(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."
Showing posts with label zombie attack. Show all posts
Showing posts with label zombie attack. Show all posts
Saturday, March 18, 2017
Saturday, December 1, 2012
(3/23/09) friends among zombies; basement of the lazy
(Entered in paper journal at 7:50 AM at home.)
Dream #1
I was at a checkout stand in a large supermarket. The store was dark, with just a couple of bands of fluorescent ceiling lights turned on. Outside it was pitch black. Some other people, maybe black people, stood by the checkout stands, as if we were all waiting to pay for our items. But there were no workers.
I looked at a tabloid rack to my left. The papers all spoke about something having happened to the President. There was no specific idea of people who may have been involved in any of the related events. But there was an implication that, because of these events, a war would be started. It seemed like all this news was of a trivial, gossipy nature, fit only for the tabloids.
I stood outside with my dad. It was still pitch black night. We stood out on a wide, concrete lot. Somewhere to my left there may have been a tall, wide, stable, stone building, like for a university. There were a few white streetlamps lighting the lot.
Something dangerous was happening. Zombies may have been attacking the area. My dad was sending me out on a small, ATV-like vehicle to retrieve something. I was afraid to go, even though I knew I had to. The zombies (?) had stopped attacking, but nobody knew where they were. I thought that, riding on such an unprotected vehicle, if I accidentally met a group of zombies, I could easily be "gotten" -- attacked by them.
I started off, possibly driving through a fog. I rode through a few places, like back roads, suburban residential neighborhoods, places that looked like secret bases (with chain link fences and barbed wire), something like university campuses, and a shopping mall's parking lot.
At some point I met up with a group of people. We were all riding in a van now. We were riding down a long, straight, slightly graded slope. We were all talking somewhat cheerfully about where we were going next. We were apparently going back to my dad. But I was worried that we really weren't headed that way. It didn't look like we were headed in the right direction at all.
Dream #2
I may have been laying with a large group of people, all of us laying close together, as if we were in a gigantic basement in a gigantic suburban house.
A woman knelt down and tapped me to get my attention. The woman looked like a gardener CA, who worked at a park at which I'd led volunteer groups through New York Cares -- she was shortish and had tan skin, blue eyes, and shortish, squarish, silver and grey hair. The woman said, "I'm not sure, with you young people, what time I should be getting you up."
I felt bad, thinking I should have been up a while ago, and that I was getting lazy.
Dream #1
I was at a checkout stand in a large supermarket. The store was dark, with just a couple of bands of fluorescent ceiling lights turned on. Outside it was pitch black. Some other people, maybe black people, stood by the checkout stands, as if we were all waiting to pay for our items. But there were no workers.
I looked at a tabloid rack to my left. The papers all spoke about something having happened to the President. There was no specific idea of people who may have been involved in any of the related events. But there was an implication that, because of these events, a war would be started. It seemed like all this news was of a trivial, gossipy nature, fit only for the tabloids.
I stood outside with my dad. It was still pitch black night. We stood out on a wide, concrete lot. Somewhere to my left there may have been a tall, wide, stable, stone building, like for a university. There were a few white streetlamps lighting the lot.
Something dangerous was happening. Zombies may have been attacking the area. My dad was sending me out on a small, ATV-like vehicle to retrieve something. I was afraid to go, even though I knew I had to. The zombies (?) had stopped attacking, but nobody knew where they were. I thought that, riding on such an unprotected vehicle, if I accidentally met a group of zombies, I could easily be "gotten" -- attacked by them.
I started off, possibly driving through a fog. I rode through a few places, like back roads, suburban residential neighborhoods, places that looked like secret bases (with chain link fences and barbed wire), something like university campuses, and a shopping mall's parking lot.
At some point I met up with a group of people. We were all riding in a van now. We were riding down a long, straight, slightly graded slope. We were all talking somewhat cheerfully about where we were going next. We were apparently going back to my dad. But I was worried that we really weren't headed that way. It didn't look like we were headed in the right direction at all.
Dream #2
I may have been laying with a large group of people, all of us laying close together, as if we were in a gigantic basement in a gigantic suburban house.
A woman knelt down and tapped me to get my attention. The woman looked like a gardener CA, who worked at a park at which I'd led volunteer groups through New York Cares -- she was shortish and had tan skin, blue eyes, and shortish, squarish, silver and grey hair. The woman said, "I'm not sure, with you young people, what time I should be getting you up."
I felt bad, thinking I should have been up a while ago, and that I was getting lazy.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
(5/7/09) jet maneuvers; ring of baldness; apocalyptic home improvement
(Entered in paper journal at 9:09 AM at Red Horse cafe in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
A view of a B-52-like plane carrying along a whole school of SR-71-like jets, all tethered to the B-52 by something like metal cords. The B-52 led the SR-71s through a series of maneuvers like for an air show, darting back and forth through the sky.The sky was a darkish, purplish blue, dotted by occasional white clouds, behind which the planes might fly.
I wondered how the planes could all be tethered to the B-52 while going through the maneuvers and manage not to get all tangled up -- especially the SR-71s. As I had this reflection, the SR-71s might have changed into old, World War I style biplanes, painted a purplish blue.
After more maneuvers the planes landed. One of the pilots of the tethered planes stepped out of his plane -- which was now like a somewhat modern, very small private plane. The man was tall, white, a little heavy, with a broad forehead and pale blue eyes. He may have been balding, with short, pale grey hair. He looked exhausted. The right side of his face may at some point have been a little grey, dry, and cracked.
The man was talking about the rigors of these training flights. He spoke about how his thumb (on his right hand?) had gotten smashed or otherwise somehow injured. He said he'd be okay. He had to go up for one more flight, but he could make it. As the man spoke, he looked more and more exhausted. He almost looked like he was dying or becoming a zombie.
