(Entered in paper journal at 10 AM at Starbucks Marriott -- possibly back in Colorado?)
Dream 1
There were two kids running away from a group of soldiers like Civil War soldiers. The kids were modern, in contemporary clothing -- grey t-shirts and grey, denim shorts. The setting also looked contemporary, like a network of dirt trails at the edge of a modern, suburban park.
The kids reached the top of some short slope, being continually shot at all the way. They turned around and (fired back?) until all the soldiers either were dead or had retreated.
The two kids ran to some other hill. Either one or both of the kids almost fell over a steep cliff at the "peak" of the hill. There was a barberry there, jutting out club-shaped from and down along the cliff in a thin, long shape. I faintly remembered that either I or the kids had been trimming this shrub before the commotion.
The kids (or I?) were about to start trimming again when a tall, white-bearded man in a grey Civil War uniform walked up. The kids turned around. They knew this was the leader of the soldiers they had fought. The kids worried the "General" was capturing them. But the "General" actually spoke sympathetically with them.
I saw the kids' shirts become dark and dappled with varying shades of grey. I thought that perhaps the reason the "General" (I did not call him a General in the dream) was being so sympathetic was that the kids had already been mortally wounded without being aware of it.
I could see in my minds eye that the kids' backs and the backs of their heads had been torn apart as if by a huge barrage of bullets. I didn't know whether my imagined vision was true. But I was afraid of the kids turning around and me seeing whether it was true.
Showing posts with label being shot. Show all posts
Showing posts with label being shot. Show all posts
Sunday, March 5, 2017
Friday, February 17, 2017
(4/3/06) study of the dead; the house of many worlds
(Entered in paper journal at 6:04 PM at Mid-Manhattan Library on 40th Street and 5th Avenue in Manhattan.)
Dream 1
I was part of some scientific or medical crew. We were working in a pit of black soil which was grainy and gloppy. The whole scene was indoors, in a dim room. People were getting operations or we were getting their bodies inspected before or after they died. The bodies were naked, and they seemed to arrive by being moved like on a conveyor belt along the surface of the soil and by springing up from the soil. A lot of us were on the soil, on our knees, surrounding the bodies.
Now the operation/study was to remove a leg/the legs from the bodies. I believe each person was supposed to take a turn cutting off a leg. But I couldn't bear to do something so drastic to a human (body). I could no longer even look at the bodies, knowing something like that was being done to them. I felt ashamed for being so weak. But I just wouldn't look.
I looked further down the reach of soil. There I saw a train of legs being relayed by the "scientists." I knew that this was the least I would see -- I had avoided all I could.
Dream 2
I traveled through a house that had many floors, all of which weren't really floors but "worlds" or locations. A top floor was like the stairwell to the basement in my mother's house. This one led down to a kitchen area, a door from which led to a mountainside that sloped and flattened near a residential neighborhood. There were other places I can't remember. I journeyed through these locations to find something or to find somebody to tell them to stop something bad from happening.
I was working to keep away from a mean woman who was somehow like my mother. Near the end (?) I rode on a big wheel tricycle (?)
or
into a living room like that of a very small apartment. The carpet was brown and the windows were draped so the light had a gross, dim yellow look. I had to get through the room, to a stairwell, and up to the next location quickly and quietly to avoid the having people living here notice me.
I got into the kitchen -- a mess, in glaring white window light -- when a tall, mean, poor-looking white man caught me. I was back in the living room. The man had a rifle aimed at me and was telling me to leave.
I wouldn't quite leave -- I knew I had to get through. I tried to make up a story or think of some way to make the man think I was no threat. But nothing I could think of seemed plausible. I kept waiting to be shot.
Dream 1
I was part of some scientific or medical crew. We were working in a pit of black soil which was grainy and gloppy. The whole scene was indoors, in a dim room. People were getting operations or we were getting their bodies inspected before or after they died. The bodies were naked, and they seemed to arrive by being moved like on a conveyor belt along the surface of the soil and by springing up from the soil. A lot of us were on the soil, on our knees, surrounding the bodies.
Now the operation/study was to remove a leg/the legs from the bodies. I believe each person was supposed to take a turn cutting off a leg. But I couldn't bear to do something so drastic to a human (body). I could no longer even look at the bodies, knowing something like that was being done to them. I felt ashamed for being so weak. But I just wouldn't look.
I looked further down the reach of soil. There I saw a train of legs being relayed by the "scientists." I knew that this was the least I would see -- I had avoided all I could.
Dream 2
I traveled through a house that had many floors, all of which weren't really floors but "worlds" or locations. A top floor was like the stairwell to the basement in my mother's house. This one led down to a kitchen area, a door from which led to a mountainside that sloped and flattened near a residential neighborhood. There were other places I can't remember. I journeyed through these locations to find something or to find somebody to tell them to stop something bad from happening.
I was working to keep away from a mean woman who was somehow like my mother. Near the end (?) I rode on a big wheel tricycle (?)
or
into a living room like that of a very small apartment. The carpet was brown and the windows were draped so the light had a gross, dim yellow look. I had to get through the room, to a stairwell, and up to the next location quickly and quietly to avoid the having people living here notice me.
I got into the kitchen -- a mess, in glaring white window light -- when a tall, mean, poor-looking white man caught me. I was back in the living room. The man had a rifle aimed at me and was telling me to leave.
I wouldn't quite leave -- I knew I had to get through. I tried to make up a story or think of some way to make the man think I was no threat. But nothing I could think of seemed plausible. I kept waiting to be shot.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
(2/6/09) dying customer; storm at the panty shop; you aren't funny; lesbians and rituals; breaking to pieces; swarm of bees
(Entered in paper journal at 9:45 AM at Starbucks on Twenty-ninth Street and Park Avenue.)
Dream #1
A television show with a group of people, possibly teenagers, like a cartoon, except possibly live action. The kids had been drawn to a place that looked like a beach-view balcony deck on a sunny day. I may now have been in the group of teenagers. We stood before a glass double door, the doors (or one door?) of which were swung inwardly open.
A little person or creature had lured us this far. I now felt like he had tricked us into coming here so his master could do something to us. The little creature walked halfway into the left side of the threshold, pushing the door even more open.
