(Entered in paper journal at 8:49 AM at Muddy Waters coffee shop on Vanderbilt Avenue in Brooklyn.)
Dream 1
I was in something like a roadside gift shop. The shop was full of people rushing back and forth. I don't know what I was doing there. Eventually I felt so bullied by everybody that I backed to the left side, near a garbage can and possibly a sales counter. But everybody kept brushing up against me even then, so I walked across the small floor to a painted wooden bench.
A boy (black or Hispanic?) sat by me. I was against the armrest to my left. I had something like a newspaper or a big book in my hands. At first I thought the kid was going to taunt me like everybody else. But he turned out just to be interested in me. I wanted to embrace the boy and read to him from my "book." But I was afraid that if I did this his parents, or any adults nearby, would try to accuse me of having bad intentions.
I was about to embrace him, anyway. But a big, shaved-headed, white man, the boy's father or guardian, sat down between us. The man wore a tan trench coat. He managed to sit so that he smashed my feet, which were now up on the bench. I may have been wearing yellow or pink canvas shoes. The man had pale blue eyes.
The man sat with his back to me so that he faced his child. He would then look over his left shoulder and smirk at me. I knew he just wanted to give me a "half-look" to give me a queasy sense of uncertainty and annoy me.
I just tried to ignore the man. I went back to reading my "book." The man, now seeing that he couldn't annoy me by splitting up me and the boy, smashing my feet, sitting with his back to me, and constantly giving me a queasy "half-look," now kept swinging his arms backwards so he would hit my "book" (which now seems to have been the comics section from a Sunday paper).
I may have taken the comics section and rolled it up and used it to hit the man, or I may have just hit the man with my hands. I swatted him on both his ears.
The man was big. And he looked like a skinhead. I was afraid of him. But I wanted to fight. But the man didn't even look at me.
I yelled at the man, "You know what you're doing! You're responsible for your actions! I'm not trying to bother you! Don't bother me!"
I lost focus, though somehow my tirade continued. The scene slowly changed to a slightly barren wilderness before a white-grey cliff. The man had a small structure that looked like a children's mock-up of an alpine-style, two-story house. I, too, had changed into an old, white man with a balding forehead and crown and long, scraggly, salt-and-pepper hair and beard. I probably wore a too-tight white t-shirt and jeans. I had complained at the man.
Now I was walking back to my home, which was something like a short, thick-trunked, gnarled cherry tree with a full canopy of tiny, synaptic branches the leaf buds of which were like rose thorns (actual thorns, not spiky leaf buds like the buds of beech leafs). I didn't live in the tree -- i.e. I didn't live in a hole in the trunk, in the canopy, etc. Instead, I just stood by the trunk, and that was how I lived at the tree. And I never actually "saw" "myself" (the old man). I just "saw" the tree and "felt" "myself/the old man" walk to the tree. I even "felt" something like a silhouette against the tree.
My statement angered the big white man. He was coming to fight me. I knew I'd have to fight. But I didn't know how I could. The man had a "big house." All I had was this tree. I already felt defeated and pathetic.
Showing posts with label being weak. Show all posts
Showing posts with label being weak. Show all posts
Sunday, February 19, 2017
Saturday, February 18, 2017
(3/18/06) scumbag of the future; living waters in the pit of death
(Entered in paper journal at 11:59 AM at Starbucks on 43rd Street and 3rd Avenue in Manhattan.)
Dream 1
I wass working (?) in a huge conference hall. Everyone was sitting in chairs in nicely-spaced rows. The room was classical, like in an 18th-century palace. The lighting was dim. A video presentation about some movie soon to be released was showing.
I glanced around, trying to soak in as much of the room's beauty as I could. But then I smelled cigarette smoke. I looked behind me -- behind me the wall was brighter than in front of me, and it seemed cheaper.
Two people were lighting cigarettes as they walked out the door. Then another guy, seeing I was upset about the people who had lit cigarettes while they were still indoors (in waking life I'm allergic to cigarette smoke and have always been really neurotic about -- among other things -- being around cigarettes), lit a cigarette and stood there staring at me.
I walked aggressively toward the man and told him he had to get out. The man's look slowly changed. He went from looking mean and nasty (he was a white guy, tallish, a little pot-bellied, with thick, squared eyeglasses and a beard) to looking completely taken aback, like he hadn't realized what he was doing, and afraid. He backed softly out the hall doors and then out the building doors.
