(6/26/08) factory boy

(Entered in paper journal at 6:24 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)

Dream #1

I was in a large, old building like a factory in ruins. There might have been no ceiling, because sunlight was coming in pretty clearly from above. I was with a group of people, all of whom (except one boy) had soon walked ahead of me and out of my sight.

The boy who remained was walking up a piece of machinery like a conveyor belt. The conveyor belt was part of an intricate system of machinery that almost looked like a highway network. Parts of it were blocked up with roller-like cylinders laid down on the ramps and belts. Other parts were blocked up with barrels like oil barrels stood up on the ramps and belts. There were also orange and white striped barrier boards cluttered all over.

The machinery spanned into a dark, dark hallway which was where the group of other folks had gone. The boy might have been trying to get to that area as well via the ramps and belts of the machinery.

But suddenly the ramp he had been walking on broke, as if it were made of old wood. The boy fell maybe ten feet and landed on his back on the metallic, roller-like cylinders which lay on the ground.

The boy lay still. I ran to him. I was sure he was dead. I knelt down. The boy opened his eyes. He was alive, but he was hurt. He now looked older. He was white, a little grizzled-looking, with mean eyes. But he was still "the boy." I helped the boy stand up. We walked toward the entrance of the building (i.e. away from the balck hallway), possibly with the assistance of a few other people.

I got to the doorway. I was by myself. I looked out to an extension of this old building, which had a thick, dark ceiling but no walls. The view beyond the building was beautiful, blue sky, as if the building stood at the top of a hill which sloped down to the ocean.

I walked a little ways outward, then stopped and turned back toward the door. There were old tools scattered on the floor before the doorway. I rushed back to the door to shove the tools back inside. But all I did was go back inside and attempt to close the door, which was now an old, wooden door. I couldn't get it closed.

A big, roundish, black man wearing overalls stood just outside the doorway. He looked offended, as if he thought I was trying to close the door on him. I think I held the door open for him apologetically, trying to let him prove that I wasn't trying to shut him out.