The boy leader of the group of teenagers (maybe I was the leader) was now to follow the creature. The creature magically shrank the boy. I could see the boy's (my?) shadow on the ground. As the boy shrank, the shadow stayed the same size.
The creature had the boy floating in the air. He levitated the boy over to a chair inside the room. The room was slightly dim, as if all the curtains were closed but there were still plenty of natural light coming into the room.
The chair at first had thin, wooden legs and green, plush cushioning for the seat and back. But for a moment the whole scene became a cartoon. At this point (and possibly even when the scene changed back into live action) the chair was wooden, like the chair for a school desk. The room, which had previously been like a room in a resort, was now more like a mix between that room and some kind of mountain-roadside grocery store.
The creature had told the shrunken boy that he would find shoes for the boy. The shoes would, of course, be enormous to the boy, who was now perhaps an inch tall at most. Nevertheless, the boy would have to pay for the shoes. This itself was some kind of torture for the boy.
Behind the chair was a wall of grid-like shelves or cubby-holes, with shoes in every cubby-hole. To the left of the chair was the cashier's counter, which also somehow looked like a concierge's counter. A rough-looking man, perhaps a little stout, Hispanic looking, with a dark blue winter jacket and a wool cap, stood behind the desk. Behind him may have been wooden shelves stacked with old-looking canned and boxed food.
Another man leaned on the right side of the counter. Before him were two open boxes of shoes. A man stood across from him. Both men were rough-looking, both wearing winter clothes. The man on the left was huge, at least a head taller than the other two men, and pretty heavy. The man on the right was also big, though not as big. He looked a little tougher and more cunning. He wore a black, leather jacket, a little big on him. The man on the left wore a slightly padded black jacket with a grey, hooded sweatshirt underneath.
The man on the left was a customer. The man on the right was the boss of the store. The boss was trying to rip off the customer. I could see the shoes (in the right box?) he was trying to sell the customer. The shoes were too small. At first they were like dark brown leather loafers, the kind with the chunky seams and cords of leather binding the seams around the toes. But then the shoes became wood. They looked like clogs.
The customer said, "I don't want these. These aren't what I asked for at all."
The boss sneered, "What do I care? What do you want me to do about it?" I could now tell the boss was some kind of crime boss.
The customer said, "You can give me my money back!"
I knew the situation was going to get dangerous. The boss said, "I'm not gonna do that."
The customer said, "Alright. Have it your way, then."
The customer reached into his left pocket. He was about to pull out a gun. But with lightning speed the boss pulled a gun from his right pocket and fired a few shots into the customer's gut. For a moment I could see the customer's font as if his skin were transparent. I could see the customer's torn intestines.
The customer was dazed, as if shock had already caused him to forget he'd just been shot. He stood like a robot as the boss said, "Now what are you gonna do? Come back tomorrow and give me trouble?"
The customer said, "I just might."
The customer turned and walked out the exit (which was another double-door of glass to the left, with the doors open). Outside was a grey stone courtyard, in bright grey light as if it were a cloudy day.
The customer got a few steps outside and then fell over, to a hunched or kneeling position. Blood had just now begun to gush out from his abdomen. The customer might also have started throwing up blood. The customer was now in a position like a "weak man's push-up," i.e. on all fours, with the legs together and arms out about shoulder-width, but with the body bent in the middle so that the man's bottom was poking up in the air.
The customer's abdomen would plop out a bloody mass, then hold off and then plop again.
The customer called to the boss, "Hey, XXXXX, I don't think I'll becoming back next week or next month or even next year. In fact, I don't think I'll ever be coming here again!" He was saying this as if the boss were his friend, a superior friend, like the boss of a crime gang in which both men had been involved. It was also like the customer had just realized he was dying and he was now imploring the only nearby person who knew him at all to give him sympathy as he was dying.
The boss just looked on as if the customer's whole situation was just silly and pathetic.
Dream #2
I walked into a discount clothing store. The store may have been set up into tiered or stair-stepping levels, going higher and higher farther back into the store. I had come in here to find some sexy panties at a cheap price. The store was full of wife-like women in their thirties or forties. They were mostly overweight. Some were Hispanic, some were white. I was relieved that I didn't see anybody I knew or any rough-looking men who might make fun of me for being a man and shopping for panties.
I went a few rows back. I saw a few different displays of lingerie. Some looked either too small or strappy in the crotch for me to fit into. Other stuff looked too boring or to large.
I found a few racks or displays of stuff that looked like it might be really nice. But I would see it too late each time, as I passed it. I would try to turn around and go back to it, but the aisles would either be blocked by people standing fully in the middle of the aisles or charging forward so aggressively that I was afraid to move against them; or else I wouldn't want to catch the eye of a remotely pretty woman or someone who might even possibly know me.
Eventually I thought I saw a way to charge straight back to all the places I missed. I walked quickly and aggressively through a tangle of women, carts, even half-broken or skewed-over racks of clothing. I didn't care who I rushed through.
But I eventually just rushed down a ramp and into a line for the cashier. I wasn't in line. I stood just to the side. But I stood waiting as if I were standing in line. The front of the line was a huge mess of people and carts and cluttered merchandise.
Most of the people in line were women, but there was at least one man: a skinny, scrappy, chicken-shit-looking black-Hispanic boy dressed as a worker in a blue polo shirt and tan khakis, like a Best Buy worker might wear.
This guy was flirting with one of the women. I felt like this guy was standing around right here because he wanted to make sure that I wasn't flirting with any of these women and that he was. But I didn't want any of these women -- they all looked like worn-out housewives.
I wanted to get out the door and away from this guy. But now I saw that outside it was starting to rain. The rain got harder and harder very quickly. Now it was storming riotously. The sky was dark grey, and the pounding of the rain against the windows was deafening.
A young, black woman, a little overweight and plain-looking, with darkish orange hair, and also wearing an outfit like that of a Best Buy employee, held me back, pushing me into a huge crowd of fat mothers, from the front of which I'd just emerged.
The girl told me, "You can't go outside. The news just said the weather is a disaster situation. Everybody has to stay inside wherever they are, and the workers have to make sure that everybody stays put." The woman said all of this to me with motherly concern, as if I were a cute boy she felt she had to take care of.
