Dream 1
I was in some place like a large picnic area in a National Forest or National Park. The picnic area had cabins on its borders. The dream's space doesn't really make sense to me right now. There were walls somewhere in the picnic area, not in the cabins.
My friend KB and a group of other people came back from a large flea market about thirty or forty-five miles from the park. All or almost all of us, including the arriving group, were probably park workers. There might have been a picnic, as smoke billowed in a few places.
KB had posted some drawing on her "wall." An old man, our boss, told her she wasn't allowed to put such graphic drawings on her wall. KB hemmed and hawed with good humor and a little regret and said sh'ed take it off.
I looked at the drawing. It was a crayon drawing of two "outline" women having sex. The top woman was in red crayon. The bottom woman was possibly in yellow. They both had hideously sloppily drawn, busy hair and rudimentary, almost skull-like, facial features. They were naked, and their bodies were gloppy and wide. Their vaginas were just enormous blots of a dark, dark color with scribbles tightly spiking out from the enormous blot of one vagina to the other. The strange depiction of the vaginas reminded me both of my own drawings of cell division and of drawings of genital or any corporeal mutilation.
I thought to myself, Well, how could KB even be surprised that she can't display that drawing? It's a sexually explicit scene.
Up the hill, at the border of the picnic area, in the shade of some close pine trees, KB stood with a couple people at a cabin. She yelled to me, "Another group is going to the flea market. Would you like to come?"
I didn't want to go because it was so far for a relaxing day like this. But I also thought that if I went with the right person I might be able to make out with her afterwards. I asked who was going.
Now I stood by a withered old man on a cabin's porch. KB, sitting in a rocking chair, said, "Not me. Only you and this old man. What? You don't want to go out of the goodness of your own heart?" So, now feeling guilty that I hadn't wanted to go to the flea market with an old man, I apparently decided to go.
But the "flea market" was actually some kind of Broadway in memory of a man who had just died. It was a variety show. The first act came up. A woman like Lucy Liu came out dressed in a black, bustier-type gown as music came on. Another woman, with pale skin, dyed-red hair, a scarlet-colored teddy, and a sheer, scarlet, open robe came out from the side. Both these women were cheerfully talking back and forth and lightly dance-walking about fifteen feet away from each other.
I could tell by the beat that this number was going to be a show tune version of "LA Woman" by The Doors. I wondered if they'd call it "LA Man" or just leave it as "LA Woman" and play the lesbian intrigue game.
Now the Asian woman began singing, "I've got an LA woman, I've got an LA woman," over and over, like someone who only knew one phrase in a foreign language. From the shadows stage left, near where the red-haired woman stood, "Madonna" came out, doing handstand back flips as she sang some show tune-like song about having an LA woman. "Madonna" was in some silky, tight, pearly white-blue outfit, and her hair was either black or blonde.
Now all three girls were huddled together. I was sure were going to start making out. But now they broke apart to let some tall, older, dashing man through. He had a microphone. He started eulogizing the departed man. He got to some "hilarious" joke the man had told. Then he broke down crying. I saw him from his left side, as if I were a camera on closeup.
Something strange happened -- then I woke up as if I had been drunk. I was in some upper-story room of a building like a suburban church. I lay on a couch. the room looked like a makeshift bar. The walls were a dull turquoise. The air of the place was a bit stuffy. Daylight came dimly in through some windows. The bar was small and looked halfway like bookshelves. I felt like I had spent too much money last night and was now being looked at as lacking dignity and self-control.
There was a strange display on the wall behind the bar. First it appeared to be the word "books" in plastic, neon bubbles, each letter a different color. Then it seemed to be the same thing, except made out of shot glasses. But when I saw it made out of shot glasses, I viewed it from the right side.
The word "books" curved up
out from the wall like a coat hook. All the letters were orange. I could see that other colors were behind this section. But "books" was already spelled. Those other colors were now useless.
I tried to figure out how I could have seen "books" spelled out in all different colors and flat against the wall before but now saw them hooking out from the wall in only one column colors.
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