(Entered in paper journal at 9:25 PM at Starbucks on 43rd Street and 3rd Avenue in Manhattan.)
Dream 1
I was possibly part of some expedition, possibly in Egypt. There was something like a cat-sized mummy, but it was supposed to be a human or part of a human. It seems more like it was wrapped in basket-woven reed strips than cloth. Yet it's also like it was in stone, like a sarcophagus.
I was down deep in a tunnel like in a tomb's labyrinth. There was a candle lighting the view. Now the heart was inside the (body?). It was also mummified. But it dripped drops of blood, so much so that the strips of cloth were purple with blood now: a dry, caked purple soaked anew with new blood all the time.
I asked the lady anthropologist/archaeologist if the drops wouldn't soak the stone on which the "sarcophagus" lay. (This soaking would cause something bad to happen to the tomb structure.) As soon as I asked that question I realized how stupid it was, and I sat and bore the explanation the anthropologist was giving me, even though I already knew it now -- The "sarcophagus" was surrounded in thick stone, and no liquid could get through it.
I now saw, by candlelight, a wall painting in the Egyptian style of a man, bare-chested and wearing a skirt (?), carrying the "sarcophagus" down a stone slope to the tomb area where it now lay. The explanation of this scene was strange, something like a sacrifice of the dead. This being had died naturally (?), in other words, and its corpse was somehow sacrificed. The sacrifice had truly made the "sarcophagus" sacred, for its drops of heart blood now had the power of curing a specific disease.
I now saw the "sarcophagus" laying as if untouched (it had been standing before). At its head was an egg-shaped object -- the heart. It was alternately in stone and in blood-soaked cloth strips. The anthropologist had collected a sample of this blood in a cylindrical beaker about three inches in diameter and five inches in height.
I was the one who would test this blood for curative effects. But the anthropologist warned me that the blood (which looked like silty pond water) may have certain water-borne bacteria which could give me a nasty intestinal sickness. The "blood," now pond water (!), had to be analyzed in a lab before I tested it.
Now I was in the lab: a white, sterile place, with a male scientist in a white lab coat. The pond water was now like it had never been blood, like it had never come from "Egypt." The male scientist, as young and healthy as the female scientist had been, was now the person I had been working with all along. The scientist said the analysis process would take place in a couple days and that it would take about twenty-eight hours.
I was now sitting in an old, cheap car with a female scientist. We were on a roadside by a wood post fence surrounding either a large yard or a small park.
I told the scientist that if she needed me to help out with the twenty-eight-hour analysis, which I knew would be a big deal with the scientists, I would gladly volunteer for the whole time. But then I remembered that I wouldn't be volunteering outside. I'd be volunteering in a lab, just sitting there for twenty-eight hours straight.
I thought about reneging. But then I figured that I was, after all, interested in the unique properties of the pond water. (It, of course, no longer had the curative effect the blood had, but there was still something scientifically interesting about it.)
Showing posts with label ancient egypt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ancient egypt. Show all posts
Sunday, March 5, 2017
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
(10/8/05) showing my brother my work; the strange thing about elvis presley's asshole; haewan
(Entered in paper journal at the Tea Lounge on Union Street and 7th Avenue in Brooklyn.)
Dream 1
I was with my little brother. It was night. we were in a clearing in a wooded area with a few trailer homes or cabins and some picnic tables. I had a thick book which I had written by hand.
My brother asked me to show him some of the stuff in the book. I didn't want to show him any of what I had written, but I thought of a drawing I could show him. I told him about it as I saw it in my head. A woman had been pursued by some creepy people. Now they had lured her to their place, where they would kill her. But the were even going to kill her in a manipulative, unsuspecting way.
I flipped through the pages but couldn't find the picture. My brother walked away to take care of some business. Finally I found the page. There were actually four panels of drawings, like it was a black and white comic book page.
I hadn't realized how fine and professional my drawing style had been for these panels. They looked like Aubrey Beardsley, even though my own subject matter was trite and over-sexualized, pretty much falling in line with the contemporary comic book style.
The woman had been lured by other women, to whom she was attracted, to an orgy in the dining hall of a mansion. She was aroused when she watched the orgy's participants killing each other.
I myself felt hands pressing into my spine. I though, Oh -- that's how they killed me! They actually bit my spine out!
The last panel, the one I wanted to show my brother, was of the orgiasts pulling the girl down into the orgy. Now she didn't want to go.