The weather got worse and worse. The girl assured me that everything would be okay, that the storm was getting to its most intense point, and that it would then stop immediately, and that everybody would be alright.
Now the building itself was rocking, as if there was an earthquake. I might have closed my eyes in terror. Suddenly everything was swept away. It was like the building and all the people had been ripped upward by a cyclone. For a moment I stood in the whirling rain. Then all the grey was like a calm, impenetrable fog. Suddenly all was dark.
I saw a house, or a cartoon image of a house, with a red walkway leading up to it. I might also have seen myself as a cartoon, with the house behind me, a small image behind me, with everything else being a black background.
Dream #3
I stood in a place like a bathroom. The room was nice, and it had some of the length and narrowness of a hallway, which I may have thought it was. The walls and floors had a color and shine like finished wood.
I walked past a woman to my left. The woman was short, overweight, white, with shoulder-length black hair and black-rimmed glasses (like a woman I'd occasionally spoken with at Connecticut Muffin in Windsor Terrace, a young teacher who lived in Brooklyn but taught way up in upper Manhattan).
The woman sat on a low seat and had her legs up, possibly on a footstool or a wicker box. Before her was a sink. But the sink (it seems now) was so close to the woman's seat that the woman couldn't possibly have stretched out her legs the way she was stretching them.
I handed the woman a stack of pages (typewritten?). I also told her about ideas I was having, as if they were the ideas on the pages, i.e. as if I hadn't yet typed the pages. The woman said, "Those are really good ideas! You and I should work together. We could even get a show on the community television channel! I think you and I would work together really well."
I sheepishly said, "Yeah, that sounds cool!" But I really didn't want to do anything like that at all.
The woman said, "If I had a little boost from your enthusiasm, I'm sure I could really show what a creative and hilarious person I am."
I said, "Yeah, that sounds true." But in my head I thought, You really aren't funny at all.
Dream #4
I was walking on a park or greenbelt path in the sun. It was a nice, warm day. I may have come from some office building. I may also have been carrying a stack of papers in my hand. Oddly, in spite of the heat, I may have been wearing a long, grey, tweed trench coat.
I may have felt a slight twinge of embarrassment from the social situation I had just come from, as if I had pitched a creative idea which was thought o as impractical or eccentric, so that I'd even had to laugh at myself.
But somehow, most of the embarrassment, which had been kind of goodhearted, anyhow, melted away in the beauty of the day. There were tons of people all laying out sunbathing on the strip of lawn, which sloped up, on my left, gently to the street level. To my right may have been a river. I felt happy to see all these people as I walked along. Many of the people were beautiful. The light was at times dim and golden like winter afternoon light and at other times bright and colorful like an unseasonably warm spring day.
A couple of beautiful women caught my eye. The two girls were spooning with each other. The girl in back also had her hand on the front girl's bottom. This turned me on.
The two girls may possibly have been half-covered by a brown blanket. They were both blonde and tan and they both wore two-piece swimsuits. The girl in back wore a neon pink, full-bottomed two-piece. The girl in front wore a thin, white bikini with pink decorations on it like you might see on a pretty pair of cotton panties. The bottom of the girl in back really turned me on.
But the girl in back turned her head and saw that I was looking at her and her girlfriend. She may have covered herself and her girlfriend up even more with the blanket, although I feel like what she actually did was take the blanket off altogether, exposing herself and her girlfriend to me altogether, as if to make the point obvious that the two girls were together and happy and that they didn't care at all about me, even if I was looking at them. I felt as if I had been tricked, as if the girls had half-exposed themselves to turn me on, only to fully expose themselves and jilt me, getting pleasure out of being wanted but unattainable.
I looked out at the rest of the people, half out of wanting to show the girl how quickly I could put her and her girlfriend out of my mind, and half out of sheepish shame, like feeling sorry that somebody -- anybody -- had felt their privacy invaded by my having looked on at them for too long.
I was suddenly annoyed by the crowd of people, possibly as if I realized that I couldn't find a place to lay down here, and that even if I did, I'd still have to contend with all the people who were elbow-close with me. I sped up my walk. Now there were also people walking along the path. I had to doge all of them. Suddenly I came to a walkway that went down a steep slope.
I had just now been thinking to myself about a group of people who had come here from across the seas to perform some kind of religious ritual. I thought, Perhaps there are so many people out here because they all want to see the ritual. But then I realized that the ritual had been over for at least a day. I thought, It's possible the people have gotten back on their ships to go home.
The path I was on was very steep. It was made of asphalt. It worked it was way around the bend of a grey rock face.
I was now descending a grass slope. I had to get onto a thin, dirt path, as if I were on the edge of something, and if I didn't get onto the dirt path with jet-like precision, I'd fall off the edge. I was suddenly giddy with a fear of heights and worry over my aim.
Down below, in a valley, were a thin group of people who looked like Indians or Native Americans. They were running form the shore, planting flag-like stakes of gnarled branches (with bright rectangles of fabric at their tops) into the ground, then running back to the shore.
I thought, Well, they still have more ritual to perform, even though the official ritual is over. But people must only care about the official ritual. The rest isn't famous enough for them to want to be a part of it.
I now came to a tan and orange stone, maybe sandstone, land feature that was like the entrance to the cave, but that also looked like a Utah-style stone arch. It was like this land feature appeared out of nowhere -- my view below had been unobstructed before. It seemed like the land feature was just a shallow tunnel, which would be pretty easy to get through and rather beautiful to look at. Plus, I thought, with this thing blocking out all the scenery, I won't be as afraid of the steepness and height of this path (which was asphalt again).
But as I approached the mouth of the cave, a tiny, black, bee-like insect flew out. I knew the little bee's sting could be rather irksome, but I thought the insect was such a cute, little creature. I turned backwards to look at it.
Behind me were natural walls, all of this tan and orange stone, thought which the path I was on snaked upward. The bee hovered in a pool of sunlight. I greeted the bee and said a few kind, happy words to it. Then I turned forward again.
Now the tunnel was very shallow, a few feet only, like the turning of a corner. I could even see the people in the valley again. But now the dirt path was either unseen or in a different place than I had previously been aiming for. I may have thought to myself how I had screwed up by having turned around instead of continuing forward when the bee had come out of the cave.
