(3/18/06) scumbag of the future; living waters in the pit of death

(Entered in paper journal at 11:59 AM at Starbucks on 43rd Street and 3rd Avenue in Manhattan.)

Dream 1

I wass working (?) in a huge conference hall. Everyone was sitting in chairs in nicely-spaced rows. The room was classical, like in an 18th-century palace. The lighting was dim. A video presentation about some movie soon to be released was showing.

I glanced around, trying to soak in as much of the room's beauty as I could. But then I smelled cigarette smoke. I looked behind me -- behind me the wall was brighter than in front of me, and it seemed cheaper.

Two people were lighting cigarettes as they walked out the door. Then another guy, seeing I was upset about the people who had lit cigarettes while they were still indoors (in waking life I'm allergic to cigarette smoke and have always been really neurotic about -- among other things -- being around cigarettes), lit a cigarette and stood there staring at me.

I walked aggressively toward the man and told him he had to get out. The man's look slowly changed. He went from looking mean and nasty (he was a white guy, tallish, a little pot-bellied, with thick, squared eyeglasses and a beard) to looking completely taken aback, like he hadn't realized what he was doing, and afraid. He backed softly out the hall doors and then out the building doors.

I followed the man outside. It was night. I called after the man, "I didn't mean to sound mean."

I walked into the lobby, which was tall with white walls and reddish-brown tile squares and a statue of a man somewhere. As I walked to the door, anger slowly dawned on me. I felt like the man had kept me from being as angry at him as I actually had needed to be.

I raged and punched the thick, pale, wooden meeting hall doors. I realized that it didn't hurt.

I thought, I should punch the guy like that. I punched the door again. But this time I messed up and hit way too softly. I lost focus. I concentrated on some delicate ironwork lacing the windows.

I walked back into the room, half in and half out. I looked down. There was a book. I picked it up. It was either written or edited by the man I had just yelled at.

I read the back of the book. Apparently the man had discovered previously unknown works by Edgar Allan Poe. The books were like prophecies. Nobody knew whether they were intended to be satirical or serious. Some of the writings were axiomatic, like Nietzsche's Thus Spake Zarathustra. Others were short stories that were "clear visions of the future."

There was one long story that was like a bunch of prophecies veiled as a story, with the main "skeleton" (i.e. outline) of the plot being a "clear vision" of the future. Something would happen like a nuclear bomb hitting in 2005 or 2015 (?) -- some catastrophe that would kill off most of humanity by 2030.

I felt the doom of this prophecy, like a drop in my stomach. I felt bad now for being angry at this man. I thought, He must really be nice if he took time on a book like this. I thought I'd like to talk to him, but that he wouldn't talk to me.

Dream 2

I was in a small cave, almost as small as a heating duct. There was plenty of light. The cave must have changed size, because sometimes it did seem large enough to stand in. But I never moved, I think. I lay like I was crawling.

I was with some kids. We may have been escaping form something or someone. I think two children were already injured or dead. I held them near me.

Now water that was like a person flooded the entire mine. It lifted us all up and pulled some of us into a pit of death.

I believe three kids were pulled into the pit of death. They barely fit going down the hole. The evil water went with them.

The rest of us lay trying to figure out how to escape this place. There was no escape. The place was just where we were. (Not sure what that means.)

I felt bad that I had let three kids get pulled down into the pit of death. I thought, At least I didn't lose one of my protected kids. Then I thought, Well, what does it matter, anyway? I don't even know if they're alive. Then I looked around and realized I had lost one of the protected children. I couldn't even hold onto them!

The water came again. This time, instead of pulling us toward the pit of death, it was going to push us at a wall, maybe smash us into the wall, maybe smash us through it, into another awful place. I felt the rushing and saw the wall, which had at first been some pale, rough stone like limestone but was now a brick wall.