I got all of this in an instant -- almost as soon as I found the page I had unintentionally -- automatically -- flipped past it, to the end of the book.
The last pages were all beautifully designed crosses, mostly ornamented, with pagan symbols, and all drawn in pen, much finer than how I usually draw. One cross was grey with black stripes going up it. Another was white, with wrappings around its lower extension like the snakes around the medical symbol. They were all set against beautifully cross-hatched black backgrounds.
I was so excited by all the drawings I saw that I ran after my brother to show him. I met him coming out of a cabin. He said, "If you don't want to show me the stuff you make, just say so. I'd like to see it, but itn's not a big deal."
I said, "No, no. I do want to show you."
We walked past a cabin with the lights on. It looked like a workshop inside. There were two black girls inside, flirting with each other. They looked over at us, somehow implying in their expression that we were perverts for looking at them while they were flirting.
My brother said, "Why is their hair all huge like that? That's a stupid style."
We were now back at the table. I tried to show my brother the drawings I liked, but, flipping backwards from the very end of the book, I couldn't find them: not the crosses, not the comic book page. I was trying to remember where I had seen the drawings. But I couldn't.
Dream 2
I was watching some special about Elvis Presley. Elvis wore a black leather jacket and tight, black jeans. He turned around and pulled down his pants to show people the strange thing about his asshole. The jeans stuffed against his buttocks as he pulled his pants down. Finally he got to his asshole, which was some strange, fleshy trunk, like a piece of intestine had been pulled out his ass. It was milky, filmy, slimy, and translucent.
Elvis now changed somehow, like he was some average guy in prison as well as Elvis. He said, "I always tell people, don't take the grate off the toilet, because my asshole is so weird that if the grate is off the toilet I can't get the correct angle."
I saw the "grate," a patch of chain link fence. I knew that Elvis had to shit so that his shit could come out parallel to the ground and then go into the toilet. I didn't know how the fence would make the angle of a toilet perpendicular to its usual angle.
Elvis now stood with his back to a fence and began shitting through the fence.
Dream 3
I was on an Ancient Egyptian temple with a group of soldiers. This was Ancient Egypt, but it was all indoors. Sunlight came in through clerestory windows.
We were combating an enemy that far outnumbered us. But this temple held a secret that would give us invincibility. The temple had three levels, each constructed at different periods in Ancient Egypt's history.
One level's door had to be entered in order to start an avalanche on another level, blocking that level's door and releasing the key to the secret on the remaining level. The first choice, if incorrect, would lead to death.
We had to find the secret before the enemy approached. They could come straight to us and kill us. But they could approach as we opened the secret and hurry into the door and take the invincibility for themselves.
I had a paper (it looked like from Renaissance Italy) that was written in a symbolic riddle-language. Its writing corresponded with "writing" on a fan-shaped store over the second door. The door was actually drawn on the paper.
Comparing the "writing" patterns and the riddle-language, I figured out the correct door to enter. I called the men to enter the top level door first. It was right above us, somehow easily accessible, but for some reason we were running.
Now we were running toward the temple, as if we hadn't just been there. We ran over huge, randomly stacked, limestone cubes. As we ran, the indoor "Ancient Egypt" landscape became ore and more what I called a museum, though it was actually more like a department store's clothing section full of almost barren racks and clothing display tables and spaced with cubic limestone structures and ancient relics.
As I ran I called to the men, "Go! Go! We're almost there!" But soon I was passed up by the men, and a huge man, wearing Egyptian costume but looking more like a Viking, took my place and role of shouting to the men.
I was quickly losing my breath. I wore modern clothes. I had a shoulder-strap briefcase-bag which bounced against my stomach and was full of small, limestone cubes. The men kept passing me. We, but especially they, went at a furious pace.
I broke down. My lungs were burning. Yet I kept calling, in a progressively meeker tone, "Go! Go!" as if I were still the leader.
They were now all so far ahead of me that I wondered why they'd let me come with them and why they'd tolerated my pretending like I was the boss. I could barely even climb the limestone blocks.
The soldiers had vanished now. I got to the "temple," which was just a mock-up of the temple we'd been at before. It stood on an island of green carpet and faced a stand of almost barren clothes racks and tables. There was a tile walkway and then another island of deep jade carpet.
A group of thirty or so high school kids walked past. A boy stopped with his girl at a little square formed by the back end of the "temple" and a few other tall walls or divides. The place was still a "museum."
