(Entered in paper journal at 7:40 PM at home in Brooklyn.)
Dream 1
I was in a place like a hallway outside of locker rooms, which I may have thought of as a library. It was dim, like the entrance to a theater. I had a card which was charged with credits for computer use. I sat at a computer but may not have been able to use it, even though I did lose some credits. I had to wait until a certain time to use the computer.
I went walking through the mall, in which the library was located (?) I went through a clothing store, which I might have called Sears. I rifled through a bunch of clothing racks, possibly looking for women's clothes to buy.
But I had to get out of the store quick. My card lost credits as I spent more time in the store. I almost didn't have enough credit to buy something, including computer time.
I walked through the hallway of the mall. I was back by the computers, but "the library" was outside, by a white-walled, plastery-looking cottage in wet, thick soil. It was early morning, bright, clear, cold.
I wasn't at a computer. Instead, I was waiting around (in a line?) for my friend KB. The line would have been a line we were both waiting in: a line to get tickets for a concert, etc.) I sat on the ground, the cottage to my left and about ten feet away. KB called to me. She was behind me. When I faced the cottage she was to my left, at the very corner of the cottage.
I ran to KB. She was tall and thin and covered up in a big jacket and a winter hat. We hugged each other. I was attracted to her all over again, even though when she took off her hat her hair was so short that she looked like a boy.
We spoke back and forth and ended up flirting unintentionally. To break this mood (not wanting KB to think I meant to question her lesbianism) I told her she looked very different. I had hardly recognized her.I asked her if she was doing anything to make herself look so different.
Somehow everything I said came off as sounding flirtatious. KB reacted against this by expressing her next sentences very boisterously (even though her statements were true) and running away mischievously. She said, "My boyfriend... got... me... pregnant!" (I could see her boyfriend in my mind's eye -- a shortish, stoutish, grizzled, blue-eyed man that looked gnomish and annoying.)
I followed after KB. Behind the cottage was a juniper-shaped shrub/tree which had no leafs on it but instead a profusion of pink blossoms shaped (somehow) like rusted-out juniper "needles". Some blossoms were wide open like apple blossoms; most were closed.
KB fell to the ground. I embraced her. She may have been hysterically sad. Bust something else about her seemed like she was so happy to have been able to tell me this.
Dream 2
I was half in and half out of a room. My mom and some other people (including my sister?) were in the room.
I stared down at a chair which had a pile of panties neatly stacked on it. I leafed trough the panties. They looked like they were about my size. But their design/fashion seemed to be for young teenage girls, or for even younger girls. Nevertheless I wanted to try the panties on. They aroused me so much. I tried to pick out the "most mature" panties.
Some man behind me commented that I was a real pervert for wanting to wear the same panties that little girls wear.
Dream 3
I was in a store. There were thin, trashy racks of clothing scattered widely all about. Most of the racks held panties. I tried to take some of the panties off the racks. But there were too many people around. I didn't want them to see me taking panties.
Eventually I was laying or kneeling under a rack, playing with the panties from underneath. I thought I'd pick some and take them to the registers, which were very close but crowded with Hispanic people who I didn't want seeing me buying this stuff. I thought, What's the use, anyway? Do I really want these panties?
I walked over to a few aisles of compact discs. There were lots of different Nirvana albums, a lot of which I'd never even heard of before. I wanted to buy some, but I didn't feel like I had the money to do so.
I was outside, on a very busy street on a hill lined with short office and store buildings. It was daytime, possibly late spring or early summer. A black man, palish, with big, frizzy hair and pale, scheming eyes, drove his car in front of me menacingly as I crossed a street. I ran up to the man, grabbing into his window and trying to stop him so he'd fight. He slowed down. His car was junky, pale yellow, clunky, and wide.
The man yelled something like, "I know you're doing this to me just because I'm black!"
I tried to recall if what the man claimed was true. I felt like it was. I felt guilty and ashamed.
I sat in the backseat of the man's vehicle, which was now an SUV. The man dropped me off at my destinatiion, which only seemed a couple blocks down the road, kind of a pointless trip that I'd taken simply so the man wouldn't feel I had been bigoted against him.
Now I was trying to pull all my stuff out of the man's car, out the back passenger door. I had bags full of stuff -- plastic bags, cloth bags, mesh bags -- and loose stuff from cassette tapes to stuffed animals.
The man stood beside the door, behind me and to my right, and said, patiently annoyed, "Come on, man! Don't you see the longer you stay here, the closer the police get to me?"
I pulled my stuff out faster, but I wondered why I would have taken a ride from someone who was wanted by the police. I thought the man might have planted drugs in my stuff. But I couldn't let myself think that. I didn't want to be a racist.
The man had left his SUV and walked down the hill behind it (to my left as I pulled stuff out of the SUV). I followed the man, possibly to remind him he had a car he was forgetting.
The man was now white, older, with dark, steel-grey hair and a loosely square face. He stood with friends like himself except maybe ten or twenty years older. The men looked across the street to a somewhat lawny-looking hill (compared with all the pavement and rushing cars on our side, it looked peaceful, rustic).
At the top of the short hill -- which was like the level ground between the dipping down and up of the hill on which the road was situated -- was a plain-looking house. there was some kind of trouble there, and the men knew it.
The men turned to me and tried to convince me to go into the house. I didn't know if they were tellin gme for my own good or if they were trying to make me do something bad to myself.
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