Dream #5
A vision of the walls of a library (the "New York Public Library"). The walls were a porous white stone, like the sidewalks and walls of the Grace building. They broke into vertical panels, which clattered more and more apart form each other. As they did this, I saw an old, skinny, wise-looking man beside me (and looking down to me) talking to me. But the sound was muffled and tinny, like my perceptions were blurring or dissolving. Somewhere else there was a solid wood wall, which was also breaking into pieces.
Dream #6
A swarm of tiny, tight, dull yellow and black-grey bees stopped me from walking around a curve (and to the right) of a tiny path in a little, green-lawned park. Somewhere near me may have been a group of my friends, who may have laughed at me for being afraid and stopping at the swarm of bees.
Dream #1
A television show with a group of people, possibly teenagers, like a cartoon, except possibly live action. The kids had been drawn to a place that looked like a beach-view balcony deck on a sunny day. I may now have been in the group of teenagers. We stood before a glass double door, the doors (or one door?) of which were swung inwardly open.
A little person or creature had lured us this far. I now felt like he had tricked us into coming here so his master could do something to us. The little creature walked halfway into the left side of the threshold, pushing the door even more open.
The boy leader of the group of teenagers (maybe I was the leader) was now to follow the creature. The creature magically shrank the boy. I could see the boy's (my?) shadow on the ground. As the boy shrank, the shadow stayed the same size.
The creature had the boy floating in the air. He levitated the boy over to a chair inside the room. The room was slightly dim, as if all the curtains were closed but there were still plenty of natural light coming into the room.
The chair at first had thin, wooden legs and green, plush cushioning for the seat and back. But for a moment the whole scene became a cartoon. At this point (and possibly even when the scene changed back into live action) the chair was wooden, like the chair for a school desk. The room, which had previously been like a room in a resort, was now more like a mix between that room and some kind of mountain-roadside grocery store.
The creature had told the shrunken boy that he would find shoes for the boy. The shoes would, of course, be enormous to the boy, who was now perhaps an inch tall at most. Nevertheless, the boy would have to pay for the shoes. This itself was some kind of torture for the boy.
Behind the chair was a wall of grid-like shelves or cubby-holes, with shoes in every cubby-hole. To the left of the chair was the cashier's counter, which also somehow looked like a concierge's counter. A rough-looking man, perhaps a little stout, Hispanic looking, with a dark blue winter jacket and a wool cap, stood behind the desk. Behind him may have been wooden shelves stacked with old-looking canned and boxed food.
Another man leaned on the right side of the counter. Before him were two open boxes of shoes. A man stood across from him. Both men were rough-looking, both wearing winter clothes. The man on the left was huge, at least a head taller than the other two men, and pretty heavy. The man on the right was also big, though not as big. He looked a little tougher and more cunning. He wore a black, leather jacket, a little big on him. The man on the left wore a slightly padded black jacket with a grey, hooded sweatshirt underneath.
The man on the left was a customer. The man on the right was the boss of the store. The boss was trying to rip off the customer. I could see the shoes (in the right box?) he was trying to sell the customer. The shoes were too small. At first they were like dark brown leather loafers, the kind with the chunky seams and cords of leather binding the seams around the toes. But then the shoes became wood. They looked like clogs.
The customer said, "I don't want these. These aren't what I asked for at all."
The boss sneered, "What do I care? What do you want me to do about it?" I could now tell the boss was some kind of crime boss.
The customer said, "You can give me my money back!"
I knew the situation was going to get dangerous. The boss said, "I'm not gonna do that."
The customer said, "Alright. Have it your way, then."
The customer reached into his left pocket. He was about to pull out a gun. But with lightning speed the boss pulled a gun from his right pocket and fired a few shots into the customer's gut. For a moment I could see the customer's font as if his skin were transparent. I could see the customer's torn intestines.
The customer was dazed, as if shock had already caused him to forget he'd just been shot. He stood like a robot as the boss said, "Now what are you gonna do? Come back tomorrow and give me trouble?"
The customer said, "I just might."
The customer turned and walked out the exit (which was another double-door of glass to the left, with the doors open). Outside was a grey stone courtyard, in bright grey light as if it were a cloudy day.
The customer got a few steps outside and then fell over, to a hunched or kneeling position. Blood had just now begun to gush out from his abdomen. The customer might also have started throwing up blood. The customer was now in a position like a "weak man's push-up," i.e. on all fours, with the legs together and arms out about shoulder-width, but with the body bent in the middle so that the man's bottom was poking up in the air.
The customer's abdomen would plop out a bloody mass, then hold off and then plop again.
The customer called to the boss, "Hey, XXXXX, I don't think I'll becoming back next week or next month or even next year. In fact, I don't think I'll ever be coming here again!" He was saying this as if the boss were his friend, a superior friend, like the boss of a crime gang in which both men had been involved. It was also like the customer had just realized he was dying and he was now imploring the only nearby person who knew him at all to give him sympathy as he was dying.
The boss just looked on as if the customer's whole situation was just silly and pathetic.
Dream #2
I walked into a discount clothing store. The store may have been set up into tiered or stair-stepping levels, going higher and higher farther back into the store. I had come in here to find some sexy panties at a cheap price. The store was full of wife-like women in their thirties or forties. They were mostly overweight. Some were Hispanic, some were white. I was relieved that I didn't see anybody I knew or any rough-looking men who might make fun of me for being a man and shopping for panties.
I went a few rows back. I saw a few different displays of lingerie. Some looked either too small or strappy in the crotch for me to fit into. Other stuff looked too boring or to large.
I found a few racks or displays of stuff that looked like it might be really nice. But I would see it too late each time, as I passed it. I would try to turn around and go back to it, but the aisles would either be blocked by people standing fully in the middle of the aisles or charging forward so aggressively that I was afraid to move against them; or else I wouldn't want to catch the eye of a remotely pretty woman or someone who might even possibly know me.
Eventually I thought I saw a way to charge straight back to all the places I missed. I walked quickly and aggressively through a tangle of women, carts, even half-broken or skewed-over racks of clothing. I didn't care who I rushed through.