I followed the man outside. It was night. I called after the man, "I didn't mean to sound mean."
I walked into the lobby, which was tall with white walls and reddish-brown tile squares and a statue of a man somewhere. As I walked to the door, anger slowly dawned on me. I felt like the man had kept me from being as angry at him as I actually had needed to be.
I raged and punched the thick, pale, wooden meeting hall doors. I realized that it didn't hurt.
I thought, I should punch the guy like that. I punched the door again. But this time I messed up and hit way too softly. I lost focus. I concentrated on some delicate ironwork lacing the windows.
I walked back into the room, half in and half out. I looked down. There was a book. I picked it up. It was either written or edited by the man I had just yelled at.
I read the back of the book. Apparently the man had discovered previously unknown works by Edgar Allan Poe. The books were like prophecies. Nobody knew whether they were intended to be satirical or serious. Some of the writings were axiomatic, like Nietzsche's Thus Spake Zarathustra. Others were short stories that were "clear visions of the future."
There was one long story that was like a bunch of prophecies veiled as a story, with the main "skeleton" (i.e. outline) of the plot being a "clear vision" of the future. Something would happen like a nuclear bomb hitting in 2005 or 2015 (?) -- some catastrophe that would kill off most of humanity by 2030.
I felt the doom of this prophecy, like a drop in my stomach. I felt bad now for being angry at this man. I thought, He must really be nice if he took time on a book like this. I thought I'd like to talk to him, but that he wouldn't talk to me.
Dream 2
I was in a small cave, almost as small as a heating duct. There was plenty of light. The cave must have changed size, because sometimes it did seem large enough to stand in. But I never moved, I think. I lay like I was crawling.
I was with some kids. We may have been escaping form something or someone. I think two children were already injured or dead. I held them near me.
Now water that was like a person flooded the entire mine. It lifted us all up and pulled some of us into a pit of death.
I believe three kids were pulled into the pit of death. They barely fit going down the hole. The evil water went with them.
The rest of us lay trying to figure out how to escape this place. There was no escape. The place was just where we were. (Not sure what that means.)
I felt bad that I had let three kids get pulled down into the pit of death. I thought, At least I didn't lose one of my protected kids. Then I thought, Well, what does it matter, anyway? I don't even know if they're alive. Then I looked around and realized I had lost one of the protected children. I couldn't even hold onto them!
The water came again. This time, instead of pulling us toward the pit of death, it was going to push us at a wall, maybe smash us into the wall, maybe smash us through it, into another awful place. I felt the rushing and saw the wall, which had at first been some pale, rough stone like limestone but was now a brick wall.
Dream 1
I wass working (?) in a huge conference hall. Everyone was sitting in chairs in nicely-spaced rows. The room was classical, like in an 18th-century palace. The lighting was dim. A video presentation about some movie soon to be released was showing.
I glanced around, trying to soak in as much of the room's beauty as I could. But then I smelled cigarette smoke. I looked behind me -- behind me the wall was brighter than in front of me, and it seemed cheaper.
Two people were lighting cigarettes as they walked out the door. Then another guy, seeing I was upset about the people who had lit cigarettes while they were still indoors (in waking life I'm allergic to cigarette smoke and have always been really neurotic about -- among other things -- being around cigarettes), lit a cigarette and stood there staring at me.
I walked aggressively toward the man and told him he had to get out. The man's look slowly changed. He went from looking mean and nasty (he was a white guy, tallish, a little pot-bellied, with thick, squared eyeglasses and a beard) to looking completely taken aback, like he hadn't realized what he was doing, and afraid. He backed softly out the hall doors and then out the building doors.
I followed the man outside. It was night. I called after the man, "I didn't mean to sound mean."
I walked into the lobby, which was tall with white walls and reddish-brown tile squares and a statue of a man somewhere. As I walked to the door, anger slowly dawned on me. I felt like the man had kept me from being as angry at him as I actually had needed to be.
I raged and punched the thick, pale, wooden meeting hall doors. I realized that it didn't hurt.
I thought, I should punch the guy like that. I punched the door again. But this time I messed up and hit way too softly. I lost focus. I concentrated on some delicate ironwork lacing the windows.
I walked back into the room, half in and half out. I looked down. There was a book. I picked it up. It was either written or edited by the man I had just yelled at.