I saw the man's injured hand. The thumb was smashed almost flat at the nail. It was all normally colored, though: no bruising or anything. But the thumb was flat, and there was a bloody mass around the sides and top. The man pulled at the thumb, so that the top part of the thumb flapped away from the bottom part a little.
I knew the man normally used this injured hand to manipulate one of the plane's control knobs. I wondered how the man could possibly use the hand. But I also thought that if he did use the hand, the same conditions which caused his thumb to get smashed the first time around would injure his hand even more.
But all the pilots, I knew, had to take the planes up one more time today. They were each taking a child on the flight. The children were special in some sense. Most likely they were terminally ill children, part of a "Make a Wish" type program.
The man now put a thin, blonde girl, maybe nine or ten years old, into the passenger seat of his plane. The girl wore a 1970s style, flowery dress of muted colors, with a white shirt underneath.
The girl requested that the man not do too many rough stunts. The girl was either afraid or too sick to sustain too much force. The man assured the girl that he would take it easy. The flight pattern assigned was very gentle, planned specifically for this special group of children.
The man then put a "helmet" on this girl. The "helmet" looked like a chain-link basket of thin-spun metal links, like the biggest bottom "bowl" in a ceiling-hung series of tiered, mesh-metal "bowls," used in kitchens sometimes to hold fruits or plants or other things.
Dream #2
A man got angry at me. He was either very short or bent down, or else I was standing on a slightly higher level than he. I could see the top of the man's head. The very top and center was bald in a circle maybe one and a half inches in diameter.
The man got madder at me and asked me why I thought I should be so interested in his head. I looked at the man's head again. The circle had a bit of longish, thin hair in it now, leaving only the edges, a ring of baldness. This was something of a relief to me. I had thought that the man's baldness was a sign that I myself would become bald.
Dream #3
I was in the living room of the house my family lived when I was eleven to fifteen years old. Some of my family and friends were also there. It was night. The room was lit with incandescent light. The front door was open.
Something was happening in the neighborhood, maybe even throughout the world, like an attack of killers or zombies. We had to take care of something on the roof, which was sloped and made of tin or some other sheet metal. We were (or I was) afraid to do this. It would likely call the attention of the killers/zombies and put us at great risk.
Dream #1
A view of a B-52-like plane carrying along a whole school of SR-71-like jets, all tethered to the B-52 by something like metal cords. The B-52 led the SR-71s through a series of maneuvers like for an air show, darting back and forth through the sky.The sky was a darkish, purplish blue, dotted by occasional white clouds, behind which the planes might fly.
I wondered how the planes could all be tethered to the B-52 while going through the maneuvers and manage not to get all tangled up -- especially the SR-71s. As I had this reflection, the SR-71s might have changed into old, World War I style biplanes, painted a purplish blue.
After more maneuvers the planes landed. One of the pilots of the tethered planes stepped out of his plane -- which was now like a somewhat modern, very small private plane. The man was tall, white, a little heavy, with a broad forehead and pale blue eyes. He may have been balding, with short, pale grey hair. He looked exhausted. The right side of his face may at some point have been a little grey, dry, and cracked.
The man was talking about the rigors of these training flights. He spoke about how his thumb (on his right hand?) had gotten smashed or otherwise somehow injured. He said he'd be okay. He had to go up for one more flight, but he could make it. As the man spoke, he looked more and more exhausted. He almost looked like he was dying or becoming a zombie.
I saw the man's injured hand. The thumb was smashed almost flat at the nail. It was all normally colored, though: no bruising or anything. But the thumb was flat, and there was a bloody mass around the sides and top. The man pulled at the thumb, so that the top part of the thumb flapped away from the bottom part a little.
I knew the man normally used this injured hand to manipulate one of the plane's control knobs. I wondered how the man could possibly use the hand. But I also thought that if he did use the hand, the same conditions which caused his thumb to get smashed the first time around would injure his hand even more.
But all the pilots, I knew, had to take the planes up one more time today. They were each taking a child on the flight. The children were special in some sense. Most likely they were terminally ill children, part of a "Make a Wish" type program.
The man now put a thin, blonde girl, maybe nine or ten years old, into the passenger seat of his plane. The girl wore a 1970s style, flowery dress of muted colors, with a white shirt underneath.
The girl requested that the man not do too many rough stunts. The girl was either afraid or too sick to sustain too much force. The man assured the girl that he would take it easy. The flight pattern assigned was very gentle, planned specifically for this special group of children.
The man then put a "helmet" on this girl. The "helmet" looked like a chain-link basket of thin-spun metal links, like the biggest bottom "bowl" in a ceiling-hung series of tiered, mesh-metal "bowls," used in kitchens sometimes to hold fruits or plants or other things.
Dream #2
A man got angry at me. He was either very short or bent down, or else I was standing on a slightly higher level than he. I could see the top of the man's head. The very top and center was bald in a circle maybe one and a half inches in diameter.
The man got madder at me and asked me why I thought I should be so interested in his head. I looked at the man's head again. The circle had a bit of longish, thin hair in it now, leaving only the edges, a ring of baldness. This was something of a relief to me. I had thought that the man's baldness was a sign that I myself would become bald.
Dream #3
I was in the living room of the house my family lived when I was eleven to fifteen years old. Some of my family and friends were also there. It was night. The room was lit with incandescent light. The front door was open.
Something was happening in the neighborhood, maybe even throughout the world, like an attack of killers or zombies. We had to take care of something on the roof, which was sloped and made of tin or some other sheet metal. We were (or I was) afraid to do this. It would likely call the attention of the killers/zombies and put us at great risk.
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