But I eventually just rushed down a ramp and into a line for the cashier. I wasn't in line. I stood just to the side. But I stood waiting as if I were standing in line. The front of the line was a huge mess of people and carts and cluttered merchandise.
Most of the people in line were women, but there was at least one man: a skinny, scrappy, chicken-shit-looking black-Hispanic boy dressed as a worker in a blue polo shirt and tan khakis, like a Best Buy worker might wear.
This guy was flirting with one of the women. I felt like this guy was standing around right here because he wanted to make sure that I wasn't flirting with any of these women and that he was. But I didn't want any of these women -- they all looked like worn-out housewives.
I wanted to get out the door and away from this guy. But now I saw that outside it was starting to rain. The rain got harder and harder very quickly. Now it was storming riotously. The sky was dark grey, and the pounding of the rain against the windows was deafening.
A young, black woman, a little overweight and plain-looking, with darkish orange hair, and also wearing an outfit like that of a Best Buy employee, held me back, pushing me into a huge crowd of fat mothers, from the front of which I'd just emerged.
The girl told me, "You can't go outside. The news just said the weather is a disaster situation. Everybody has to stay inside wherever they are, and the workers have to make sure that everybody stays put." The woman said all of this to me with motherly concern, as if I were a cute boy she felt she had to take care of.
The weather got worse and worse. The girl assured me that everything would be okay, that the storm was getting to its most intense point, and that it would then stop immediately, and that everybody would be alright.
Now the building itself was rocking, as if there was an earthquake. I might have closed my eyes in terror. Suddenly everything was swept away. It was like the building and all the people had been ripped upward by a cyclone. For a moment I stood in the whirling rain. Then all the grey was like a calm, impenetrable fog. Suddenly all was dark.
I saw a house, or a cartoon image of a house, with a red walkway leading up to it. I might also have seen myself as a cartoon, with the house behind me, a small image behind me, with everything else being a black background.
Dream #3
I stood in a place like a bathroom. The room was nice, and it had some of the length and narrowness of a hallway, which I may have thought it was. The walls and floors had a color and shine like finished wood.
I walked past a woman to my left. The woman was short, overweight, white, with shoulder-length black hair and black-rimmed glasses (like a woman I'd occasionally spoken with at Connecticut Muffin in Windsor Terrace, a young teacher who lived in Brooklyn but taught way up in upper Manhattan).
The woman sat on a low seat and had her legs up, possibly on a footstool or a wicker box. Before her was a sink. But the sink (it seems now) was so close to the woman's seat that the woman couldn't possibly have stretched out her legs the way she was stretching them.
I handed the woman a stack of pages (typewritten?). I also told her about ideas I was having, as if they were the ideas on the pages, i.e. as if I hadn't yet typed the pages. The woman said, "Those are really good ideas! You and I should work together. We could even get a show on the community television channel! I think you and I would work together really well."
I sheepishly said, "Yeah, that sounds cool!" But I really didn't want to do anything like that at all.
The woman said, "If I had a little boost from your enthusiasm, I'm sure I could really show what a creative and hilarious person I am."
I said, "Yeah, that sounds true." But in my head I thought, You really aren't funny at all.
Dream #4
I was walking on a park or greenbelt path in the sun. It was a nice, warm day. I may have come from some office building. I may also have been carrying a stack of papers in my hand. Oddly, in spite of the heat, I may have been wearing a long, grey, tweed trench coat.
I may have felt a slight twinge of embarrassment from the social situation I had just come from, as if I had pitched a creative idea which was thought o as impractical or eccentric, so that I'd even had to laugh at myself.
But somehow, most of the embarrassment, which had been kind of goodhearted, anyhow, melted away in the beauty of the day. There were tons of people all laying out sunbathing on the strip of lawn, which sloped up, on my left, gently to the street level. To my right may have been a river. I felt happy to see all these people as I walked along. Many of the people were beautiful. The light was at times dim and golden like winter afternoon light and at other times bright and colorful like an unseasonably warm spring day.
A couple of beautiful women caught my eye. The two girls were spooning with each other. The girl in back also had her hand on the front girl's bottom. This turned me on.
The two girls may possibly have been half-covered by a brown blanket. They were both blonde and tan and they both wore two-piece swimsuits. The girl in back wore a neon pink, full-bottomed two-piece. The girl in front wore a thin, white bikini with pink decorations on it like you might see on a pretty pair of cotton panties. The bottom of the girl in back really turned me on.
But the girl in back turned her head and saw that I was looking at her and her girlfriend. She may have covered herself and her girlfriend up even more with the blanket, although I feel like what she actually did was take the blanket off altogether, exposing herself and her girlfriend to me altogether, as if to make the point obvious that the two girls were together and happy and that they didn't care at all about me, even if I was looking at them. I felt as if I had been tricked, as if the girls had half-exposed themselves to turn me on, only to fully expose themselves and jilt me, getting pleasure out of being wanted but unattainable.
I looked out at the rest of the people, half out of wanting to show the girl how quickly I could put her and her girlfriend out of my mind, and half out of sheepish shame, like feeling sorry that somebody -- anybody -- had felt their privacy invaded by my having looked on at them for too long.
I was suddenly annoyed by the crowd of people, possibly as if I realized that I couldn't find a place to lay down here, and that even if I did, I'd still have to contend with all the people who were elbow-close with me. I sped up my walk. Now there were also people walking along the path. I had to doge all of them. Suddenly I came to a walkway that went down a steep slope.
I had just now been thinking to myself about a group of people who had come here from across the seas to perform some kind of religious ritual. I thought, Perhaps there are so many people out here because they all want to see the ritual. But then I realized that the ritual had been over for at least a day. I thought, It's possible the people have gotten back on their ships to go home.
The path I was on was very steep. It was made of asphalt. It worked it was way around the bend of a grey rock face.
I was now descending a grass slope. I had to get onto a thin, dirt path, as if I were on the edge of something, and if I didn't get onto the dirt path with jet-like precision, I'd fall off the edge. I was suddenly giddy with a fear of heights and worry over my aim.
Down below, in a valley, were a thin group of people who looked like Indians or Native Americans. They were running form the shore, planting flag-like stakes of gnarled branches (with bright rectangles of fabric at their tops) into the ground, then running back to the shore.