I read the back of the book. Apparently the man had discovered previously unknown works by Edgar Allan Poe. The books were like prophecies. Nobody knew whether they were intended to be satirical or serious. Some of the writings were axiomatic, like Nietzsche's Thus Spake Zarathustra. Others were short stories that were "clear visions of the future."
There was one long story that was like a bunch of prophecies veiled as a story, with the main "skeleton" (i.e. outline) of the plot being a "clear vision" of the future. Something would happen like a nuclear bomb hitting in 2005 or 2015 (?) -- some catastrophe that would kill off most of humanity by 2030.
I felt the doom of this prophecy, like a drop in my stomach. I felt bad now for being angry at this man. I thought, He must really be nice if he took time on a book like this. I thought I'd like to talk to him, but that he wouldn't talk to me.
Dream 2
I was in a small cave, almost as small as a heating duct. There was plenty of light. The cave must have changed size, because sometimes it did seem large enough to stand in. But I never moved, I think. I lay like I was crawling.
I was with some kids. We may have been escaping form something or someone. I think two children were already injured or dead. I held them near me.
Now water that was like a person flooded the entire mine. It lifted us all up and pulled some of us into a pit of death.
I believe three kids were pulled into the pit of death. They barely fit going down the hole. The evil water went with them.
The rest of us lay trying to figure out how to escape this place. There was no escape. The place was just where we were. (Not sure what that means.)
I felt bad that I had let three kids get pulled down into the pit of death. I thought, At least I didn't lose one of my protected kids. Then I thought, Well, what does it matter, anyway? I don't even know if they're alive. Then I looked around and realized I had lost one of the protected children. I couldn't even hold onto them!
The water came again. This time, instead of pulling us toward the pit of death, it was going to push us at a wall, maybe smash us into the wall, maybe smash us through it, into another awful place. I felt the rushing and saw the wall, which had at first been some pale, rough stone like limestone but was now a brick wall.
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, February 12, 2017
(7/9/06) weak brutality; my brother's fun house; the construction task; the eagle lands
(Entered in paper journal at 10:23 AM at Starbucks on 43rd Street and 3rd Avenue in Manhattan.)
Dream 1
I lay in "my bed." It was deep night and raining outside. I sat up. I had a window wall that looked out to a front boardwalk area overlooking a river across which were the lights of a tall city. A small car was parked outside: a tiny, boxy, European-style car with a green hood and white roof.
I couldn't see well -- my glasses were wet. I wiped them off as I thought about GS, the star of my high school cross country team. I told myself I had to stop being angry at him and to stop thinking that the things he did to the team sometimes were annoying. I put my glasses back on. I thought, GS was just doing what made sense to him, what he thought would make people like him.
I now saw a group of kids. The kids were black. They looked like troublemakers. The got out of the tiny car. I tried to lay down quickly so they wouldn't see anybody in the house. I thought, Why did I leave my windows open? I couldn't lay down. But I thought at least it was dark.
The kids flashed on the car lights. As soon as they saw me inside the house they bashed open the door, which I had left unlocked by accident, and ran through, right behind the head of my bed, to another door.
I reached around to catch one of them before they left the house. I wanted to show them they couldn't just barge into anybody's house like this. I had a baseball bat. I had they guy in my grasp. I swung the bat. But I swung so weakly that the bat barely even touched the guy.
I was in a living room in the daytime. The place was full of black people. I was very small somehow. People were slung over couches and the floor, lazy and making tons of noise. I had a baseball bat. I tried to hit people. But slowly I got weaker and weaker. Instead of holding a baseball bat, I was now holding something like a small toy bowling pin made out of hollow plastic.
I finally swung at a woman and hit her hard. I thought, Now I can swing and hit! I had a baseball bat in my hands. I thought I had to hit a man now. Hitting a woman didn't prove anything. It was really the men who needed to be taught a lesson.
I stood over a man. Just as I was swinging down at him, he said, "Psst, pssht," like what I was going to do didn't even matter. I lost all confidence and suddenly the bat was just soft, hollow plastic and was so "heavy" in my arms that I couldn't get any speed behind it. It just kept flapping against the guy's face like a piece of paper.
Dream 2
I was in a stairwell with a man and woman. The stairwell was like in a multi-story house: carpeted, with wood railings and pictures on the walls. The man, woman, and I were investigators. A bad person was in the basement. The basement was completely dark. As far as the other floors, I couldn't see them.
