(Entered in paper journal at 7 AM at home in Harlem.)
Dream 1
I was in a small consultation room with my old psychiatrist from Santa Fe, GR. There was a big window that let in a view of a tight staircase with a handrail overrun by dark vegetation. But the sunlight still came through and helped to give the small room an open feel. GR sat facing away from the window and a small desk and facing toward me.
I was telling GR something that was really worrying me. he was only half-engaged. At some point his phone or beeper rang. He picked up the phone and then walked out the door, telling me there was a slight emergency, but that he'd be right back.
After "a few minutes" I got up to leave. A weird guy blocked the doorway. He was dressed all sloppy, with three or four hideous shirts, a head of undone, long hair, and a shaggy, thick beard. He was simultaneously too skinny, and a little potbellied.
The man asked me where I was going. I told him something simple, like GR ad up and left, and that I didn't have any more time to wait. The weird guy suddenly spoke with great acumen and diction. He said something like, "You over-homoeroticize both the things you hear and the thing you say."
He continued a small, "sound-byte" analysis, maybe ten seconds long, that was so stunning and direct that I, having walked back into the room, now collapsed back into my chair. I felt that what he said was so sever that it had to be true.
The man now did a little bit of talking that sounded a bit boring and lazy. But I had to give him a chance, since what he said at first seemed so true. -- That isn't quite it. -- I also think I felt trapped, without any choice over where I could go. At the least, my choice was slightly restricted. So I tried to stay positive.
Now we were in a long, wide, dark room like a movie theater entrance with no lights. It was full of enormous standing cutout movie advertisements and arcade games. I don't think the weird guy was even analyzing me anymore. I kept hoping he would, all the while fearing that I'd have to face something really frightening or shameful about myself.
"He" pointed out a beautiful, tall cutout advertisement with a huge, moonlit, blue mansion and Zhang Ziyi in a blue outfit, I think Zhang curved her left arm over her head, had a sword in her left hand, and put her right hand in front of her with her two first fingers sticking up and together. then there were strange clumps of computer-style numbers ghosting very isolated and sporadic into the whole scene.
The "weird guy" (who was now fat and possibly a woman) said, "Oh, did you know House of Flying Daggers 2 was coming out?"
I thought that was cool. But I was also getting impatient. I could tell our analysis session had suddenly turned into nothing more than the old "take the poor kid out to the zoo" approach to psychology. But I tried to stay enthusiastic.
There was either a video game or cutout stand that was a huge, tilted-back couch hung from the ceiling by thick, black ropes on each corner to float the couch about three feet above the ground. Then somewhere were large, black, canister-like cylinders with watery lenses a few inches inside. These were screens. We looked inside and either controlled a game or watched a preview that looked just like a video game.
I went to sit beside the "weird guy," who was now an overweight, round lady with an enormous beard. I also knew now that she really had no psychoanalytic or psychiatric knowledge. But I jumped up on the couch wither her anyway, thinking, Oh, well. Maybe she'll seduce me and prove once and for all that I'm gay.
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