The boy, black, with a light complexion, showed his black girlfriend the only thing in this square: a board on the back wall. It was maybe ten feet up and was maybe ten feet tall and fifteen feet wide. it was black plastic and faced with a shiny sheet of clear plastic. it was like a sign filled with light-up numbers to let you know when your turn has come up, like at the DMV. But the board had a statement on it. The statement was obscured. almost none of the words were lit, and the shiny, wavy plastic front obscured the letters.
The boy said, "Everything else in this place is bullshit. This is the only thing that matters."
I was so weak by the time I had arrived here that I was heaving, barely breathing. I knelt down beside the kids. I remembered the boy now. He had once punched me in the face. It hadn't been while I was drunk. It had been while I was sober. I couldn't remember the exact event. But I knew now that it had happened. Throughout the rest of the dream I struggled to remember this event.
Now my main focus was on reading the sign. But I couldn't get it.
The boy was annoyed by my presence. He was being a loud asshole to get me to leave.
All I could decipher from the sign was toward the end of the long statement. It went: "The country of XXXXX is the only place where a black man can say the word 'Haewan,' his own word for God..."
Now the boy was so furious about my presence that he swung his arms violently around my head. Finally, unintentionally, he hit me just forward of my left temple, just about the bony corner above my left eye.
I had been trying to place the statement with Malcolm X when the boy hit me. I was more annoyed than angry, but I wanted the kids to leave. I stood and pushed the kid away and snapped, "Leave me alone!"
The kid was a lot smaller than I'd thought he'd be. I couldn't remember him and he couldn't remember me. But something about me startled him. He took his girl and ran off.
I knelt again to read the sign. I may have been copying it in a notepad. The place was by now almost entirely an almost barren clothing section in a department store.
I thought the sign would say that only in XXXXX was a black man allowed to worship the god of his own personal heritage, and that black men should be free to worship in their own way all over the world, especially in America, where the black heritage was so hideously erased from the slaves' lives.
But instead the sign said something like, "Black men have no god. They never had one. They never had a god or a conception of Heaven. They were always about themselves, about getting theirs, and having more than anybody else had. God and Heaven were the conceptions of the white man. But each black man naturally grows up selfish and spiteful, as he should.
"The country of XXXXX is the only country where a black man can say the word 'Haewan,' his own word for God and Heaven, and where the men there will tell him he is a fool for believing in such things."
I went from thinking this was a beautiful statement by Malcolm X to wondering who on earth would write this strange statement and why on earth a black man would think it was a good statement, the only statement worth appreciating in (what used to be) a great museum.
My mom was now to my right. I was telling her all this.
I looked below the sign. There were three plaques, grey, coppery metal, each with the name of a person who had created this statement. The top plaque had a name like Alexander. The man's profession, drug-dealer, was written below the name. The plaque below that had a name and a profession like drug-dealer/pimp. I didn't read the lowest plaque.
I told my mom, "These people only want money. They want to destroy everything, even themselves. It's a sickness they infect humanity with. They want people to become stupid savages. To forget God. And something in the universe is letting them win."
Dream 1
I was with my little brother. It was night. we were in a clearing in a wooded area with a few trailer homes or cabins and some picnic tables. I had a thick book which I had written by hand.
My brother asked me to show him some of the stuff in the book. I didn't want to show him any of what I had written, but I thought of a drawing I could show him. I told him about it as I saw it in my head. A woman had been pursued by some creepy people. Now they had lured her to their place, where they would kill her. But the were even going to kill her in a manipulative, unsuspecting way.
I flipped through the pages but couldn't find the picture. My brother walked away to take care of some business. Finally I found the page. There were actually four panels of drawings, like it was a black and white comic book page.
I hadn't realized how fine and professional my drawing style had been for these panels. They looked like Aubrey Beardsley, even though my own subject matter was trite and over-sexualized, pretty much falling in line with the contemporary comic book style.
The woman had been lured by other women, to whom she was attracted, to an orgy in the dining hall of a mansion. She was aroused when she watched the orgy's participants killing each other.
I myself felt hands pressing into my spine. I though, Oh -- that's how they killed me! They actually bit my spine out!
The last panel, the one I wanted to show my brother, was of the orgiasts pulling the girl down into the orgy. Now she didn't want to go.
I got all of this in an instant -- almost as soon as I found the page I had unintentionally -- automatically -- flipped past it, to the end of the book.
