. I read as I heard the man speak. The man spoke about how he would have done things differently in his youth if he could have. He said he would have run, played football, and skied.
At first I thought the man was speaking about all these activities in a demeaning way, as if he were doing them now and they made him an animal. But now I understood that these were activities of the leisure class, the highest class.
The man said, "I would have gone for any of the very few positions that everybody was scrambling for at the time of scarcity following the war."
Sunday, February 24, 2013
(8/1/07) poison-fangs and needles
(Entered in paper journal at 6:30 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I floated through a house that looked like the house my family lived in during my last years of high school. There was clutter everywhere, whole mountains of chairs, boxes, and other stuff, making the moving space very crowded.
I saw a spider walk across the floor. At first I thought the spider was a scorpion. But I looked closer. The insect looked like a white crab with a flat shell about six inches in diameter and with two cylinders sticking off the top. The cylinders would lift up, rotate, and drop down. Something inside them could clatter-shunk down, like the sound from an aerosol-spray can, except heavier. These cylinders were fangs. I floated farther and now saw a tiny scorpion run across the floor.
I had floated almost to the back end of the room. I now floated toward the front, toward the door. I was trying to get out of this place as soon as possible. I felt a poisonous insect floating near me. I thought that all the clutter was so close that even if there weren't any floating insects, one of the walking insects could easily jump off the clutter and onto me. I was also afraid that my feet floated low enough off the ground that a crawling insect might be able to jump up and poison me.
I saw a man and woman before a pink screen. It was like the man and woman were on TV. The woman stood on the left side; the man, on the right. The woman had black hair done up in a bob. The woman was overweight. She had a homey (not homely) look about her. The man was tallish, skinnyish, maybe in his fifties. His long, scraggly hair was pulled back. He was deeply tanned and wore a sleeveless, grey shirt.
The woman said, "Being in Atlanta, I never thought I could find someone to do heroin with me. But then I found him. He not only does it; he shoots it into his neck. And he shoots it into himself. I never thought I would find anybody like that!"
The man now brought up a syringe, the cylinder of which was maybe six inches long, with a needle just as long. The plunger of the syringe pressed downward into the cylinder. I watched the man stick himself with the needle and then inject himself with the substance in the syringe.
I was afraid to watch. I couldn't bear to think how it would feel for me. I also didn't watch as the drugs took effect and the man's mind became deranged.
Dream #1
I floated through a house that looked like the house my family lived in during my last years of high school. There was clutter everywhere, whole mountains of chairs, boxes, and other stuff, making the moving space very crowded.
I saw a spider walk across the floor. At first I thought the spider was a scorpion. But I looked closer. The insect looked like a white crab with a flat shell about six inches in diameter and with two cylinders sticking off the top. The cylinders would lift up, rotate, and drop down. Something inside them could clatter-shunk down, like the sound from an aerosol-spray can, except heavier. These cylinders were fangs. I floated farther and now saw a tiny scorpion run across the floor.
I had floated almost to the back end of the room. I now floated toward the front, toward the door. I was trying to get out of this place as soon as possible. I felt a poisonous insect floating near me. I thought that all the clutter was so close that even if there weren't any floating insects, one of the walking insects could easily jump off the clutter and onto me. I was also afraid that my feet floated low enough off the ground that a crawling insect might be able to jump up and poison me.
I saw a man and woman before a pink screen. It was like the man and woman were on TV. The woman stood on the left side; the man, on the right. The woman had black hair done up in a bob. The woman was overweight. She had a homey (not homely) look about her. The man was tallish, skinnyish, maybe in his fifties. His long, scraggly hair was pulled back. He was deeply tanned and wore a sleeveless, grey shirt.
The woman said, "Being in Atlanta, I never thought I could find someone to do heroin with me. But then I found him. He not only does it; he shoots it into his neck. And he shoots it into himself. I never thought I would find anybody like that!"
The man now brought up a syringe, the cylinder of which was maybe six inches long, with a needle just as long. The plunger of the syringe pressed downward into the cylinder. I watched the man stick himself with the needle and then inject himself with the substance in the syringe.
I was afraid to watch. I couldn't bear to think how it would feel for me. I also didn't watch as the drugs took effect and the man's mind became deranged.
(8/2/07) i then became an even prettier woman
(Entered in paper journal at 7:30 PM at home.)
Dream #1
I looked into a mirror that may have been slightly misted over. I was reflected as a woman. I was blonde and tan with a slightly round face. I smiled at myself and lifted my eyebrows in mock surprise. I then became an even prettier woman.
Dream #1
I looked into a mirror that may have been slightly misted over. I was reflected as a woman. I was blonde and tan with a slightly round face. I smiled at myself and lifted my eyebrows in mock surprise. I then became an even prettier woman.
(8/3/07) what makes people want this job; catching boxes from the sky; hook, line, and walking papers
(Entered in paper journal at 6 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I sat at a desk on an office floor that looked like a living room. The "office" was dim. In an office room, my co-worker DE was on the phone. There may have been a small, fluorescent light on in DE's office.
DE was praising a few people for always staying late. I felt ashamed for not always staying late.
One of the people DE praised was a tall, fat woman with pale blonde hair. Her name may have been Diana. She sat in the office next to DE and was an Administrative Assistant. DE listed a number of things she did, the last of which was, as DE said, to, "Yell a professors I wish I could yell at."
DE said, "In short, she does everything that makes people want to do this job in the first place."
Dream #2
It was a sunny day. I stood out with a group of people at the top of a wide, lawny hill. There were some office-type objects on the lawn. The group had been performing a task, which I may have had a hand in devising. Now we ran to a different part of the hilltop to perform a different task. I may have been angry that we dropped my project, but I tried not to show my anger.
The leader of the group said, "If everybody doesn't like doing this one task, each person can choose his own task." Some of us went back to our original task, which had something to do with catching boxes from the sky. Others did other things.
I was afraid to go back to my original task: I didn't want my boss to think I was a spoiled sport. But then I felt like she was okay with me doing whatever I genuinely wanted to do, so I stood at "my position" to catch boxes from the sky.
But a woman called out to me, "Watch out if you're standing here that you don't let the boxes fall on me." I looked down to the ground. A blonde woman in cream-colored exercise pants and a backless, black leotard was in a stretching position in which her legs stretched out on either side of her at right angles. The woman had her back straight, parallel to the ground, and her face almost flat against the ground. Even though I couldn't see the woman's face, I could tell it was really pretty.
