Saturday, March 11, 2017

(3/31/05) the last few steps; who's the fairest

(Entered in paper journal at 3:25 PM at home in Harlem.)

Dream 1

I stepped onto and walked along a concrete top to a brick boundary to a parking lot that was at the top of a slope. The boundary fence reached maybe only two and a half feet up above ground level on the parking lot side, but on the other side it cut down anywhere from five to twenty or so feet.

(Now that I think of it, the description as "top of a slope" seems wrong The fence was a wall along a sloped area, so that the wall, though even on the parking lot side, got taller and shorter as it went along the hill slope side, i.e.)


I walked past some guys who stood at a car a few rows away from the edge of the parking lot. The guys made fun of me because I was walking on the top of the fence like some kind of showoff. I tried to ignore them. Besides, I thought, this isn't even the high point. I passed the high point a long time ago. Where I am now, anybody could walk.

I looked down. The ground seemed to be sloping up on the other side of the fence so that the ground would be level with the fence "top" on both sides in just a few steps. There was a light pole on the fence top. I had to swing around to get to the other side.


I looked down at the ground now. It was far below me, farther than it had been so far. I felt woozy, like I couldn't make it.

There was another telephone pole. Then the fenced curved up, in a J shape, to a stair-bank, so that in no more than ten steps I'd be at an even level on both sides.


But when I got around the second telephone pole I felt that the curving of the fence-top and the steepness of the wall would make me fall down. So I just jumped off on the parking lot side. I was suddenly disappointed in myself for not taking the last few steps.

Dream 2

An old, cartoon-like woman (almost like the witch's beggar-lady disguise in Walt Disney's Snow White) stood before either a beautiful, young, blonde woman or a handsome, thick, dark-haired knight. She asked the person whether she was beautiful.

It turns out this old lady was actually a wizard or sorcerer (male) who practiced changing himself into a female until this point, which he thought was the peak of his skill. But he couldn't see himself. I knew if the person in question spoke honestly the wizard would kill him/her.

Now the person was "I." But "I" was also (somehow) the old lady. "I" (person) hemmed and hawed over my answer. This in itself infuriated the old lady. I felt myself in the old lady's mind, and I knew she was getting infuriated, but "I" didn't feel infuriated.

"I" (old lady) now realized "I" was playing a part in a Shakespeare production. The setting was a room in a spooky mansion. The walls (and door!) were high and tall. I had only presently been given the script, I "remembered," and I'd spent fleeting time memorizing it the best I could before being tossed out on stage.

Now my recording of the old lady's monologue, though gusting and building at first, reached a point of uncertainty, so I struggled and stumbled over every word or phrase. I could feel people looking at me: some critics in the audience, but especially the director, backstage, who all wondered why I and/or they ever thought I was a good actor.

The dream then switched to a similar scene, which I don't remember at all.

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