The last pages were all beautifully designed crosses, mostly ornamented, with pagan symbols, and all drawn in pen, much finer than how I usually draw. One cross was grey with black stripes going up it. Another was white, with wrappings around its lower extension like the snakes around the medical symbol. They were all set against beautifully cross-hatched black backgrounds.
I was so excited by all the drawings I saw that I ran after my brother to show him. I met him coming out of a cabin. He said, "If you don't want to show me the stuff you make, just say so. I'd like to see it, but itn's not a big deal."
I said, "No, no. I do want to show you."
We walked past a cabin with the lights on. It looked like a workshop inside. There were two black girls inside, flirting with each other. They looked over at us, somehow implying in their expression that we were perverts for looking at them while they were flirting.
My brother said, "Why is their hair all huge like that? That's a stupid style."
We were now back at the table. I tried to show my brother the drawings I liked, but, flipping backwards from the very end of the book, I couldn't find them: not the crosses, not the comic book page. I was trying to remember where I had seen the drawings. But I couldn't.
Dream 2
I was watching some special about Elvis Presley. Elvis wore a black leather jacket and tight, black jeans. He turned around and pulled down his pants to show people the strange thing about his asshole. The jeans stuffed against his buttocks as he pulled his pants down. Finally he got to his asshole, which was some strange, fleshy trunk, like a piece of intestine had been pulled out his ass. It was milky, filmy, slimy, and translucent.
Elvis now changed somehow, like he was some average guy in prison as well as Elvis. He said, "I always tell people, don't take the grate off the toilet, because my asshole is so weird that if the grate is off the toilet I can't get the correct angle."
I saw the "grate," a patch of chain link fence. I knew that Elvis had to shit so that his shit could come out parallel to the ground and then go into the toilet. I didn't know how the fence would make the angle of a toilet perpendicular to its usual angle.
Elvis now stood with his back to a fence and began shitting through the fence.
Dream 3
I was on an Ancient Egyptian temple with a group of soldiers. This was Ancient Egypt, but it was all indoors. Sunlight came in through clerestory windows.
We were combating an enemy that far outnumbered us. But this temple held a secret that would give us invincibility. The temple had three levels, each constructed at different periods in Ancient Egypt's history.
One level's door had to be entered in order to start an avalanche on another level, blocking that level's door and releasing the key to the secret on the remaining level. The first choice, if incorrect, would lead to death.
We had to find the secret before the enemy approached. They could come straight to us and kill us. But they could approach as we opened the secret and hurry into the door and take the invincibility for themselves.
I had a paper (it looked like from Renaissance Italy) that was written in a symbolic riddle-language. Its writing corresponded with "writing" on a fan-shaped store over the second door. The door was actually drawn on the paper.
Comparing the "writing" patterns and the riddle-language, I figured out the correct door to enter. I called the men to enter the top level door first. It was right above us, somehow easily accessible, but for some reason we were running.
Now we were running toward the temple, as if we hadn't just been there. We ran over huge, randomly stacked, limestone cubes. As we ran, the indoor "Ancient Egypt" landscape became ore and more what I called a museum, though it was actually more like a department store's clothing section full of almost barren racks and clothing display tables and spaced with cubic limestone structures and ancient relics.
As I ran I called to the men, "Go! Go! We're almost there!" But soon I was passed up by the men, and a huge man, wearing Egyptian costume but looking more like a Viking, took my place and role of shouting to the men.
I was quickly losing my breath. I wore modern clothes. I had a shoulder-strap briefcase-bag which bounced against my stomach and was full of small, limestone cubes. The men kept passing me. We, but especially they, went at a furious pace.
I broke down. My lungs were burning. Yet I kept calling, in a progressively meeker tone, "Go! Go!" as if I were still the leader.
They were now all so far ahead of me that I wondered why they'd let me come with them and why they'd tolerated my pretending like I was the boss. I could barely even climb the limestone blocks.
The soldiers had vanished now. I got to the "temple," which was just a mock-up of the temple we'd been at before. It stood on an island of green carpet and faced a stand of almost barren clothes racks and tables. There was a tile walkway and then another island of deep jade carpet.
A group of thirty or so high school kids walked past. A boy stopped with his girl at a little square formed by the back end of the "temple" and a few other tall walls or divides. The place was still a "museum."
The boy, black, with a light complexion, showed his black girlfriend the only thing in this square: a board on the back wall. It was maybe ten feet up and was maybe ten feet tall and fifteen feet wide. it was black plastic and faced with a shiny sheet of clear plastic. it was like a sign filled with light-up numbers to let you know when your turn has come up, like at the DMV. But the board had a statement on it. The statement was obscured. almost none of the words were lit, and the shiny, wavy plastic front obscured the letters.