I was about to step away, but I think the woman said, "You don't have to move; just watch out for me."
I suddenly realized I was really turned on by the woman's healthy, sexy body and her stretching position.
Dream #3
I was in a dim bar, getting drunk with my co-worker CJ and some other people. CJ and I had gotten so drunk that we were now wandering the streets.
CJ had a rusty hanger, probably bent out of shape, into something more like a prong, with a sharp end. CJ would put one end of the hanger in his mouth and then swing the rest of the hanger around by wiggling his head. Then he would take the hanger out of his mouth and throw it down the street. I was worried, each time CJ threw the hanger, that the hanger would hit somebody.
The street was lovely, clean, clean-bricked, and softly lit, all under a dark black sky. We walked some more, then found ourselves in a circle in some suburban-looking area. The circle felt like a street for cars, but it was probably paved with tan-colored cobblestones that seemed to me to be more fit for a walking path.
It was now broad daylight. CJ had a straight, metal rod, rusty and thin, like the hanger had been. CJ was still sticking this rod in his mouth and throwing it around. He laughed, like this was a really liberating activity. I still kept worrying that the projectile would stab somebody.
Now CJ wanted me to throw the rod. I decided that this was the wrong place to be.
I saw a crystal-white, almost fairy-like airplane high in the air. It was diving almost straight downward. It had crystalline contrails streaming back behind it. I thought the craft would crash.
I backed away from CJ. I stood in front of a small shop. I looked into the window. The shop looked like a barber shop. It looked very nice, like very rich people were inside, relaxing before a weekend morning haircut. I didn't want the people inside to think I was some bum, so I walked away from the window. I caught a glimpse, looking down to my right, of a quaint, tree-lined street.
I walked back to the circle. I heard CJ had been fired. I may have been in a dim room and standing behind a nice couch.
Dream #1
I sat at a desk on an office floor that looked like a living room. The "office" was dim. In an office room, my co-worker DE was on the phone. There may have been a small, fluorescent light on in DE's office.
DE was praising a few people for always staying late. I felt ashamed for not always staying late.
One of the people DE praised was a tall, fat woman with pale blonde hair. Her name may have been Diana. She sat in the office next to DE and was an Administrative Assistant. DE listed a number of things she did, the last of which was, as DE said, to, "Yell a professors I wish I could yell at."
DE said, "In short, she does everything that makes people want to do this job in the first place."
Dream #2
It was a sunny day. I stood out with a group of people at the top of a wide, lawny hill. There were some office-type objects on the lawn. The group had been performing a task, which I may have had a hand in devising. Now we ran to a different part of the hilltop to perform a different task. I may have been angry that we dropped my project, but I tried not to show my anger.
The leader of the group said, "If everybody doesn't like doing this one task, each person can choose his own task." Some of us went back to our original task, which had something to do with catching boxes from the sky. Others did other things.
I was afraid to go back to my original task: I didn't want my boss to think I was a spoiled sport. But then I felt like she was okay with me doing whatever I genuinely wanted to do, so I stood at "my position" to catch boxes from the sky.
But a woman called out to me, "Watch out if you're standing here that you don't let the boxes fall on me." I looked down to the ground. A blonde woman in cream-colored exercise pants and a backless, black leotard was in a stretching position in which her legs stretched out on either side of her at right angles. The woman had her back straight, parallel to the ground, and her face almost flat against the ground. Even though I couldn't see the woman's face, I could tell it was really pretty.
I was about to step away, but I think the woman said, "You don't have to move; just watch out for me."
I suddenly realized I was really turned on by the woman's healthy, sexy body and her stretching position.
Dream #3
I was in a dim bar, getting drunk with my co-worker CJ and some other people. CJ and I had gotten so drunk that we were now wandering the streets.
CJ had a rusty hanger, probably bent out of shape, into something more like a prong, with a sharp end. CJ would put one end of the hanger in his mouth and then swing the rest of the hanger around by wiggling his head. Then he would take the hanger out of his mouth and throw it down the street. I was worried, each time CJ threw the hanger, that the hanger would hit somebody.
The street was lovely, clean, clean-bricked, and softly lit, all under a dark black sky. We walked some more, then found ourselves in a circle in some suburban-looking area. The circle felt like a street for cars, but it was probably paved with tan-colored cobblestones that seemed to me to be more fit for a walking path.
It was now broad daylight. CJ had a straight, metal rod, rusty and thin, like the hanger had been. CJ was still sticking this rod in his mouth and throwing it around. He laughed, like this was a really liberating activity. I still kept worrying that the projectile would stab somebody.
Now CJ wanted me to throw the rod. I decided that this was the wrong place to be.
I saw a crystal-white, almost fairy-like airplane high in the air. It was diving almost straight downward. It had crystalline contrails streaming back behind it. I thought the craft would crash.
I backed away from CJ. I stood in front of a small shop. I looked into the window. The shop looked like a barber shop. It looked very nice, like very rich people were inside, relaxing before a weekend morning haircut. I didn't want the people inside to think I was some bum, so I walked away from the window. I caught a glimpse, looking down to my right, of a quaint, tree-lined street.
I walked back to the circle. I heard CJ had been fired. I may have been in a dim room and standing behind a nice couch.
(8/4/07) supermarket closet; give your friends a break
(Entered in paper journal at 4:50 PM at Barnes and Noble bookstore at Union Square in Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I was in a bedroom with my boss BS. BS asked me to look through some old issues of the trade rag Supermarket News for a piece of data. The issues were in a closet. BS stood inside the closet. I stood outside the closet. The room was dimly lit with greenish, natural light. The closet had an incandescent bulb deep inside it. It was like there were two roughly two-foot-deep sections of the closet partly divided from one another by little section-walls.
There was a huge pile of junk in the closets. The magazines, the old issues of Supermarket News, were scattered and piled throughout the junk. BS wanted me to help him get them. I was afraid, though, that if I did, we would run across some pornographic magazines I had in there.
I also saw a strange and lurid magazine or picture book about black men who beat up white men. I hoped that BS wouldn't find this publication and think it turned me on in the same way that porno mags did -- I was pretty sure it didn't.
I tried to dissuade BS from looking into the pile. But BS wouldn't stop. So eventually I went in and started helping him.
Dream #2
I was in the office of my co-workers DE and EB. (In waking life, DE and EB, the replacement for our old Associate Analyst ES, shared the same office. I sat just outside their office in a cubicle as, at that time, most of the Assistants and first-year Analysts did.)
