(Entered in paper journal at 6:20 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream 1
I walked on a footpath in a narrow but long strip of park on either side of which were tall buildings (?). It was day, probably hot. In the distance was a bridge which went over a wide, busy street to my left. The bridge was metal, painted pink. The staircase up to the actual overpass was steep and tall. The overpass and staircase were arched over with chain link fencing.
I saw sitting on the staircase, dispersed a few steps from each other, three tough-looking kids, possibly Mexican. I "knew" they were waiting for people to come up the bridge so they could rob or at least harass them. So Instead of going up the bridge I took a side route on the path that I thought would get me across the street. It might have been just to the left of the footpath.
(Continued writing at Starbucks on 56th Street and 6th Avenue.)
The new path I walked on was slowly crumbling down and becoming impassable. Veering to the left, toward the street, it became blocked by fences and construction materials. But I still walked on it.
The street was now a river, and the path was just planks and wide board joined together and floating on the water after having broken off from a much steadier walkway. The bridge may have been gone, but I could still hear/feel the kids on the bridge making fun of me because I had been afraid to walk up the bridge and past them.
Some of the planks and boards sunk into the water as I stepped on them. I knew they were all becoming less stable and that I wouldn't make it across by using this path. I turned around, or tried to. Water was now on both sides of the path, though on the left (the right beofre I had turned around) it seems like there were docks and boats, like a marina. The sun was very bright.
There were some middle-aged, healthyish looking white guys somewhere laughing at me because I had been afraid to cross the bridge with the kids on it. I knew there was no way I could get across the street now except by crossing the bridge.
But I was pulled up into the air, backwards, possibly against my will. I flew over a city full of stucco-like strip malls and shopping centers. I flew past the bridge (backwards and away) to see that the kids were getting up from their "posts" to cross the bridge.
I tried to control my flight, trying to get either on the other side of the bridge or at least to the bridge so I could cross it. But I kept going backwards, possibly eventually landing near a crossing light.
Dream 2
I drove (?) on a dirt road in winding, green mountains, to the gate to a house. I think I was going to buy the house. The gate was old, made of wood slats which might have been painted black, or might just have been dark with moisture.
There was a piece of white paper on the gate on which the owner had written, "I will not be around to show the place to you today. Please come to the front porch and play the video tape."
I stood outside my car and looked around. The area looked uninhabited. I could see the yard of the house, to the porch. The whole thing looked very run down. The yard was almost barren, and the porch looked like grey boards of unpainted wood. There might ahve been some weedy asters growing in the yard.
I was afraid to turn on the TV to watch the video (I hadn't even walked into the yard) because I felt like people would hear and come out of nowhere to harass me.
The owner now stoood with me and another man. The other man was also looking to buy this place. The owner led us down steps to a basement where he sat down on a couch and played us a video about this place. He hadn't really looked at me, and I hadn't really looked at him. Now he said, as the video began, "I hope this place is good enough for your tastes."
The owner turned his head right, first to the other man, who sat behind him, and then to me, as I sat on a footstool to the right of the couch. I had to strain and look directly at him to get him to look at me. (I was surprised to see that he looked like the husband in a couple I had met during the Freeman Dyson lecture at the Guggenheim.) He wore a black polo shirt and white slacks.
The owner also looked surprised when he saw me. I could tell he thought I was too young to be buying my own place, though he didn't say it. He asked, "Are you sure you can afford a place?"
I chuckled a little and said, "I think so."
We watched the video. I saw a view of the opening of two rocky cliffs, probably opened for a roadway and then, down a hill, the skyline of a city like New York City. The seemed too enormous to my sight to be as far down the hill as I thought it was. It also seemed to be separated from this slope by some kind of silt or sludge.
The owner spoke, as if by narration. "When I first bought this place, places in Manhattan that weren't near this site were going for eight hundred, nine hundred thousand. But guess how much I got this place for. Not three hundred thousand. I got it for ninety-nine thousand dollars! And it's not that much of a commute, and it's so quiet and peaceful out here."
I personally thought any commute was too much, especially by car, which was just a waste of gas.
My view panned left, and I was watching the rooftops of the cityscape sending jets of fire out of stacks. At first it was just a couple rooftops. Then almost every rooftop sent jets of fire out the top. The fires grew more intense. I thought, Why would I even want to work here in the first place?
The owner shook our hands and showed us the stairs down to the door. The man was with his wife. We could all tell the owner had been satisfied with the presentation. The stairway was dark, and we exited out a fire escape-like door to a parking lot. It was a bright grey day outside.
I walked behind the husband and wife. Both looked young, but the wife looked younger. As soon as they got outside, they began chuckling. "Does he really think anybody's going to buy a place like that?"
A little instinct of greed (?) popped up in me. I thought, Well, then, here's my chance. If they don't take it I can step in and get it!
Dream 3
Werner Herzog was showing me his place. We had worked around to some beach. Herzog spoke about how good it was, only that at certain times you had to deal with mists or winds from the ocean. We stood looking, as if from a clearing in a grove of palm trees, toward a rocky shore which whirled with white spray. A man (or boy?) stood in the midst of the spray, throwing rocks into it.
I was confused how this could only be a minor inconvenience. I told Werner I had to get to work pretty soon.
As we turned around to get back to Werner's house, the rocky shore turned into a small beach filled with sunbathers. We walked through the happy crowd (the sunlight was odd, like there was a partial eclipse) and up a slightly rocky and grassy hillside, to Werner's house.
As we continued, Werner said something like, "If you stay, you can watch how the sunlight changes the way everything looks and how the water changes the -- ow!"
Werner had tripped and scraped his foot on a rock. He was angrier than I thought he would have been. I assumed this was because he was upset that I wouldn't stay.
Dream 4
I sat at a booth in a restaurant with a fattish man with frizzy, black hair and a big beard. Somehow he resembled a priest. I was telling him about my writing. When I finished up and he was about to go, he said, "Oh -- how fascinating, especially to someone like me." He got very sarcastic and said, "I'm nooobody, only one of the top two or three writers in all of New York City!"
The man's statement was supposed to be incredibly surprising to me, but I took it in stride. I asked him about his writing, trying to make it clear that if he had let me know to begin with, I would have taken more of an interest.
We now sat at a long table, possible with a group of other people. The man sat to my left. A blonde waitress took orders. I just ordered everything the man ordered. The waitress began petting my hair in a seductive way.
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