The boy said, "Everything else in this place is bullshit. This is the only thing that matters."
I was so weak by the time I had arrived here that I was heaving, barely breathing. I knelt down beside the kids. I remembered the boy now. He had once punched me in the face. It hadn't been while I was drunk. It had been while I was sober. I couldn't remember the exact event. But I knew now that it had happened. Throughout the rest of the dream I struggled to remember this event.
Now my main focus was on reading the sign. But I couldn't get it.
The boy was annoyed by my presence. He was being a loud asshole to get me to leave.
All I could decipher from the sign was toward the end of the long statement. It went: "The country of XXXXX is the only place where a black man can say the word 'Haewan,' his own word for God..."
Now the boy was so furious about my presence that he swung his arms violently around my head. Finally, unintentionally, he hit me just forward of my left temple, just about the bony corner above my left eye.
I had been trying to place the statement with Malcolm X when the boy hit me. I was more annoyed than angry, but I wanted the kids to leave. I stood and pushed the kid away and snapped, "Leave me alone!"
The kid was a lot smaller than I'd thought he'd be. I couldn't remember him and he couldn't remember me. But something about me startled him. He took his girl and ran off.
I knelt again to read the sign. I may have been copying it in a notepad. The place was by now almost entirely an almost barren clothing section in a department store.
I thought the sign would say that only in XXXXX was a black man allowed to worship the god of his own personal heritage, and that black men should be free to worship in their own way all over the world, especially in America, where the black heritage was so hideously erased from the slaves' lives.
But instead the sign said something like, "Black men have no god. They never had one. They never had a god or a conception of Heaven. They were always about themselves, about getting theirs, and having more than anybody else had. God and Heaven were the conceptions of the white man. But each black man naturally grows up selfish and spiteful, as he should.
"The country of XXXXX is the only country where a black man can say the word 'Haewan,' his own word for God and Heaven, and where the men there will tell him he is a fool for believing in such things."
I went from thinking this was a beautiful statement by Malcolm X to wondering who on earth would write this strange statement and why on earth a black man would think it was a good statement, the only statement worth appreciating in (what used to be) a great museum.
My mom was now to my right. I was telling her all this.
I looked below the sign. There were three plaques, grey, coppery metal, each with the name of a person who had created this statement. The top plaque had a name like Alexander. The man's profession, drug-dealer, was written below the name. The plaque below that had a name and a profession like drug-dealer/pimp. I didn't read the lowest plaque.
I told my mom, "These people only want money. They want to destroy everything, even themselves. It's a sickness they infect humanity with. They want people to become stupid savages. To forget God. And something in the universe is letting them win."
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
(12/1/08) life after love; egyptian tomb; integrity; pure hargrove; ML/sellers; not built for me
(Entered in paper journal at 7 AM on B-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
A scene like in a movie or a TV show. A barroom. A bunch of military men were gathered together, possibly after the test-flight of some new jets. The lighting in the bar was somehow very pale and stagey.
A young man who looked like Ron Howard when he was on Happy Days stood by a white, square column. Another, older man came up to him. He slung his right arm up against the column, to kind of get close to the young man, as if he were trying to hit on him.
I was now the young man. I thought, Well, I'm not attracted to this guy. The man got flustered and embarrassed. He said, "Now I will show you real willpower. I can show you that someone can be in love without having his love fulfilled, without even trying to have his love fulfilled, and that he can still be happy and do everything he should." He then walked away.
Dream #2
Black and white footage rolling, as if part of a documentary. The narrator's voice that of a woman or a young boy or girl. The first view apparently of the entrance to an Egyptian tomb. A smooth wall with an ornate, horseshoe-shaped doorway. From the doorway pursed a flood of hard debris.
The narrator spoke about how this place had originally been covered in debris, soil, and rocks, and had looked like a mountain, even though she (?) knew that this place had been here all along. She may have spoken about how good a job had been done of clearing the space out.
The view was now of the cave/hall just inside the entrance to the tomb. The floor and ceiling were of brick/stone and were wide and smooth and may have met, in a flat ellipse shape.
The view was like the lung-lining in the film Fantastic Voyage.
There was now a view from a point farther in through this hall, looking backward toward the doorway. A few men, spaced far apart from each other, walked through the wide passageway. The men looked and were dressed like miners.
