(10/5/09) the flying jackson 5; rock star gallery

(Entered in paper journal at 8:09 AM at Red Horse cafe in Brooklyn.)

Dream #1

I was part of a group of people standing out in a rainy square or lot. The sky was low and grey. The people with me were probably tall and black and were possibly supposed to be the Jackson 5. We all stood under some shell-like blanket of material, like a tarp or a parachute. An old, black woman waddled up to us, walking with a cane and wearing a long, maroon overcoat.

The wind gathered underneath the shell, lifting us up from the ground. The woman made a remark, something like how it didn't make sense that the Jackson 5 were piloting something like this. I made a strange remark, twisting the words around, basically saying that if the woman didn't know the Jackson 5 could do this, then it was possibly that we weren't the Jackson 5. I said this so the woman would possibly doubt that we were the Jackson 5 and thus wouldn't make a big fuss that we had just done something like this.

I noticed that I had a few red, plastic coffee stir-stir straws sticking out of my mouth like a bunch of crooked teeth.

We were now flying around within a strange, midair circuit made of billboards and iron railings. Everything was lit with incandescent light on the circuit, while everything outside the circuit was in gentle, brownish shadow, as if this area were inside some kind of gigantic building.

I was now flying Michael Jackson around this circuit in a blimp, just so he could have a little fun, as if he were some kind of terminally ill patient stuck in the hospital. But we began flying the blimp faster and faster, so that it was harder and harder to control.

My thought was that as we went around this circuit (counter-clockwise), we would get up enough speed to escape through one of the open gate-like exits, propelling ourselves up into the sky outside (which could be seen somehow, as if through windows: a low, grey rainy sky).

But now the blimp was going so fast that it was very difficult to control, and it kept bumping against the "walls" of the circuit. I knew there was a risk that if we hit the walls too hard, the blimp would explode. But I still felt there was a decent chance that I'd be able to steer us safely out one of the exits.

But now I got some kind of radio transmission from authorities of some kind. The authorities told me I was going too quickly and moving too recklessly, especially with someone like Michael Jackson aboard. I stretched out my legs. My feet began hitting against the steel pipe partitions and plastic board displays.

The blimp was now gone. I was flying, just my body, through a labyrinthine hallway in some museum. Eventually, still making something like a circuit through the narrow passageways, I clipped my feet against the pipes and boards enough to slow me down to a stop.

Dream #2

I stood outside during the daytime in a public area that was somewhat busy with people. I saw, on some handheld device, a video talking about a politician being in some kind of trouble, possibly having to do with some rock singer.

I walked up onto a stone platform that stood maybe six inches above the ground and was maybe twenty feet long and twelve feet wide. As I stood on the platform I noticed someone, maybe my old friend R, standing before a television at the center and back of the stage. The screen may first have been showing a head shot of David Cross as he gave some monologue, possibly about the banality of modern day rock music.

Now the platform was a dark room, like the room for the Kenneth Anger exhibit (which showed at PS1 in 2009) with a couple of draped-off areas and walls lit to appear deep blue or purple. There were three television screens along the back wall.

R stood at the center screen, now watching a video by Amy Winehouse. Winehouse wore a pink, gingham, maid-style costume. She was singing a song I liked, 1950s style, bluesy, hard-edged. But as it got to the chorus, R said, "That's just what I'm talking about! What a bunch of shallow music." I walked behind one of the draped areas, trying to figure out the lyrics to the song I'd just seen and how they could possibly be construed to be so shallow.

I exited the draped area through an exit near the front of the exhibit room, where a projector was playing another music video on the top half of the wall. This song was also familiar to me and also one I liked. There were a lot of purples and blues in the video. I thought the song sounded like something by Weezer, though I referred to the band by some other name.

The video now showed a few of the band members seated and prepared to do something like present for a commercial. The band members all wore black t-shirts with white showing under the sleeves, as if they were also wearing slightly longer white t-shirts under their black t-shirts. The band members were all pale white, a little heavy, with long, unkempt hair. One band member had blonde hair with black streaks, messy and spiky. Another had frizzy, dread-like, brown hair and a stubbly beard. His face was shabby and round.

I turned back to R, who may now have been speaking with my old friend ML. I told ML, "I actually think that song was great. It was by -- it was by..." I said the band name again, but was pretty sure I hadn't gotten it right.

(10/9/09) broken down spare car

(Entered in paper journal at 9:28 AM at Red Horse cafe in Brooklyn.)

Dream #1

I had to take my car to the garage to get worked on. I walked into the front area, which looked like the interior of a shed or a concrete floored cabin.

My dad was the mechanic. He sat at a thin, metal desk, something that looked more like a tall toolbox being used as a desk, with an old computer on top of it. I told my dad it was nice to see him. My dad gave me the keys to a spare car. He told me that my car would be ready later on.

I took the spare care and drove down a road which was apparently part of a square circuit of road. I drove counter-clockwise around the circuit. The road was full of desert sunlight, sunglass-yellow, and flanked with business signs and places like car sales lots. I now saw a few amusement parks. I was eventually driving straight through an amusement park, with the road flanked by individual rides or clusters of rides.

Down the road, on my right, I saw an amusement park called Cosplay Land. I thought I might like that. It looked completely deserted, and also looked like it only had only ride. I saw a couple other amusement parks to my left, as well as, possibly, some fast food restaurants. I wondered what people would think of me if they saw me going into Cosplay Land.

Now I stopped the spare care and got out -- possibly because the spare car had broken down. As I walked a ways down the road I saw a cop standing beside a stopped car, talking to the driver, who was still seated in the car. Everything on either side of the street felt to me like scrapyards.

As I passed the cop and car I wondered why the cop had stopped the driver. It may have had something to do with identification, proof of being owner of the car, I thought. There was a lot of trouble going around nowadays with that stuff, I thought.

I was happy I was no longer in the spare car, so I didn't have to deal with any troubles cops might give me about producing proof that I was legally driving the spare car. But I was sure that, after whatever preliminary troubles I'd have to go through with the cops, I'd be able to prove that the spare car was my dad's and that I wasn't driving it illegally.

Then I suddenly realized that I hadn't given my dad the keys to my own car! I'd have to walk all the way back to the garage and give my dad the keys. The time for my car to get fixed would now obviously have to be pushed back. I wasn't likely to have it back by this afternoon, as I'd previously thought I would. When would I be able to have my car back? How soon?

I walked into the garage, possibly after having trudge through a snow-covered mountain path. My feet were soaked, and I dreaded having to walk back out onto that path again.

I gave my dad my car keys. I told my dad I'd see him soon. I told him something like I was sorry I hadn't seen him over the years, and that I was sorry I'd only seen him now by accident because I'd needed someone to fix my car. I did feel bad. But mostly I just said all this stuff because I didn't want my dad to ruin my car out of bitterness that I hadn't spoken with him in all this time.

My dad said he would have my car ready soon, and that after I had my car, he'd make sure to call me so that we could spend time together. He, also, hadn't made an effort to see me. My dad asked me how the spare car was.

I may now have been walking away from the garage. I thought to myself, I hope that my dad never finds out I got all the way here without having used the spare car. I also reflected that the reason I'd gotten out of the spare car in the first place was that I'd thought it had broken down. I thought with dread of what my dad would do when he found out his spare car was broken.