I was angry at DE for something. He was fighting against me a little, but I was definitely bearing down on him. I finally tore a book out of DE's hand. I accused DE of having done something against me. EB just sat in her seat, watching.
DE choked up a little bit and grew pale. He then burst out crying. I realized I had been too severe, especially with all that was going on with DE's family at that time. (In waking life, from 2007 through 2009 -- though I was hardly sensitive to the issue -- narcissist that I am -- DE's mother and father both experienced some very serious health issues.)
I grabbed DE's left hand and held it with both my hands. EB rushed over and stood by us. DE became less pale. DE was yelling at me, asking me why I couldn't ever just give him a break.
Dream #1
I was in a bedroom with my boss BS. BS asked me to look through some old issues of the trade rag Supermarket News for a piece of data. The issues were in a closet. BS stood inside the closet. I stood outside the closet. The room was dimly lit with greenish, natural light. The closet had an incandescent bulb deep inside it. It was like there were two roughly two-foot-deep sections of the closet partly divided from one another by little section-walls.
There was a huge pile of junk in the closets. The magazines, the old issues of Supermarket News, were scattered and piled throughout the junk. BS wanted me to help him get them. I was afraid, though, that if I did, we would run across some pornographic magazines I had in there.
I also saw a strange and lurid magazine or picture book about black men who beat up white men. I hoped that BS wouldn't find this publication and think it turned me on in the same way that porno mags did -- I was pretty sure it didn't.
I tried to dissuade BS from looking into the pile. But BS wouldn't stop. So eventually I went in and started helping him.
Dream #2
I was in the office of my co-workers DE and EB. (In waking life, DE and EB, the replacement for our old Associate Analyst ES, shared the same office. I sat just outside their office in a cubicle as, at that time, most of the Assistants and first-year Analysts did.)
I was angry at DE for something. He was fighting against me a little, but I was definitely bearing down on him. I finally tore a book out of DE's hand. I accused DE of having done something against me. EB just sat in her seat, watching.
DE choked up a little bit and grew pale. He then burst out crying. I realized I had been too severe, especially with all that was going on with DE's family at that time. (In waking life, from 2007 through 2009 -- though I was hardly sensitive to the issue -- narcissist that I am -- DE's mother and father both experienced some very serious health issues.)
I grabbed DE's left hand and held it with both my hands. EB rushed over and stood by us. DE became less pale. DE was yelling at me, asking me why I couldn't ever just give him a break.
(8/5/07) my new leotard; the owl man
(Entered in paper journal at 8:20 AM at Ozzie's cafe -- not sure which -- in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I went into a women's clothing shop. It was dim inside. A Hispanic man and woman worked there. The man may have helped me pick some lingerie.
I sat in a room of a (the previous?) women's clothing shop, on a couch in the center of the room, like a couch in the center of the room of an art museum. I looked into another room. The other room was dark and closed off by a locked glass door.
I remembered one of my female friends telling me how the shop was so exclusive that it stays closed except for when people come to buy stuff. Then it opens almost automatically. I thought the clothes must be very expensive.
I headed back into the (first?) women's clothing store. The clothes I had gotten before didn't work for me at all.
This time the woman helped me find some lingerie. She got me a couple nice things. Then she picked out something like a pink leotard with tiny sleeves, like the outfit a dancer might wear, with tights over her legs, for practice. It was just what I wanted.
I sat on the train. A white man and woman sat across from me. The man was saying, angrily, but not out of control, "I've got enough to do dealing with her!"
Apparently the man thought that since I had bought women's clothing I was trying to hit on him (not sure how that connection was made, either by him or me...). The man brought up the woman next to him, apparently his girlfriend, as proof that he had his hands full with his girlfriend and that he liked women, not men, anyway.
Dream #2
I was on a street corner at night. The blocks around me were all massy, roughly fifteen-floor apartment buildings of brick and stone, like buildings on Park Avenue. The sky was grey and stringy and murky, maybe hung with a yellow moon.
Caddy-corner from me (?) I saw what I thought to be a large bird perched atop the walk signal. I thought it was an owl. I walked across the street to approach it. The walk signal had transformed into a ten-foot-tall, black metal box.
The bird wasn't a bird after all, but a man dressed in white, robe-like clothing, with long, silvery-grey hair and a long, silver-grey beard. He crouched away from me, his legs bent so his knees were to his chest, as if he were imitating a bird.
I tried to get a view of the man's whole face, but I was afraid that the man was crazy, and that if I looked directly at the man's face the man would become afraid or angry and run away or attack.
Somewhere nearby I ran into my friend R. This place was far away from R's home. R was out walking his dog. I asked R, "What are you doing all the way out here?" I thought R was stalking me.
R said, "I had to come all the way out here. I had to take my dog to the vet."
We were now standing in the vet's office. I knelt down beside R's dog, who stood to my right side and faced R as he stood at the reception desk. I asked, "Is your dog having another one of her..." (I knew it was a skin problem, but I wanted to be delicate about the issue) "... things?"
R got angry, thinking I had forgotten about his dog's illnesses. R said, "Skin issues. She's having more of her skin issues."
I petted the dog and noticed that a lot of her coat was very thin. It was also brown and white in these patches, instead of black, her normal color.
Dream #1
I went into a women's clothing shop. It was dim inside. A Hispanic man and woman worked there. The man may have helped me pick some lingerie.
I sat in a room of a (the previous?) women's clothing shop, on a couch in the center of the room, like a couch in the center of the room of an art museum. I looked into another room. The other room was dark and closed off by a locked glass door.
I remembered one of my female friends telling me how the shop was so exclusive that it stays closed except for when people come to buy stuff. Then it opens almost automatically. I thought the clothes must be very expensive.
I headed back into the (first?) women's clothing store. The clothes I had gotten before didn't work for me at all.
This time the woman helped me find some lingerie. She got me a couple nice things. Then she picked out something like a pink leotard with tiny sleeves, like the outfit a dancer might wear, with tights over her legs, for practice. It was just what I wanted.
I sat on the train. A white man and woman sat across from me. The man was saying, angrily, but not out of control, "I've got enough to do dealing with her!"
Apparently the man thought that since I had bought women's clothing I was trying to hit on him (not sure how that connection was made, either by him or me...). The man brought up the woman next to him, apparently his girlfriend, as proof that he had his hands full with his girlfriend and that he liked women, not men, anyway.