The floor began undulating in small, separate rolls, as if there were a gentle earthquake or as if the floor were becoming alive. The men now fell into the floor, as if the hard stones which made the floor were actually quicksand. There seemed to be no panic about this.
Dream #3
I was in "my mom's house" in the bright daytime. I was all by myself. My mom put me in charge of watching the house while she was away. In particular, she asked me to keep people out of the house.
I walked to the front door. I knew my mom had told me to keep the front door closed. But, I thought, since the screen door also had a lock on it, I would keep the front door open and close and lock the screen door.
I walked to the door and looked outside. The day was incredibly colorful, with some parts somewhere in the landscape as bright as Galle glass.
I tested the screen door and found that the lock didn't work at all. You could simply push on the door and it would open. I was a little nervous, as if I had already left the front door opened and unlocked for long enough to compromise the integrity of my mother's house.
Dream #4
I was in a museum. I may have just come out of an exhibit that was partly Egyptian and partly something else. I stood in a darkish "lobby"-type area -- dark walled like the gems section of the American Museum of Natural History.
To my right was a staircase upward. The staircase was thin, painted sky blue with white trim and banisters, and looked like something in an old Pennsylvania Dutch house. I might possibly have remembered that up that way was another Egyptian exhibit -- one which hadn't been disappointingly remodeled (as, apparently, the one I'd just been to had been).
I climbed the stairs. I was now in an almost completely dark, dark-walled room. Somewhere ahead of me, on a wall to my right, was a video screen, which may have been showing only a black screen, but which gave off a small amount of light.
To my right I now saw an Egyptian bust at the top of a black staircase. A spotlight lit the bust. The bust was tannish white, as if made of impure (?) white quartz, and outlined in black over a very dark blue for the eyes, beard (?), and crown/headdress.
I thought, This is what I was looking for. I walked to the foot of the staircase. At the foot was a small, black bust. Its pedestal was set into the first couple steps of the stairway, so that it divided the stairway for those steps. The bust was a pharaoh image (like the Hatsheput (?) at the Brooklyn Museum of Art (where I had gone in waking life on the previous day)). The bust had no nose.
I continued up the steps. At the top was now a different bust, unlike anything Egyptian I had ever seen. The bust was a pharaoh image, in completely clear crystal material, with all the features and the lines of the pharaoh's head in a beautiful deep blue. The image wasn't lit. The only light which fell on it was ambient light from some area beyond the entrance to this exhibit. The sculpture was small, the bust being maybe nine inches tall.
From the left side of the bust was a thin rectangle, maybe twelve inches long, of the pure, clear crystal. The whole sculpture was balanced as if this long rectangle were resting on a tiny podium, so that the whole sculpture angled down from there.
I looked at the title card, which was black with white lettering. The card said that the clear material was "pure Hargrove."
I began hearing heavy breathing, as if it were right in my ears. (I woke to some noise like heavy breating. I'm not sure what it was. It could have been my own heavy breathing. It could also have been something outside my apartment, in the hallway, where I may have heard the shuffling of feet up the stairs.)
Dream #5
I was standing in line somewhere like a convenience store. I had gotten the things I was looking for. I stood in line, but a few people walked ahead of me. The people were all old women, and the line was only loosely formed, anyway, so I didn't mind very much mind being cut ahead of. The convenience store was messy but comfortable-looking, possibly due to the warm-yellow winter light coming in from outside.
One of the key figures at my company, ML, now got in line ahead of me. I didn't mind him, either. He might have noticed me. I wanted to talk to him, but I couldn't think of anything to say.
I now sat in a strange place which was possibly supposed to be a living room. The floor was smooth, like some futuristic plastic, and it sloped downwards. I was with a few other people, friends or family, including ML. We were all watching a TV which was down low on the ground, possibly attached to a weird wiry device. We all sat or sprawled along the floor.
I kept losing track of ML's identity in my mind -- forgetting who he was.
As the show we were watching, Dr. Strangelove, started, the first view was of Peter Sellers as Dr. Strangelove. He didn't say anything, but he was making a strange, awkward, serious expression. I was laughing out loud.
I now looked back at ML. Was he Peter Sellers? Was he a friend of Peter Sellers? I thought I'd ask him what Peter Sellers had been like. But then I realized that ML hadn't known Peter Sellers at all. I wanted to talk with ML. But I had no idea what to talk about.
