(Entered in paper journal at 5:20 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I walked through the lobby of a nice, modern building with an Asian woman. The woman was pretty, but a little overweight. She told me she worked with my company's economist, ML. I thought that was neat. Suddenly I remembered a news article or TV story saying ML had often had the sole audience of the former Fed chairman.
The woman and I stood in the elevator. We were going up. I asked the woman, "Doesn't it ever seem weird to be working with such a famous person? Do people ever treat you weird?"
The elevator opened on the woman's floor. The woman giggled and shook her head. She walked out. I thought I had probably said something kind of dumb to the woman. I had wanted to be friends with her. Now she probably just thought I wanted to advance my career.
Dream #2
I got onto a bus with a line of people. I sat in the second row of the bus. A man who had been in front of me in line sat in the front row. He was black, with lightish skin. He was tall, with a scraggly beard and wide, frizzy hair. He looked mean. The second row felt tight, like the seat back from the first row was pushing into my space.
The bu drove along a river or wide body of water (to our left). Before the river were small warehousing or industrial areas. I sat a jet like an SR-71 Blackbird glide over the water. It moved slowly. It came closer and was now large in my view.
I didn't know the man in front of me. I was pretty sure he didn't like me. But I knocked on the seat-back and said, "Blackbird! Blackbird!"
The man said, "I don't want to see it. I don't want to know what's happening if something like that is flying again."
The Blackbird was pointed at maybe seventy-five degrees, its underside facing us. It may have been only one hundred feet above us. It had a weird, thin, twisted shape. There was a lot more red lining on it than I was familiar with there being.
The Blackbird lifted slowly in the air and then clattered down onto its back in one of the industrial lots. I thought the man meant, when he said he didn't want to know why a Blackbird was flying, that he didn't want to know that a nuclear war was approaching. I thought, seeing the Blackbird lying on its back (the Blackbird having skidded across the lot as if it were just a hollow shell), that if it had a nuclear bomb on board, the crash might have agitated the bomb so that the bomb would go off soon.
I looked away almost flinchingly. But by then we had pretty much passed the jet. I thought, It's strange, isn't it?, that I should see something like that. This is a dream.
At first I couldn't believe it: everything felt so real. But I thought, To see if it is a dream, I should just shout out that it is. I pounded on the seat back and window and yelled, "This is a dream! This is a dream!"
I decided to control my own actions. I would go back to the plane. I stood up. Everything faded out, as if I were waking up or going out of the dream. I tried to keep myself aware. I walked to the back of the bus. I couldn't see where I was going. I couldn't tell whether I was dreaming or just imagining.
I got to the back of the bus. Right behind the bus, I knew, was an SR-71 Blackbird that was being towed along on a truck. I moved through the back of the bus (i.e. through the material of a door that was in the wall of the back of the bus, then kick-pushed off the back of the bus, like a swimmer would kick-push off a wall, to fly/swim to the hatch for the cockpit of the jet.
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