Dream #2
I was on a street corner at night. The blocks around me were all massy, roughly fifteen-floor apartment buildings of brick and stone, like buildings on Park Avenue. The sky was grey and stringy and murky, maybe hung with a yellow moon.
Caddy-corner from me (?) I saw what I thought to be a large bird perched atop the walk signal. I thought it was an owl. I walked across the street to approach it. The walk signal had transformed into a ten-foot-tall, black metal box.
The bird wasn't a bird after all, but a man dressed in white, robe-like clothing, with long, silvery-grey hair and a long, silver-grey beard. He crouched away from me, his legs bent so his knees were to his chest, as if he were imitating a bird.
I tried to get a view of the man's whole face, but I was afraid that the man was crazy, and that if I looked directly at the man's face the man would become afraid or angry and run away or attack.
Somewhere nearby I ran into my friend R. This place was far away from R's home. R was out walking his dog. I asked R, "What are you doing all the way out here?" I thought R was stalking me.
R said, "I had to come all the way out here. I had to take my dog to the vet."
We were now standing in the vet's office. I knelt down beside R's dog, who stood to my right side and faced R as he stood at the reception desk. I asked, "Is your dog having another one of her..." (I knew it was a skin problem, but I wanted to be delicate about the issue) "... things?"
R got angry, thinking I had forgotten about his dog's illnesses. R said, "Skin issues. She's having more of her skin issues."
I petted the dog and noticed that a lot of her coat was very thin. It was also brown and white in these patches, instead of black, her normal color.
(8/7/07) hot dog stand and coffee pot; my sister's birthday
(Entered in paper journal at 5:30 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I walked under a wooden door-frame and into a plaza or hallway full of nice-looking, but cheap, mall-like storefronts, mostly for restaurants. Most of the places were closed. I knew from this that this area wasn't getting as much business as had been expected for it when it had first been developed.
One place was open. I went inside. It was like an old hot dog stand at Coney Island: all the surfaces of stainless steel, etc. A father and his twelve-year-old son worked there. The father stood behind the counter and the son beside the front door. (To get into the place I probably had, once again, to crouch under a half-door-frame in a "wood" wall like the wood-pattern siding on the outside of a double-wide trailer.)
I was offered breakfast -- some candies like peanut butter cups. I took them, figuring I wouldn't know where else to get food.
I stood outside at night. I was in a suburban neighborhood. The land, even the pavement, was rolling with roughly four-foot-tall mounds like a carpet with stuff hucked underneath it. I stood by a sleek, black SUV. I stood with some other people, my mom probably among them.
I had a cream-white (ceramic?) coffee pot with a polished silver top. Inside the pot was something like liquid nitrogen. I had to pour the substance on or in some pipe in the SUV's engine to get the engine running.
But I had just run out of the substance. Someone, possibly my mom, took the coffee pot to go fill it again. I stood with the other people by the SUV. I told them that somehow it seemed like we shouldn't need that second pot after all.
Dream #2
I stood with my mom before an electronic piece of machinery. I had to twist some knobs or gears to manipulate the quality of metals. There may have been construction workers nearby, watching us. I think I had done something wrong, and that people were now laughing at me.
I was riding in an SUV with my mom and my sister. We drove on a bridge like the Manhattan Bridge. The sides of the bridge were mostly covered by orange, mesh material, making the bridge feel like an interior. I may have been sitting in the front passenger's seat. I didn't see as myself. I saw as my sister and sometimes as my mother. Either I or my sister sat in the backseat on the passenger's side.
My mom told my sister why this day (my sister's birthday?) was so good. My mom gave a lot of flattering reasons. I, as my sister, giggled shyly while looking at the dashboard. My mom (I seeing as her) said, "But I love this day most of all because I knew" (I seeing as my sister again) "that Preemie was not in New York City during the World Trade Center attack."
I stood out on the bridge. My mom and sister were in the SUV, which was stopped and facing me.
I stood on the right side of the road, before some electronic equipment like an old record player. One knob in particular, which looked like a coppery version of the base of a record needle's arm, was my focus. I had to thumb down a tiny switch inside to make a change to copper. I thumbed the switch down. I heard a sound somewhere like distorted church bells.
Dream #1
I walked under a wooden door-frame and into a plaza or hallway full of nice-looking, but cheap, mall-like storefronts, mostly for restaurants. Most of the places were closed. I knew from this that this area wasn't getting as much business as had been expected for it when it had first been developed.
One place was open. I went inside. It was like an old hot dog stand at Coney Island: all the surfaces of stainless steel, etc. A father and his twelve-year-old son worked there. The father stood behind the counter and the son beside the front door. (To get into the place I probably had, once again, to crouch under a half-door-frame in a "wood" wall like the wood-pattern siding on the outside of a double-wide trailer.)
I was offered breakfast -- some candies like peanut butter cups. I took them, figuring I wouldn't know where else to get food.
I stood outside at night. I was in a suburban neighborhood. The land, even the pavement, was rolling with roughly four-foot-tall mounds like a carpet with stuff hucked underneath it. I stood by a sleek, black SUV. I stood with some other people, my mom probably among them.
I had a cream-white (ceramic?) coffee pot with a polished silver top. Inside the pot was something like liquid nitrogen. I had to pour the substance on or in some pipe in the SUV's engine to get the engine running.
But I had just run out of the substance. Someone, possibly my mom, took the coffee pot to go fill it again. I stood with the other people by the SUV. I told them that somehow it seemed like we shouldn't need that second pot after all.
Dream #2
I stood with my mom before an electronic piece of machinery. I had to twist some knobs or gears to manipulate the quality of metals. There may have been construction workers nearby, watching us. I think I had done something wrong, and that people were now laughing at me.
I was riding in an SUV with my mom and my sister. We drove on a bridge like the Manhattan Bridge. The sides of the bridge were mostly covered by orange, mesh material, making the bridge feel like an interior. I may have been sitting in the front passenger's seat. I didn't see as myself. I saw as my sister and sometimes as my mother. Either I or my sister sat in the backseat on the passenger's side.
My mom told my sister why this day (my sister's birthday?) was so good. My mom gave a lot of flattering reasons. I, as my sister, giggled shyly while looking at the dashboard. My mom (I seeing as her) said, "But I love this day most of all because I knew" (I seeing as my sister again) "that Preemie was not in New York City during the World Trade Center attack."
