(1/20/05) house of flying daggers 2

(Entered in paper journal at 7 AM at home in Harlem.)

Dream 1

I was in a small consultation room with my old psychiatrist from Santa Fe, GR. There was a big window that let in a view of a tight staircase with a handrail overrun by dark vegetation. But the sunlight still came through and helped to give the small room an open feel. GR sat facing away from the window and a small desk and facing toward me.

I was telling GR something that was really worrying me. he was only half-engaged. At some point his phone or beeper rang. He picked up the phone and then walked out the door, telling me there was a slight emergency, but that he'd be right back.

After "a few minutes" I got up to leave. A weird guy blocked the doorway. He was dressed all sloppy, with three or four hideous shirts, a head of undone, long hair, and a shaggy, thick beard. He was simultaneously too skinny, and a little potbellied.

The man asked me where I was going. I told him something simple, like GR ad up and left, and that I didn't have any more time to wait. The weird guy suddenly spoke with great acumen and diction. He said something like, "You over-homoeroticize both the things you hear and the thing you say."

He continued a small, "sound-byte" analysis, maybe ten seconds long, that was so stunning and direct that I, having walked back into the room, now collapsed back into my chair. I felt that what he said was so sever that it had to be true.

The man now did a little bit of talking that sounded a bit boring and lazy. But I had to give him a chance, since what he said at first seemed so true. -- That isn't quite it. -- I also think I felt trapped, without any choice over where I could go. At the least, my choice was slightly restricted. So I tried to stay positive.

Now we were in a long, wide, dark room like a movie theater entrance with no lights. It was full of enormous standing cutout movie advertisements and arcade games. I don't think the weird guy was even analyzing me anymore. I kept hoping he would, all the while fearing that I'd have to face something really frightening or shameful about myself.

"He" pointed out a beautiful, tall cutout advertisement with a huge, moonlit, blue mansion and Zhang Ziyi in a blue outfit, I think Zhang curved her left arm over her head, had a sword in her left hand, and put her right hand in front of her with her two first fingers sticking up and together. then there were strange clumps of computer-style numbers ghosting very isolated and sporadic into the whole scene.

The "weird guy" (who was now fat and possibly a woman) said, "Oh, did you  know House of Flying Daggers 2 was coming out?"

I thought that was cool. But I was also getting impatient. I could tell our analysis session had suddenly turned into nothing more than the old "take the poor kid out to the zoo" approach to psychology. But I tried to stay enthusiastic.

There was either a video game or cutout stand that was a huge, tilted-back couch hung from the ceiling by thick, black ropes on each corner to float the couch about three feet above the ground. Then somewhere were large, black, canister-like cylinders with watery lenses a few inches inside. These were screens. We looked inside and either controlled a game or watched a preview that looked just like a video game.

I went to sit beside the "weird guy," who was now an overweight, round lady with an enormous beard. I also knew now that she really had no psychoanalytic or psychiatric knowledge. But I jumped up on the couch wither her anyway, thinking, Oh, well. Maybe she'll seduce me and prove once and for all that I'm gay.

(8/7/06) how many towels does it take to screw in a light bulb?; low-quality super mario

(Entered in paper journal at 5:17 PM on Q-train from 57th Street and 7th Avenue in Manhattan to Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn.)

Dream 1

I was in a bedroom with dark, thin, fake wood-paneled walls, tall ceilings, and grey carpet. The room was messy, with clothes everywhere. My psychiatrist RB (?) had done my laundry for me (?) and prepared the room. But she had hung my towel from the center of the ceiling in such a clumsy way that as I walked into the room it fell.

I caught the towel before it hit the dirty floor. I tried to hang it back up. But the "hook" (a brass, uvula-shaped thing like a screw-cap on a light fixture) was way too high for me to reach. I hung the towel on an open door to a closet.

RB now closed the door on the (much narrower) room (the door at the foot of my bed) and may have tried to say something to prove she had done hard work on my room.

The door had a pale orange, tissue-like piece of paper on it, on both the inside and the outside. Written on the paper was a number, like 5280 or 25083 (?) in green marker with black in the center, like pen with marker over it.

There was still plenty of daylight coming in through the windows.

Dream 2

I was by myself in a room full of video games. I stood by a couple arcade consoles. There were some eerily bad-looking versions of Super Mario Bros.

I walked over to a series of TVs or monitors with video game system game promos. I saw one with a classic Super Mario game on it.

I was confused with some aspects of the game not matching my memory of things. I was frightened by being alone in the room, and I felt like the poor quality of games signified that someone with bad intentions was "haunting" this room.