I thought, Well, they still have more ritual to perform, even though the official ritual is over. But people must only care about the official ritual. The rest isn't famous enough for them to want to be a part of it.
I now came to a tan and orange stone, maybe sandstone, land feature that was like the entrance to the cave, but that also looked like a Utah-style stone arch. It was like this land feature appeared out of nowhere -- my view below had been unobstructed before. It seemed like the land feature was just a shallow tunnel, which would be pretty easy to get through and rather beautiful to look at. Plus, I thought, with this thing blocking out all the scenery, I won't be as afraid of the steepness and height of this path (which was asphalt again).
But as I approached the mouth of the cave, a tiny, black, bee-like insect flew out. I knew the little bee's sting could be rather irksome, but I thought the insect was such a cute, little creature. I turned backwards to look at it.
Behind me were natural walls, all of this tan and orange stone, thought which the path I was on snaked upward. The bee hovered in a pool of sunlight. I greeted the bee and said a few kind, happy words to it. Then I turned forward again.
Now the tunnel was very shallow, a few feet only, like the turning of a corner. I could even see the people in the valley again. But now the dirt path was either unseen or in a different place than I had previously been aiming for. I may have thought to myself how I had screwed up by having turned around instead of continuing forward when the bee had come out of the cave.
Dream #5
A vision of the walls of a library (the "New York Public Library"). The walls were a porous white stone, like the sidewalks and walls of the Grace building. They broke into vertical panels, which clattered more and more apart form each other. As they did this, I saw an old, skinny, wise-looking man beside me (and looking down to me) talking to me. But the sound was muffled and tinny, like my perceptions were blurring or dissolving. Somewhere else there was a solid wood wall, which was also breaking into pieces.
Dream #6
A swarm of tiny, tight, dull yellow and black-grey bees stopped me from walking around a curve (and to the right) of a tiny path in a little, green-lawned park. Somewhere near me may have been a group of my friends, who may have laughed at me for being afraid and stopping at the swarm of bees.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
(4/11/09) graveyard/shooting; lone men and mobs
(Entered in paper journal at 8:31 AM at Connecticut Muffin in Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
It was daytime. I was in a car with my family. The blue sky was possibly webbed over with thin clouds, dimming the overall light. My mom was probably driving the car. We were driving down a mountainside road, into a small valley between two mountains. The valley was part of a range that extended far in the distance to my left. We were arguing about where we were, as if either this landscape wasn't a certain kind of landscape or as if we were heading in the wrong direction.
We now approached the valley. At the base of the slope opposite us were tallish headstones, all of orange-tan stone, mainly shapes like square columns with smaller spheres on top. I made some comment about this place being a cemetery, as if that proved we were or weren't in the right place.
We turned right and drove through the valley. I looked to the right (I had been in the backseat on the driver's side, but I wasn't quite there now) to see monumental, white headstones. There were gigantic heads springing out of columns like flowers; headstones of double-men, from the torso up, reaching out and looking forward; and other similar headstones, all in a style like an Art Deco imitation of Hellenistic sculpture.
The size and odd style of these headstones gave me an ominous feeling, as if where we were was a prophetic indication of something bad that would happen to us.
We now drove among headstones. We drove past (to our right) a tall headstone of greyish stone, like a pedestal displaying a large sculpture of a man, not unlike the torso-men, driving a chariot carried by two horses. The sculpture almost seemed alive to me.
Now, along both sides of our car, a group of "horses" ran up from behind us, then running ahead of us, turning a slight left, as we would, with the road, toward a tallish, arched, pale tan-orange stone gate.
The horses were pale slate colored, with a deepening grey on their sides, and with their sides dappled with black spots. Their legs were, however, long and spindly, so that their bodies stood perhaps ten feet above the ground. They were ridden or guided by a group of people who may have been wearing yellow and red silk clothing. I again thought that all of this was ominous.
There was now a view, of which I was, at first, not necessarily a part, of a man giving a speech to a large audience. The speech the man gave was like an Oscar acceptance speech. But it was also supposed to be like a political speech.
The man was about six feet tall, a little heavy, wide-faced, slightly balding on the forehead, but distinguished looking, with red hair, a short, red beard, and glasses. The man wore a nice, pale coffee colored suit with a cream colored shirt. Behind the man was a satiny, purple curtain. The man stood behind a podium.
Suddenly, someone shot the man. Now it was like I was the man. In a series of reveries (like I was in a half-waking state, rather than a dream state) I wondered to myself how bravely I'd act if I really were shot. I wondered whether I'd flinch or maybe scream in a high-pitched voice.
I thought that perhaps I'd take the shot alright, but that if I fell and the person who had shot me were to proceed to attack me physically, I might, in my death throes, thrash about and flinch like a weakling. I also thought that if I were attacked, and the person who shot me were straddling me and pummeling me physically, I might sit up and attack him with all my strength.
But I thought that even then, I'd lose my realistic consciousness, like the police officer (Bannerman?) did in the Stephen King novel Cujo, and imagine that I was fighting on, while really I had fallen back down and was rolled onto my left side, dying.
I, as the man, was lying down. My head had been shot. I was lifted onto a stretcher and into a bunh of material like a gauzy blanket. The people who carried me may have been Mexican boys or young men.
I was carried into an "operating room," which looked more like a run-down barber shop. It had purple-painted walls and unpainted, uncovered, concrete floors. I sat in a barber's chair, possibly before a mirror, though I couldn't see my face.
All this time people had been telling me not to move but to stay awake. They may also have been telling me not to speak. I had also not been allowed to be part of a certain aspect of all the action that had been taking place around me.
But now the group of people had placed on my head a wrapping of gauze as thick as a helmet. With this "helmet," which went over the crown and sides of my head and under my chin, with a strap across the middle as well, to go over my nose, the people now told me, "Okay," as if I were now "allowed" to be fully conscious of all the events around me.
I could feel blood gushing down from the crown of my head and down along my left ear. The blood felt cold, but it was like a fresh gushing, like it had just begun.
I was placed in a wheeled chair, something like a cross between a wheeled hospital bed and a dentist's chair. There were people carting me along, people carting things like IV bags along, and people walking backwards before me. We walked toward a doorway to an "operating room" (?).