I stood out on the bridge. My mom and sister were in the SUV, which was stopped and facing me.
I stood on the right side of the road, before some electronic equipment like an old record player. One knob in particular, which looked like a coppery version of the base of a record needle's arm, was my focus. I had to thumb down a tiny switch inside to make a change to copper. I thumbed the switch down. I heard a sound somewhere like distorted church bells.
(8/8/07) disappointing goodbye card; disappointing special occasion
Dream #1
I sat on a couch. A woman sat to my left. She was tall, blonde, pretty. I was saying goodbye to her. I brought her a goodbye card, which was actually just a piece of yellow notebook paper I had torn off a larger piece. I had stuck it inside a book I was reading. I now gave the woman the goodbye card. I could tell the woman was disappointed.
Dream #2
I was with a group of people. We went up a flight of steps on the left side of a tall room with big windows that let in yellowy sunlight. The walls were white. The steps were white tile.
All the people with me were my superiors. I had arranged a lunch for a group of children. The superiors were going to inspect how well I'd arranged things.
The upper floor was like a mezzanine overlooking the first floor. I had set up three folding tables along the railing of the mezzanine. The near two tables had scraps of paper on the table before each chair. This was intended as some sort of decoration.
I was ashamed of myself for having thought that simple scraps of paper -- apparently just torn right out of a notebook! -- would be sufficient decoration for such a special occasion. But, still, I asked my superiors if this was a good enough decoration. The superiors didn't answer.
I walked to the far table. The two tables that had been nearer me had been covered by cheap tablecloths, one of which was darkish purple. But, as if that hadn't been thoughtless enough, the third table was only covered with a long sheet of white paper. And the sheet of paper was all old and wrinkled. It looked dotted, as if from spatters of grease from a frying pan.
I was again ashamed that I could use such shoddy materials for such a special occasion.
I sat on a couch. A woman sat to my left. She was tall, blonde, pretty. I was saying goodbye to her. I brought her a goodbye card, which was actually just a piece of yellow notebook paper I had torn off a larger piece. I had stuck it inside a book I was reading. I now gave the woman the goodbye card. I could tell the woman was disappointed.
Dream #2
I was with a group of people. We went up a flight of steps on the left side of a tall room with big windows that let in yellowy sunlight. The walls were white. The steps were white tile.
All the people with me were my superiors. I had arranged a lunch for a group of children. The superiors were going to inspect how well I'd arranged things.
The upper floor was like a mezzanine overlooking the first floor. I had set up three folding tables along the railing of the mezzanine. The near two tables had scraps of paper on the table before each chair. This was intended as some sort of decoration.
I was ashamed of myself for having thought that simple scraps of paper -- apparently just torn right out of a notebook! -- would be sufficient decoration for such a special occasion. But, still, I asked my superiors if this was a good enough decoration. The superiors didn't answer.
I walked to the far table. The two tables that had been nearer me had been covered by cheap tablecloths, one of which was darkish purple. But, as if that hadn't been thoughtless enough, the third table was only covered with a long sheet of white paper. And the sheet of paper was all old and wrinkled. It looked dotted, as if from spatters of grease from a frying pan.
I was again ashamed that I could use such shoddy materials for such a special occasion.
(8/10/07) narcissistic toilet
(Entered in paper journal at 5:45 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I was in a building like a hotel. My mom, who may have worked at the same place as I, had called me back to work when she saw that I had filled out some internet form incorrectly. I could "see" my mom up in some top level, a smallish area like an apartment, with thin, plywood walls, like in a double-wide trailer. My mom sat on a high stool and typed on a computer that stood on a narrow table.
I went up floors through different levels of the hotel: a nice mezzanine, some kind of fire escape area, and finally a lovely series of floors like dormitory or apartment halls.
I found a bathroom on one floor. I went in. I needed to defecate. There were three toilets. I felt like since there were three toilets, and all three were currently unoccupied, at least one must have been left "sabotaged" by someone.
So I checked the toilets. The one farthest from me was a wide stall, like the handicap-equipped stalls. I didn't want to go in there. The second one looked fine at first glance. But when I walked in I saw that it was a stall within a stall, i.e. you needed to open two doors to get to the toilet. Something about this seemed discomforting, so I walked out of the stall. The third stall was almost regular. I sat down on the toilet.
I began defecating. I looked down into the bowl of the toilet. My feces was orange-brown. And it just kept coming and coming out of me. I thought, This much shit, of this strange color, can't be good.
I saw, in the reflection of the water, the feces coming out of my anus. I thought, So this is what my anus looks like. I felt I shouldn't look at the reflection too long: I might get depressed by the carnal aspect of my existence, or else become morbidly drawn in to, mesmerized by, the "dirty parts" of my own body.
I looked away, but somehow I could still see the reflection, not as if in my mind's eye, but as if, though I was looking upward, forward, another part of me, physically, were still looking downward.
Dream #1
I was in a building like a hotel. My mom, who may have worked at the same place as I, had called me back to work when she saw that I had filled out some internet form incorrectly. I could "see" my mom up in some top level, a smallish area like an apartment, with thin, plywood walls, like in a double-wide trailer. My mom sat on a high stool and typed on a computer that stood on a narrow table.
I went up floors through different levels of the hotel: a nice mezzanine, some kind of fire escape area, and finally a lovely series of floors like dormitory or apartment halls.
I found a bathroom on one floor. I went in. I needed to defecate. There were three toilets. I felt like since there were three toilets, and all three were currently unoccupied, at least one must have been left "sabotaged" by someone.
So I checked the toilets. The one farthest from me was a wide stall, like the handicap-equipped stalls. I didn't want to go in there. The second one looked fine at first glance. But when I walked in I saw that it was a stall within a stall, i.e. you needed to open two doors to get to the toilet. Something about this seemed discomforting, so I walked out of the stall. The third stall was almost regular. I sat down on the toilet.
I began defecating. I looked down into the bowl of the toilet. My feces was orange-brown. And it just kept coming and coming out of me. I thought, This much shit, of this strange color, can't be good.
I saw, in the reflection of the water, the feces coming out of my anus. I thought, So this is what my anus looks like. I felt I shouldn't look at the reflection too long: I might get depressed by the carnal aspect of my existence, or else become morbidly drawn in to, mesmerized by, the "dirty parts" of my own body.
