(No time/place info for paper journal entry.)
Dream 1
A prison scene. People came in who were dressed in some strange way, almost like people who have reached middle age but who decide to keep wearing punk clothes, except the clothes were all bright colors, especially pink. These people were either zombies attacking the prisoners or people coming to attack the prisoners who, it had been discovered, were zombies. The prisoners, it seems now, wore dark blue police uniforms.
The prison was a smallish, dust floored, plaster walled cafeteria or courtyard room with balconies and hallways with barred doors for cells. The front door was barred, though it also seems to have been a revolving door, like the gates on the subway. Plenty of sunlight came into the place. It felt like it was in the desert.
Somehow nothing happened for this first sweep through of people. Now there was a second sweep through. This time it was like the "prisoners" were cops or just plain, old civilians and the people coming in were zombies. But though they still dressed strangely, like old bikers who decided to look like Malibu beach bums, they apparently "blended in" with everybody else and thus could attack them easily. I (wherever I had been) now recognized this. Now the zombies really did look regular, except just a bit too good-looking and clean-cut.
They chased me, perhaps as if I were the last one to be taken. I ran through one of the cast iron "subway gate" revolving doors and down a series of steps to a constrictive, winding basement.
One man and one woman followed after me, laughing. I could feel them trying to attract me and hypnotize me. They needed me to allow them to attack me and they could do so by attracting me or hypnotizing me with charm. The whole time I ran I kept throwing off the attraction by shouting (audibly again), "I do not opt control to you!"
Now the basement was no more than a tallish storage hole. I fumbled through some boxes to work my way into a long, dark tunnel-vent which went to a big room. But when I climbed into the vent the zombies caught my foot and began pulling me back.
Now "I" or some person (I either saw through his eyes or saw him from another viewpoint) was in a wooden, shed-like area that was small and missing a front wall. "I" was organizing things, rudimentary tools, on wooden tables and shelves smothered in and surrounded by hay.
I almost felt like "I" was incapable of anything other than this demeaning labor, which was just saving time for the two zombies, who were something like snobbish business people. But I saw how "I" or "he" had been hypnotized to act the way "XXXXX" was acting and to believe "XXXXX" was unable to do better with "himself."
The zombies were just hypnotizing "the man" to submit to more and more demoralization until he was so worn down he would just surrender to being slaughtered and eaten. So I tried to put a stop to it. I went up to this man, who was now a thin, short, rough skinned, squint-eyed, bald man in what looked like faded denim prison clothes. He was making scratches on some cardboard surface that looked like the lid to a box. He may have been making markings, long lines, with a crayon.
I got right to his right (?) ear and whispered, "This is only a dream. You must treat this all as a dream. This is not who you really are. You are much better than this. I am going to wake you up on the count of fourteen and you will see all this is a dream." I then began counting in a strange fashion and also with a voice that echoed off itself like some kind of distortion for a disco song.
I now stood over by the two zombies. They mentioned something about the man in the prison clothes. They laughed. I wondered why he hadn't woken up. I hoped the zombies hadn't caught me trying to release the man from his spell.
The zombies now talked about some expensive alcoholic drink. It revolted me. I saw in their hands some weird, football-shaped, organic lumps like organs or shark embryos. I knew they drank the blood out of these organic lumps. I thought something like, God! I can't even have a casual conversation without them revealing their repulsive, cannibalistic tendencies.
They must have felt my disapproval because they now changed the story. The organic lumps were some kind of expensive glasses. The drink inside was more like a Courvoisier. "But," the zombies said, "We almost never drink this anyway. It's far too expensive. In fact, we mainly bought these only to show you what they looked like and how unreasonably expensive they are." The zombies stood in front of some nice, silver SUV.
Dream 2
Mostly unremembered. I went on some long trip, possibly on a boat, and possibly with people from my NYC Americorps program. One guy in particular was there.
The room we two walked into, some kind of main cabin where all of us could meet, was wide, yet short and cheap looking. It had thin, green carpet, and thin, "trailer park" walls like fake wood panels. But these walls were muted, almost looking like the gravel colored press board backings often seen in big, cheap warehouses. There was a "couch," on which the other guy sat, which, other than having a small, green cushion somewhere, was in fact this gravel-colored press board fringed in tan plywood striping. The guy spread himself out on the "couch" like he didn't even care.
I tried to be cool. I walked into the bathroom, saying something about how I was sorry I hadn't been able to make the room look very cool and that I wasn't really a dork. The guy said, "Oh, it's no big deal. We'll have these walls plastered with rap star posters in no time. Especially the bathroom walls."
I now looked up to the walls, as if I were a five-year-old child, to see two calendar/posters, which, though of apparently abstract and almost featureless design, were "of" two very famous rap stars. I thought something like, "Oh, I'm not sure I wanted this, after all."
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