The people walking before me kept telling me to stay awake. They kept asking me questions to keep me talking. I wondered why they were making such an effort to keep me awake. I thought, I'm doomed, anyway. I might as well lose consciousness now, and either die or wake up with irreversible brain damage.
Dream #2
I was with my brother in a "movie theater lobby," which was a lot more like a cafe, except with the dim lighting of a bar, and the feeling that this room was in a much larger building, like a big shopping mall or an airport. The light was dim orange-yellow, like candlelight.
I was in the ticket-taker's line. I noticed my brother was over at the "concession stand." I walked over to him, awkwardly, like I'd suddenly realized I should be with my brother, although I still actually wanted to stay in the ticket-taker's line.
I looked into a cafeteria-style glass case displaying desserts. There were a lot of things that looked like brownie squares with layers of some kind of pale brown "chocolate" cream in them. Some of the brownie squares had their top layers out of shape like they were stale, so that the old brownie layer was bending upward at the corners. Some of the brownie squares, however, looked very fresh and appetizing. I couldn't decide what I wanted.
A man who was black or Hispanic, or both, stepped between me and my brother. The man was about my height, wiry-muscular, with a tight face. He had shaggy, curly, pale brown hair, that was kind of long, but not quite down to his shoulders. He wore a tan cap and blue-reflective sunglasses. He had a mustache. He wore a beige windbreaker.
The man started making weird comments to me about how tough it was for someone like him to come here and see movies. He then made a comment like, "It's really tough when there are all these fags here, isn't it?"
I thought the man was half-thinking I'd agree with what he said, but that he also half-thought I was gay and that I'd stand up for myself and other gay people by starting a fight with him. I just backed away from the man, figuring that other people had heard him, and not wanting other people to think that I was with this guy or that I agreed with what he was saying.
I had stepped backward and out of the line for the "concession stand." But I thought, I didn't really need to eat anything, anyway. I'll just wait for my brother. I ended up standing behind a table that held one or two tallish, cylindrical, chrome coffee makers and a couple baskets of different-colored tea-packets. I even ducked behind it.
But now the man turned in my direction and shouted out, "But what's even worse than that is the spics, isn't it?"
I knew there were a lot of Hispanic people here, and that I had to stand up against the man's racial slur about Hispanics.
I stood up as tall as I could. My head peeped up about halfway over the coffee makers. I said, "Oh, yeah?!"
I thought I'd say something else. But I looked around to see that all the Hispanic people in the place were staring at me, like I was also responsible for what the man had said. Everybody, disappointed in me, may simply have dropped me from their minds.
The people now turned and ran out of the place, as if the man had run out before them and they were now chasing him. I ran along with everybody else, trying to prove myself to them.
We all ran through a series of balconies, like the indoor balconies in an office building or hotel. The balconies had red carpet and light-colored, wood railings. There were stairways going up and down. Balconies randomly turned and intersected.
The group of people stopped in their chase while heading up a small staircase. I was at the back of the group. As the group started moving forward again, a black man, tall, wide, wearing black jeans, a black, leather jacket, a backward cap, and slightly tinted, round eyeglasses, jogged down the steps.
As the man went past me (I stood still, like a straggler), he swung his arm out and grabbed my right leg, around the calf, skimming and swinging along on it like it was a handrail, to annoy me. He hustled off confidently, thinking I'd do nothing.
I turned and ran off after the man. I was going to catch up with him and fight him. But he was now ahead of me and apparently running himself. He ran along a balcony and then into a glass-walled corridor that ran alongside the balcony he'd just run through (so that he'd run in a hairpin curve). I followed him through the corridor, which was kind of stuffy and fluorescent-lit.
The man then turned down a narrow, grey-walled, fluorescent-lit hallway. I was about to follow him down this hallway, but I saw that he was heading into a doorway on the left wall. The door was automatically locking, with a number punch-code fixture over the knob. Another person, a tallish, thinnish, black man wearing a red polo shirt, let the man in.
I could tell this was the back entrance for a restaurant. The man was coming to work. I knew that I probably wouldn't be able to get past the locked door. But even if I got past the door, I thought, I'd have to deal with a whole group of men ready to fight me, instead of just the lone man.
Dream #1
It was daytime. I was in a car with my family. The blue sky was possibly webbed over with thin clouds, dimming the overall light. My mom was probably driving the car. We were driving down a mountainside road, into a small valley between two mountains. The valley was part of a range that extended far in the distance to my left. We were arguing about where we were, as if either this landscape wasn't a certain kind of landscape or as if we were heading in the wrong direction.
We now approached the valley. At the base of the slope opposite us were tallish headstones, all of orange-tan stone, mainly shapes like square columns with smaller spheres on top. I made some comment about this place being a cemetery, as if that proved we were or weren't in the right place.
We turned right and drove through the valley. I looked to the right (I had been in the backseat on the driver's side, but I wasn't quite there now) to see monumental, white headstones. There were gigantic heads springing out of columns like flowers; headstones of double-men, from the torso up, reaching out and looking forward; and other similar headstones, all in a style like an Art Deco imitation of Hellenistic sculpture.
The size and odd style of these headstones gave me an ominous feeling, as if where we were was a prophetic indication of something bad that would happen to us.
We now drove among headstones. We drove past (to our right) a tall headstone of greyish stone, like a pedestal displaying a large sculpture of a man, not unlike the torso-men, driving a chariot carried by two horses. The sculpture almost seemed alive to me.
Now, along both sides of our car, a group of "horses" ran up from behind us, then running ahead of us, turning a slight left, as we would, with the road, toward a tallish, arched, pale tan-orange stone gate.
The horses were pale slate colored, with a deepening grey on their sides, and with their sides dappled with black spots. Their legs were, however, long and spindly, so that their bodies stood perhaps ten feet above the ground. They were ridden or guided by a group of people who may have been wearing yellow and red silk clothing. I again thought that all of this was ominous.
There was now a view, of which I was, at first, not necessarily a part, of a man giving a speech to a large audience. The speech the man gave was like an Oscar acceptance speech. But it was also supposed to be like a political speech.
The man was about six feet tall, a little heavy, wide-faced, slightly balding on the forehead, but distinguished looking, with red hair, a short, red beard, and glasses. The man wore a nice, pale coffee colored suit with a cream colored shirt. Behind the man was a satiny, purple curtain. The man stood behind a podium.