I looked away, but somehow I could still see the reflection, not as if in my mind's eye, but as if, though I was looking upward, forward, another part of me, physically, were still looking downward.
(8/11/07) shopping mall ballroom; pink panty panic; pinto bean stew; having friends over
(Entered in paper journal at 7:45 AM at Ozzie's Cafe on Seventh Avenue and Lincoln Place.)
Dream #1
I walked down a "main street" like block of shops. A woman was moving things out of a moving truck. I felt like I knew the woman, but I wasn't sure, so I didn't say anything. I helped the woman move a table into a house. Now there were a bunch of women helping us. I still felt really bad for not telling the woman I thought I knew her.
In the room there was a square column, maybe six feet tall, with a TV set into a hole in its top. Previews for movies were playing.
One preview was for an old-looking movie. In one scene of this old-looking movie a square-faced, aging woman was on the phone. She was covered with something like tar, as if she had been in an explosion. She said something like "I would do anything for you, even die in an explosion." The scene cut to the woman the first woman was talking with on the phone. This woman had black hair and was, like the first woman, square-faced and aging.
Another preview started with a city skyline at night. I myself was now on a building-top, looking down at the skyline. I sat on the ledge of the building. I decided to climb down the building. I did so by scaling down the curtains, which were outside the windows.
I got down to a certain level, maybe the first floor. In the window I could see a ballroom. A woman stood before a table of drinks. She looked like a 1980s-style politician. She wore a red suit-dress and had a wide, hairsprayed hairstyle.
I was now inside the ballroom. Suddenly I felt so free that I flew all over the room, up to the high ceiling and back down. The ceiling had an oval design like framing for a fresco or mural. The light in the ballroom was golden and warm. The room was pretty empty overall, with only a few people inside.
I flew into a hallway like a shopping mall corridor. I was thinking about buildings as I flew. I wondered which building I had scaled down. I couldn't remember the building's name. It had seemed to be one of the highest buildings in the city. I thought it had been designed by Louis Sullivan (?). I now imagined a modern-looking, green-glass building.
As I saw and thought this, I flew down a side hallway, where there were no shops. When I got close to the end of the hallway I landed, then jumped up, hit my feet against the right wall -- which was a weird, rough, plasticky, tan material -- and flew in a u-turn back toward the main corridor.
As I flew over a handicap-accessible ramp, a mall worker, a long-haired Hispanic man in a janitor's uniform, walked up it. The man looked at me. I thought he was going to bully me.
I almost lost my power of flight. But there was a huge structure like a confession box to my right. I jumped, grabbed onto the box, pulled myself up onto it, and stood on top of it.
I was now flying down the main hallway. I landed in front of a Victoria's Secret store. I went inside, where a woman helped me find some lingerie.
Dream #2
I was presently living at my grandmother's (my grandmother P's?) house. It was late at night. I was just coming back home, just entering the house. My grandmother had also gone out for the evening. She hadn't yet returned.
I went into a big bedroom. I had a few bags in the bedroom. I pulled a dress and panties out of one bag. I put the dress and panties on. I got aroused and masturbated, then fell asleep.
In the morning I woke up. I realized I had fallen asleep with my bedroom door wide open. I knew the door of my grandma's bedroom was right across the hallway from the door to my bedroom. It would, then, have been easy for my grandma and the man she had picked up and brought home to have seen me as I slept! I was ashamed, especially since this man, whom I imagined to be some kind of sleazy guy, didn't know me and obviously, therefore (?), wouldn't have any sympathy for my sexual abnormalities.
I lifted up the blankets to get out of bed. I had ejaculated in my panties and worn them to sleep, even though they were soaked with my semen. There was a pink, wet patch on my white sheets, as if the semen had soaked through my panties and, soaking through the panties, transmitted the color of the panties to the sheets. But the panties were actually a faded, peach-pink gingham pattern, while the pink of the semen-patch was a shocking, vivid pink.
The whole house was full of natural, golden-white morning light. Somehow it was now like my grandma and the guy she'd picked up had actually never come home. I could see through the very short hallway into the big, white-carpeted living room.
A patch of light on the floor indicated that the front door of the house was wide open. I sensed that someone had just recently walked into the house. I tried to cover myself up, especially the front of my semen-soaked panties. But I knew the person was coming toward this room, and that I couldn't possibly get fully dressed before the person reached the room. I wouldn't be able to hide the fact that I was wearing women's clothes.
I grabbed the dress I had put on the night before. It was like a blue sundress. I wadded it up and covered up the front of my panties with it.
A pretty, Hispanic woman walked in. The woman didn't seem to be aware of my shameful appearance at all. She told me, "I'm looking for a XXXXX." (Hotel? Doctor? I can't remember.) "Can you help me find one?"
I knew I had a phone book in my (???) kitchen, so I went with her into the kitchen. I no longer held the dress in front of my panties.
We got into the kitchen. I had a whole train (or something like Stephen King's "book snake") of phone books in the kitchen. They piled about four feet tall and sprawled all the way out into a long, dark hallway. I was trying to find the correct phone book. All the other ones were out of date.
I was now dressed in my regular boys' clothes. My grandma had come home. The man was also with my grandma. It was now like the man and my grandma had lived together for a little while. And now the room I had spent the night in was a room used by the man's son. The man's son had now also, apparently, arrived back at the house. My grandma and the man asked me if I could clear out my bags so the son could come in and sleep.
The bed was now in the center of the room, against the back wall, as opposed to previously, when it had been against the right wall and moved a few feet away from the back wall. There was also now a dresser with a mirror against the front wall. It may all have been this way from the time the pretty woman (who was now gone) had walked into the room.
I now realized that the messy spot of pink semen was still on the underside of the blanket. I panicked, trying to figure how I could the son from getting into the bed.
Dream #3
A naked woman walked around in a room the floor of which was some weird material like brown turtle shells. The wall had pipes coming out of it. The pipes were maybe twelve inches in diameter and blew out billows of steam, which I thought of as "industrial gases."
I (? - wherever I'd come from) walked into the next room, which was like a room in an abandoned house. The floor was brownish-red, like clay. The walls were sloppily painted with sea-green paint. There was a cafeteria-style counter against a wall. In the distance was a stairwell filled with natural daylight and leading to an upper floor.
I felt a haughty feeling toward the woman in the room with the steam-pipes, as if I felt that, since the woman hadn't shown up in this room, she couldn't show up for her job.
