(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.
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