Dream #1
It was night or very early morning. I stood with two or three other people outside the house my family lived in during my last years of high school. The sky may have been dark blue. We stood looking into the house as if there were a hole in the front of its right side.
Someone may have broken into the house. We were looking in through the hole to see if we could spot this person. I was afraid that the person would spring out of nowhere and charge uncontrollably and kill us. I might have said something out loud. I heard, as sensibly as in waking life, one of my group silence me with a "Shhhh..."
Dream #2
A group of people sat on a panel on stage in front of an auditorium full of people. One of the panelists was a woman who was supposed to be Bob Dylan. One of the audience asked "Bob Dylan" a question. The audience member was a woman, very tall, obese, pale, with long, stringy hair. She wore glasses with purplish, plastic rims. The woman spoke slowly and dully and was apparently autistic. "Bob Dylan" picked up on this.
The woman asked, "What kind of a person are you?" as if "Bob Dylan" were a magical being and not a person.
In a childish, mock-therapeutic voice, Dylan answered, "I'm pineapple cinnamon." The "autistic" woman could tell this was supposed to be a "magical" answer fit to please crazy people. She was disappointed in Dylan for being so condescending.
Dylan now stood in a spotlight in an enormous, dark room. There must have been a crowd of people somewhere. There must have been a crowd of people somewhere. I sat on a couch maybe thirty feet from Dylan. Dylan was s singing "Cryin'," by Aerosmith, which I took to be a Dylan song.
At some point, possibly because I was drunk or because I was crazy, I began singing the song, as if this were a karaoke bar. I got emotional toward the end of the song. I must also have been embarrassed by myself. At the end I lay down on the couch with my face buried in the cushions.
Dylan said something like, "Who's that person?" as if she wondered either who could sing so emotionally (though not particularly well) or else who would have the audacity to sing during one of her performances.
I saw my reflection in a mirror. It was my left side as I lay on the couch. The couch was dark blue, a rough, velvet-like material. The room I was in was lit as if with soft daylight. I wore only boxer briefs. I could see that I had love handles. I was disappointed with how little care I had taken of my body. My skin looked different -- not rougher, but somehow less soft. I had a couple of little indentations in my skin from scarring.
Dream #3
I was in a basement, which may have been the basement of a library. There may have been some people, some of whom I may have known, down here with me. I started out by looking for something or someone in particular, but now I was just rummaging around. The place looked like a mechanical workshop: there were tables with gears and tools and there was grease everywhere. The walls were starkly white. Although the place was full of stuff, it didn't feel crammed or filthy, just cluttered and unkempt.
I fingered through a bookshelf of science fiction books. The last book looked like it was printed by Vintage. It was a thin paperback with a black cover, which had the typical Vintage-style "grainy" feel to it. It was by Ray Bradbury and was entitled I Returned from Mars.
I started to imagine a choppily drawn black man with wide, narrowed eyes, which may have been green. I thought, How awesome that he makes the hero of the book a black man. (???!!!) I believe that in the story, the man was an intelligent person who returned from Mars to lead people in some way but was slightly overrun by people who were against him.
I stood in some other area of the basement. Two men stood on either side of a red, stell cabinet that looked like a tool cabinet. It was on legs. Its body was maybe two and a half feet tall, with the legs adding another two feet of height.
The men opened the cabinet. Though there were a few door-fronts visible, pulling on a handle opened the whole thing as one door: the multiple door-fronts were just a facade. Inside, there was nothing but ash. The men may have put something like a drinking cup inside. They closed the door. They said, "Now we incinerate it, like for trash." The men told me to stay away, that it was dangerous.
I walked away and thought, It just turns things to ash in a blast! What if that were to happen to my body?
I stood with people I knew, in particular my senior co-worker DS. We all wore robes like Hare Krishna robes, except that some of us had robes with spaghetti-straps on the shoulders. The robes were not the same color. Some people had white robes, some had patterned robes, etc.
One woman of my group picked up a drinking cup. The group said, "Let's take it from him." ("He" being the master of this place, which was some kind of monastery as well as being a library/workshop.) "When he notices it's missing, he'll be pissed. Then we'll see what kind of meditation he does!"
We all went up an escalator, as if we were all heading up to some kind of museum exhibit.
(One might wonder about the mechanism of this dream nowadays -- what with the Curiosity's incinerator system (I think) up on Mars.)
No comments:
Post a Comment