A woman behind the cafeteria counter called for me. This woman was oldish and fattish. She asked me what I'd like for lunch. I looked down and chose some roast pork, plantains, and pinto bean stew.
Dream #4
A lot of my friends were walking through rooms in my house. My friends might have been getting ready to stay with me for a while. I was happy to have so much space in this place (which was full of rooms) that I could have a few of my friends stay with me.
Dream #1
I walked down a "main street" like block of shops. A woman was moving things out of a moving truck. I felt like I knew the woman, but I wasn't sure, so I didn't say anything. I helped the woman move a table into a house. Now there were a bunch of women helping us. I still felt really bad for not telling the woman I thought I knew her.
In the room there was a square column, maybe six feet tall, with a TV set into a hole in its top. Previews for movies were playing.
One preview was for an old-looking movie. In one scene of this old-looking movie a square-faced, aging woman was on the phone. She was covered with something like tar, as if she had been in an explosion. She said something like "I would do anything for you, even die in an explosion." The scene cut to the woman the first woman was talking with on the phone. This woman had black hair and was, like the first woman, square-faced and aging.
Another preview started with a city skyline at night. I myself was now on a building-top, looking down at the skyline. I sat on the ledge of the building. I decided to climb down the building. I did so by scaling down the curtains, which were outside the windows.
I got down to a certain level, maybe the first floor. In the window I could see a ballroom. A woman stood before a table of drinks. She looked like a 1980s-style politician. She wore a red suit-dress and had a wide, hairsprayed hairstyle.
I was now inside the ballroom. Suddenly I felt so free that I flew all over the room, up to the high ceiling and back down. The ceiling had an oval design like framing for a fresco or mural. The light in the ballroom was golden and warm. The room was pretty empty overall, with only a few people inside.
I flew into a hallway like a shopping mall corridor. I was thinking about buildings as I flew. I wondered which building I had scaled down. I couldn't remember the building's name. It had seemed to be one of the highest buildings in the city. I thought it had been designed by Louis Sullivan (?). I now imagined a modern-looking, green-glass building.
As I saw and thought this, I flew down a side hallway, where there were no shops. When I got close to the end of the hallway I landed, then jumped up, hit my feet against the right wall -- which was a weird, rough, plasticky, tan material -- and flew in a u-turn back toward the main corridor.
As I flew over a handicap-accessible ramp, a mall worker, a long-haired Hispanic man in a janitor's uniform, walked up it. The man looked at me. I thought he was going to bully me.
I almost lost my power of flight. But there was a huge structure like a confession box to my right. I jumped, grabbed onto the box, pulled myself up onto it, and stood on top of it.
I was now flying down the main hallway. I landed in front of a Victoria's Secret store. I went inside, where a woman helped me find some lingerie.
Dream #2
I was presently living at my grandmother's (my grandmother P's?) house. It was late at night. I was just coming back home, just entering the house. My grandmother had also gone out for the evening. She hadn't yet returned.
I went into a big bedroom. I had a few bags in the bedroom. I pulled a dress and panties out of one bag. I put the dress and panties on. I got aroused and masturbated, then fell asleep.
In the morning I woke up. I realized I had fallen asleep with my bedroom door wide open. I knew the door of my grandma's bedroom was right across the hallway from the door to my bedroom. It would, then, have been easy for my grandma and the man she had picked up and brought home to have seen me as I slept! I was ashamed, especially since this man, whom I imagined to be some kind of sleazy guy, didn't know me and obviously, therefore (?), wouldn't have any sympathy for my sexual abnormalities.
I lifted up the blankets to get out of bed. I had ejaculated in my panties and worn them to sleep, even though they were soaked with my semen. There was a pink, wet patch on my white sheets, as if the semen had soaked through my panties and, soaking through the panties, transmitted the color of the panties to the sheets. But the panties were actually a faded, peach-pink gingham pattern, while the pink of the semen-patch was a shocking, vivid pink.
The whole house was full of natural, golden-white morning light. Somehow it was now like my grandma and the guy she'd picked up had actually never come home. I could see through the very short hallway into the big, white-carpeted living room.
A patch of light on the floor indicated that the front door of the house was wide open. I sensed that someone had just recently walked into the house. I tried to cover myself up, especially the front of my semen-soaked panties. But I knew the person was coming toward this room, and that I couldn't possibly get fully dressed before the person reached the room. I wouldn't be able to hide the fact that I was wearing women's clothes.
I grabbed the dress I had put on the night before. It was like a blue sundress. I wadded it up and covered up the front of my panties with it.
A pretty, Hispanic woman walked in. The woman didn't seem to be aware of my shameful appearance at all. She told me, "I'm looking for a XXXXX." (Hotel? Doctor? I can't remember.) "Can you help me find one?"
I knew I had a phone book in my (???) kitchen, so I went with her into the kitchen. I no longer held the dress in front of my panties.
We got into the kitchen. I had a whole train (or something like Stephen King's "book snake") of phone books in the kitchen. They piled about four feet tall and sprawled all the way out into a long, dark hallway. I was trying to find the correct phone book. All the other ones were out of date.
I was now dressed in my regular boys' clothes. My grandma had come home. The man was also with my grandma. It was now like the man and my grandma had lived together for a little while. And now the room I had spent the night in was a room used by the man's son. The man's son had now also, apparently, arrived back at the house. My grandma and the man asked me if I could clear out my bags so the son could come in and sleep.
The bed was now in the center of the room, against the back wall, as opposed to previously, when it had been against the right wall and moved a few feet away from the back wall. There was also now a dresser with a mirror against the front wall. It may all have been this way from the time the pretty woman (who was now gone) had walked into the room.
I now realized that the messy spot of pink semen was still on the underside of the blanket. I panicked, trying to figure how I could the son from getting into the bed.
Dream #3
A naked woman walked around in a room the floor of which was some weird material like brown turtle shells. The wall had pipes coming out of it. The pipes were maybe twelve inches in diameter and blew out billows of steam, which I thought of as "industrial gases."
I (? - wherever I'd come from) walked into the next room, which was like a room in an abandoned house. The floor was brownish-red, like clay. The walls were sloppily painted with sea-green paint. There was a cafeteria-style counter against a wall. In the distance was a stairwell filled with natural daylight and leading to an upper floor.
I felt a haughty feeling toward the woman in the room with the steam-pipes, as if I felt that, since the woman hadn't shown up in this room, she couldn't show up for her job.