Dream #6
I was in a space like an outdoor area that looked like it was indoors. There was a partly-constructed house that may have been fully constructed. To the right of this house was another place, which may have been something like a collection of cubicles in an open-walled structure. To the left of the house was something like an office -- just one office -- which may have been housed by a shed-like structure.
The ground through all this area was something like grey gravel. My boss BS had sent me here to check out how some of our business would work, to make sure our new conditions would be alright. As I got there, a group of rich people, led by a guide who may also have been rich, also arrived. The rich people were all old and white and they wore jeans and nice, but light, jackets.
I had checked out something with a phone cable in the cubicle structure and was now hammering some nails into the roof of the central house. (I had also, probably, at some point, been nailing a tiny wheel, like a ship's steering wheel, but only about two inches in diameter, onto the edge of the roof.)
The rich people climbed up onto the roof and talked all around me, as if I didn't matter at all, as if I was just some idiot. I thought, I'm their equals. They don't even realize it. This place is being built for me. Just because I'm helping out with its construction doesn't mean I'm just some idiot.
But now I had my doubts. Maybe BS was planning to demote me.
A prettyish woman, a little overweight, with tannish skin and long, black hair, had climbed up the ladder to check something and then climbed back down to go to the shed office. BS had told me about her. BS' company and one other company would be working heree. The woman was an assistant from the other company. She would be like an assistant and receptionist for both companies.
I was kind of attracted to the woman. I thought I would go ask her if she'd like me to turn on some music -- in my mind's eye I could see a silver boombox somewhere nearby.
Dream #1
A scene like in a movie or a TV show. A barroom. A bunch of military men were gathered together, possibly after the test-flight of some new jets. The lighting in the bar was somehow very pale and stagey.
A young man who looked like Ron Howard when he was on Happy Days stood by a white, square column. Another, older man came up to him. He slung his right arm up against the column, to kind of get close to the young man, as if he were trying to hit on him.
I was now the young man. I thought, Well, I'm not attracted to this guy. The man got flustered and embarrassed. He said, "Now I will show you real willpower. I can show you that someone can be in love without having his love fulfilled, without even trying to have his love fulfilled, and that he can still be happy and do everything he should." He then walked away.
Dream #2
Black and white footage rolling, as if part of a documentary. The narrator's voice that of a woman or a young boy or girl. The first view apparently of the entrance to an Egyptian tomb. A smooth wall with an ornate, horseshoe-shaped doorway. From the doorway pursed a flood of hard debris.
The narrator spoke about how this place had originally been covered in debris, soil, and rocks, and had looked like a mountain, even though she (?) knew that this place had been here all along. She may have spoken about how good a job had been done of clearing the space out.
The view was now of the cave/hall just inside the entrance to the tomb. The floor and ceiling were of brick/stone and were wide and smooth and may have met, in a flat ellipse shape.
The view was like the lung-lining in the film Fantastic Voyage.
There was now a view from a point farther in through this hall, looking backward toward the doorway. A few men, spaced far apart from each other, walked through the wide passageway. The men looked and were dressed like miners.
The floor began undulating in small, separate rolls, as if there were a gentle earthquake or as if the floor were becoming alive. The men now fell into the floor, as if the hard stones which made the floor were actually quicksand. There seemed to be no panic about this.
Dream #3
I was in "my mom's house" in the bright daytime. I was all by myself. My mom put me in charge of watching the house while she was away. In particular, she asked me to keep people out of the house.
I walked to the front door. I knew my mom had told me to keep the front door closed. But, I thought, since the screen door also had a lock on it, I would keep the front door open and close and lock the screen door.
I walked to the door and looked outside. The day was incredibly colorful, with some parts somewhere in the landscape as bright as Galle glass.
I tested the screen door and found that the lock didn't work at all. You could simply push on the door and it would open. I was a little nervous, as if I had already left the front door opened and unlocked for long enough to compromise the integrity of my mother's house.
Dream #4
I was in a museum. I may have just come out of an exhibit that was partly Egyptian and partly something else. I stood in a darkish "lobby"-type area -- dark walled like the gems section of the American Museum of Natural History.
To my right was a staircase upward. The staircase was thin, painted sky blue with white trim and banisters, and looked like something in an old Pennsylvania Dutch house. I might possibly have remembered that up that way was another Egyptian exhibit -- one which hadn't been disappointingly remodeled (as, apparently, the one I'd just been to had been).
I climbed the stairs. I was now in an almost completely dark, dark-walled room. Somewhere ahead of me, on a wall to my right, was a video screen, which may have been showing only a black screen, but which gave off a small amount of light.