Suddenly, someone shot the man. Now it was like I was the man. In a series of reveries (like I was in a half-waking state, rather than a dream state) I wondered to myself how bravely I'd act if I really were shot. I wondered whether I'd flinch or maybe scream in a high-pitched voice.
I thought that perhaps I'd take the shot alright, but that if I fell and the person who had shot me were to proceed to attack me physically, I might, in my death throes, thrash about and flinch like a weakling. I also thought that if I were attacked, and the person who shot me were straddling me and pummeling me physically, I might sit up and attack him with all my strength.
But I thought that even then, I'd lose my realistic consciousness, like the police officer (Bannerman?) did in the Stephen King novel Cujo, and imagine that I was fighting on, while really I had fallen back down and was rolled onto my left side, dying.
I, as the man, was lying down. My head had been shot. I was lifted onto a stretcher and into a bunh of material like a gauzy blanket. The people who carried me may have been Mexican boys or young men.
I was carried into an "operating room," which looked more like a run-down barber shop. It had purple-painted walls and unpainted, uncovered, concrete floors. I sat in a barber's chair, possibly before a mirror, though I couldn't see my face.
All this time people had been telling me not to move but to stay awake. They may also have been telling me not to speak. I had also not been allowed to be part of a certain aspect of all the action that had been taking place around me.
But now the group of people had placed on my head a wrapping of gauze as thick as a helmet. With this "helmet," which went over the crown and sides of my head and under my chin, with a strap across the middle as well, to go over my nose, the people now told me, "Okay," as if I were now "allowed" to be fully conscious of all the events around me.
I could feel blood gushing down from the crown of my head and down along my left ear. The blood felt cold, but it was like a fresh gushing, like it had just begun.
I was placed in a wheeled chair, something like a cross between a wheeled hospital bed and a dentist's chair. There were people carting me along, people carting things like IV bags along, and people walking backwards before me. We walked toward a doorway to an "operating room" (?).
The people walking before me kept telling me to stay awake. They kept asking me questions to keep me talking. I wondered why they were making such an effort to keep me awake. I thought, I'm doomed, anyway. I might as well lose consciousness now, and either die or wake up with irreversible brain damage.
Dream #2
I was with my brother in a "movie theater lobby," which was a lot more like a cafe, except with the dim lighting of a bar, and the feeling that this room was in a much larger building, like a big shopping mall or an airport. The light was dim orange-yellow, like candlelight.
I was in the ticket-taker's line. I noticed my brother was over at the "concession stand." I walked over to him, awkwardly, like I'd suddenly realized I should be with my brother, although I still actually wanted to stay in the ticket-taker's line.
I looked into a cafeteria-style glass case displaying desserts. There were a lot of things that looked like brownie squares with layers of some kind of pale brown "chocolate" cream in them. Some of the brownie squares had their top layers out of shape like they were stale, so that the old brownie layer was bending upward at the corners. Some of the brownie squares, however, looked very fresh and appetizing. I couldn't decide what I wanted.
A man who was black or Hispanic, or both, stepped between me and my brother. The man was about my height, wiry-muscular, with a tight face. He had shaggy, curly, pale brown hair, that was kind of long, but not quite down to his shoulders. He wore a tan cap and blue-reflective sunglasses. He had a mustache. He wore a beige windbreaker.
The man started making weird comments to me about how tough it was for someone like him to come here and see movies. He then made a comment like, "It's really tough when there are all these fags here, isn't it?"
I thought the man was half-thinking I'd agree with what he said, but that he also half-thought I was gay and that I'd stand up for myself and other gay people by starting a fight with him. I just backed away from the man, figuring that other people had heard him, and not wanting other people to think that I was with this guy or that I agreed with what he was saying.
I had stepped backward and out of the line for the "concession stand." But I thought, I didn't really need to eat anything, anyway. I'll just wait for my brother. I ended up standing behind a table that held one or two tallish, cylindrical, chrome coffee makers and a couple baskets of different-colored tea-packets. I even ducked behind it.
But now the man turned in my direction and shouted out, "But what's even worse than that is the spics, isn't it?"
I knew there were a lot of Hispanic people here, and that I had to stand up against the man's racial slur about Hispanics.
I stood up as tall as I could. My head peeped up about halfway over the coffee makers. I said, "Oh, yeah?!"
I thought I'd say something else. But I looked around to see that all the Hispanic people in the place were staring at me, like I was also responsible for what the man had said. Everybody, disappointed in me, may simply have dropped me from their minds.
The people now turned and ran out of the place, as if the man had run out before them and they were now chasing him. I ran along with everybody else, trying to prove myself to them.
We all ran through a series of balconies, like the indoor balconies in an office building or hotel. The balconies had red carpet and light-colored, wood railings. There were stairways going up and down. Balconies randomly turned and intersected.
The group of people stopped in their chase while heading up a small staircase. I was at the back of the group. As the group started moving forward again, a black man, tall, wide, wearing black jeans, a black, leather jacket, a backward cap, and slightly tinted, round eyeglasses, jogged down the steps.
As the man went past me (I stood still, like a straggler), he swung his arm out and grabbed my right leg, around the calf, skimming and swinging along on it like it was a handrail, to annoy me. He hustled off confidently, thinking I'd do nothing.
I turned and ran off after the man. I was going to catch up with him and fight him. But he was now ahead of me and apparently running himself. He ran along a balcony and then into a glass-walled corridor that ran alongside the balcony he'd just run through (so that he'd run in a hairpin curve). I followed him through the corridor, which was kind of stuffy and fluorescent-lit.
The man then turned down a narrow, grey-walled, fluorescent-lit hallway. I was about to follow him down this hallway, but I saw that he was heading into a doorway on the left wall. The door was automatically locking, with a number punch-code fixture over the knob. Another person, a tallish, thinnish, black man wearing a red polo shirt, let the man in.
I could tell this was the back entrance for a restaurant. The man was coming to work. I knew that I probably wouldn't be able to get past the locked door. But even if I got past the door, I thought, I'd have to deal with a whole group of men ready to fight me, instead of just the lone man.
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