A woman behind the cafeteria counter called for me. This woman was oldish and fattish. She asked me what I'd like for lunch. I looked down and chose some roast pork, plantains, and pinto bean stew.
Dream #4
A lot of my friends were walking through rooms in my house. My friends might have been getting ready to stay with me for a while. I was happy to have so much space in this place (which was full of rooms) that I could have a few of my friends stay with me.
(8/12/07) dream analysis by stock analyst; my name is preemie
(Entered in paper journal at 8 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I was on the phone with my boss DO. He was with my psychiatrist A. I "saw" that they were in a room like my great grandmother's living room. DO had rushed to the phone when I had come on. He told me he had read the letter I had given to my psychiatrist.
Trying to help me somehow, as if everybody were panicked about my condition, DO said, "I see what the Dark Girl and the girl with black eyes mean." I "saw" that the Dark Girl was a Mexican or Native American girl with very dark skin. The girl with black eyes was like classic grey alien, except maybe only waist-height, and somehow childlike.
DO said, "The Dark Girl means you want to control things. The girl with black eyes means you have no knowledge of history."
Dream #2
I walked into a gigantic, K-Mart-like store with my family. AN, a temporary assistant at my company, was with us. We all went our separate ways, but AN kept following me. I was trying to shake him off. He was trying to gauge where I really wanted to go, but he was acting like he wasn't trying to follow me at all.
AN said, "I'm going up to the electronics section." So I walked up there with him to put him where he said he wasted to go and thus "oblige" him to stay there and not follow me.
When we got to the electronics section, in the back of the store, I said, "I don't have any interest in electronics. I'm leaving." I headed off toward the left wall of the store. I felt like AN was still following me. I ran faster and faster and wove in and out of aisles to throw AN off my trail.
A kid pulling a cart stacked almost to the ceiling (maybe fifty feet high?) with boxes got in my way. I jumped and flew over the boxes and onto the top shelf of what looked like an aisle of "big-box" warehouse shelves. I ran along the top shelf toward the entrance of the store and the cash registers.
When I got to the end of the aisle I could see down (way down) to the entrance and cash registers. This whole area was moderately busy with people. AN ran, crouched, from behind a display case island, like a counter of watch displays, and hid behind one of the unused cash registers. I could tell, by the way AN was moving and hiding, that he was waiting until he saw me come back around to this part of the store so he could start following me again.
I leapt down to the cash register. I pulled AN out from behind the register. I yelled, "Why are you following me?!"
AN ignored my question. He was about to call out to some partners of his who weren't necessarily following me but were lurking around, just in case they needed to help AN with stalking me.
But before AN could call out to his partners, I covered his mouth and nose. I held AN's mouth and nose for so long that AN died.
AN was now my brother. I held him in my arms. I carried him through the store, trying to find my family. The store was now a restaurant set up as some kind of beach bar. It was humongous. The place was full of people. Some people sat on couches.
I couldn't believe I had killed my brother. I also didn't want to be accused of it -- even though I was obviously guilty!
I got to a completely dark corner of the bar-like area. There were still, apparently, people sitting in this corner of the bar. For a moment I thought I could see the faces of the people. But when I got up to the people I couldn't see anything at all.
I called, "Is my family still here?"
The people all replied. They all sounded young, like they were in their mid-twenties. They said, "No, not here." I turned around. I still couldn't see anything. The people called, "Hey, wait a minute. Who are you? We don't even know who you are to help you."
I said, "M... m... my name is Preemie."
Dream #1
I was on the phone with my boss DO. He was with my psychiatrist A. I "saw" that they were in a room like my great grandmother's living room. DO had rushed to the phone when I had come on. He told me he had read the letter I had given to my psychiatrist.
Trying to help me somehow, as if everybody were panicked about my condition, DO said, "I see what the Dark Girl and the girl with black eyes mean." I "saw" that the Dark Girl was a Mexican or Native American girl with very dark skin. The girl with black eyes was like classic grey alien, except maybe only waist-height, and somehow childlike.
DO said, "The Dark Girl means you want to control things. The girl with black eyes means you have no knowledge of history."
Dream #2
I walked into a gigantic, K-Mart-like store with my family. AN, a temporary assistant at my company, was with us. We all went our separate ways, but AN kept following me. I was trying to shake him off. He was trying to gauge where I really wanted to go, but he was acting like he wasn't trying to follow me at all.
AN said, "I'm going up to the electronics section." So I walked up there with him to put him where he said he wasted to go and thus "oblige" him to stay there and not follow me.
When we got to the electronics section, in the back of the store, I said, "I don't have any interest in electronics. I'm leaving." I headed off toward the left wall of the store. I felt like AN was still following me. I ran faster and faster and wove in and out of aisles to throw AN off my trail.
A kid pulling a cart stacked almost to the ceiling (maybe fifty feet high?) with boxes got in my way. I jumped and flew over the boxes and onto the top shelf of what looked like an aisle of "big-box" warehouse shelves. I ran along the top shelf toward the entrance of the store and the cash registers.
When I got to the end of the aisle I could see down (way down) to the entrance and cash registers. This whole area was moderately busy with people. AN ran, crouched, from behind a display case island, like a counter of watch displays, and hid behind one of the unused cash registers. I could tell, by the way AN was moving and hiding, that he was waiting until he saw me come back around to this part of the store so he could start following me again.
I leapt down to the cash register. I pulled AN out from behind the register. I yelled, "Why are you following me?!"
AN ignored my question. He was about to call out to some partners of his who weren't necessarily following me but were lurking around, just in case they needed to help AN with stalking me.
But before AN could call out to his partners, I covered his mouth and nose. I held AN's mouth and nose for so long that AN died.
AN was now my brother. I held him in my arms. I carried him through the store, trying to find my family. The store was now a restaurant set up as some kind of beach bar. It was humongous. The place was full of people. Some people sat on couches.
I couldn't believe I had killed my brother. I also didn't want to be accused of it -- even though I was obviously guilty!
I got to a completely dark corner of the bar-like area. There were still, apparently, people sitting in this corner of the bar. For a moment I thought I could see the faces of the people. But when I got up to the people I couldn't see anything at all.
I called, "Is my family still here?"
The people all replied. They all sounded young, like they were in their mid-twenties. They said, "No, not here." I turned around. I still couldn't see anything. The people called, "Hey, wait a minute. Who are you? We don't even know who you are to help you."
I said, "M... m... my name is Preemie."
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