To my right I now saw an Egyptian bust at the top of a black staircase. A spotlight lit the bust. The bust was tannish white, as if made of impure (?) white quartz, and outlined in black over a very dark blue for the eyes, beard (?), and crown/headdress.
I thought, This is what I was looking for. I walked to the foot of the staircase. At the foot was a small, black bust. Its pedestal was set into the first couple steps of the stairway, so that it divided the stairway for those steps. The bust was a pharaoh image (like the Hatsheput (?) at the Brooklyn Museum of Art (where I had gone in waking life on the previous day)). The bust had no nose.
I continued up the steps. At the top was now a different bust, unlike anything Egyptian I had ever seen. The bust was a pharaoh image, in completely clear crystal material, with all the features and the lines of the pharaoh's head in a beautiful deep blue. The image wasn't lit. The only light which fell on it was ambient light from some area beyond the entrance to this exhibit. The sculpture was small, the bust being maybe nine inches tall.
From the left side of the bust was a thin rectangle, maybe twelve inches long, of the pure, clear crystal. The whole sculpture was balanced as if this long rectangle were resting on a tiny podium, so that the whole sculpture angled down from there.
I looked at the title card, which was black with white lettering. The card said that the clear material was "pure Hargrove."
I began hearing heavy breathing, as if it were right in my ears. (I woke to some noise like heavy breating. I'm not sure what it was. It could have been my own heavy breathing. It could also have been something outside my apartment, in the hallway, where I may have heard the shuffling of feet up the stairs.)
Dream #5
I was standing in line somewhere like a convenience store. I had gotten the things I was looking for. I stood in line, but a few people walked ahead of me. The people were all old women, and the line was only loosely formed, anyway, so I didn't mind very much mind being cut ahead of. The convenience store was messy but comfortable-looking, possibly due to the warm-yellow winter light coming in from outside.
One of the key figures at my company, ML, now got in line ahead of me. I didn't mind him, either. He might have noticed me. I wanted to talk to him, but I couldn't think of anything to say.
I now sat in a strange place which was possibly supposed to be a living room. The floor was smooth, like some futuristic plastic, and it sloped downwards. I was with a few other people, friends or family, including ML. We were all watching a TV which was down low on the ground, possibly attached to a weird wiry device. We all sat or sprawled along the floor.
I kept losing track of ML's identity in my mind -- forgetting who he was.
As the show we were watching, Dr. Strangelove, started, the first view was of Peter Sellers as Dr. Strangelove. He didn't say anything, but he was making a strange, awkward, serious expression. I was laughing out loud.
I now looked back at ML. Was he Peter Sellers? Was he a friend of Peter Sellers? I thought I'd ask him what Peter Sellers had been like. But then I realized that ML hadn't known Peter Sellers at all. I wanted to talk with ML. But I had no idea what to talk about.
Dream #6
I was in a space like an outdoor area that looked like it was indoors. There was a partly-constructed house that may have been fully constructed. To the right of this house was another place, which may have been something like a collection of cubicles in an open-walled structure. To the left of the house was something like an office -- just one office -- which may have been housed by a shed-like structure.
The ground through all this area was something like grey gravel. My boss BS had sent me here to check out how some of our business would work, to make sure our new conditions would be alright. As I got there, a group of rich people, led by a guide who may also have been rich, also arrived. The rich people were all old and white and they wore jeans and nice, but light, jackets.
I had checked out something with a phone cable in the cubicle structure and was now hammering some nails into the roof of the central house. (I had also, probably, at some point, been nailing a tiny wheel, like a ship's steering wheel, but only about two inches in diameter, onto the edge of the roof.)
The rich people climbed up onto the roof and talked all around me, as if I didn't matter at all, as if I was just some idiot. I thought, I'm their equals. They don't even realize it. This place is being built for me. Just because I'm helping out with its construction doesn't mean I'm just some idiot.
But now I had my doubts. Maybe BS was planning to demote me.
A prettyish woman, a little overweight, with tannish skin and long, black hair, had climbed up the ladder to check something and then climbed back down to go to the shed office. BS had told me about her. BS' company and one other company would be working heree. The woman was an assistant from the other company. She would be like an assistant and receptionist for both companies.
I was kind of attracted to the woman. I thought I would go ask her if she'd like me to turn on some music -- in my mind's eye I could see a silver boombox somewhere nearby.
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