A man burst up from the basement. But now somehow he was still in the basement. I said I would go after him. The other two investigators, just sitting on the steps, were suspicious of me but just let me go anyway.
Only a few steps down the steps became a hole about six inches in diameter, lined about three feet down with metal, then opening into the basement. I lowered myself onto the head of a ceramic (?) sculpture of a Chinese lion, white with a green and yellow man and a long, long body.
The light in the basement was dim maroon. I realized now that my brother was down here. In one sense this maze-basement was a kind of terror trap where "the killer" would hunt and kill you.
But in what was becoming more of a reality, this was all just a fun house set up by my brother to impress people. So I went through the maroon into a scary machine room that I had to climb through on my hands and knees. The next room was supposed to be the scariest. But it was just like an enormous tent, with dim blue lighting and a laser pointer shining along the floor. I couldn't wait to see my brother and tell him how good and scary this place was.
I walked into a cafeteria with metal tray counters and glass displays of tons of really good looking Mexican food. I was all alone. A TV played, talking about how important it was to eat healthy. I must have pulled some food together for myself.
I wondered where my brother was. I "spoke with" my mom, asking her where my brother was. I wanted to tell him how good his fun house was. My mom "said" something like, "Oh, don't worry about that. He didn't make up half this stuff anyhow."
Dream 3
I was on the roof of a tall building. It was night and raining. Some people were with me. They sent me to the edge of the building to take care of some construction task which involved moving things from three concrete bins into a shovel at the top of a huge crane.
I moved what were like pieces of garbage into the plastic, white mouth of the "shovel," keeping my stomach to the gravely roof surface the whole time. At one point the "shovel" lifted so I'd have to stand and reach out over the ledge for it. I stood but was suddenly far in on the roof, looking at the concrete bins and crane.
I heard a woman. She and I spoke about my being afraid and about what this whole project really meant.
Dream 4
I lay on a hillside with some friends. It was a sunny day. We all lay on beach blankets, or, rather, knit blankets of bright, gentle colors. The hill was tall, wide, and grassy, with a gentle river at the bottom.
I saw a bald eagle. I called it out to everybody. Everybody treated me like an idiot, saying, "Well, of course that's a bald eagle."
The eagle then flew right up to us and landed. I asked, "Well, it landed right here beside us. How often does that happen?" Nobody answered.
I pet the eagle and spoke a little to it. It wandered away into everybody else's attention. Soon it became a woman, some kind of scientist, who chastised me for not acting as intelligently as my friends had.
Dream 1
I lay in "my bed." It was deep night and raining outside. I sat up. I had a window wall that looked out to a front boardwalk area overlooking a river across which were the lights of a tall city. A small car was parked outside: a tiny, boxy, European-style car with a green hood and white roof.
I couldn't see well -- my glasses were wet. I wiped them off as I thought about GS, the star of my high school cross country team. I told myself I had to stop being angry at him and to stop thinking that the things he did to the team sometimes were annoying. I put my glasses back on. I thought, GS was just doing what made sense to him, what he thought would make people like him.
I now saw a group of kids. The kids were black. They looked like troublemakers. The got out of the tiny car. I tried to lay down quickly so they wouldn't see anybody in the house. I thought, Why did I leave my windows open? I couldn't lay down. But I thought at least it was dark.
The kids flashed on the car lights. As soon as they saw me inside the house they bashed open the door, which I had left unlocked by accident, and ran through, right behind the head of my bed, to another door.
I reached around to catch one of them before they left the house. I wanted to show them they couldn't just barge into anybody's house like this. I had a baseball bat. I had they guy in my grasp. I swung the bat. But I swung so weakly that the bat barely even touched the guy.
I was in a living room in the daytime. The place was full of black people. I was very small somehow. People were slung over couches and the floor, lazy and making tons of noise. I had a baseball bat. I tried to hit people. But slowly I got weaker and weaker. Instead of holding a baseball bat, I was now holding something like a small toy bowling pin made out of hollow plastic.
I finally swung at a woman and hit her hard. I thought, Now I can swing and hit! I had a baseball bat in my hands. I thought I had to hit a man now. Hitting a woman didn't prove anything. It was really the men who needed to be taught a lesson.
I stood over a man. Just as I was swinging down at him, he said, "Psst, pssht," like what I was going to do didn't even matter. I lost all confidence and suddenly the bat was just soft, hollow plastic and was so "heavy" in my arms that I couldn't get any speed behind it. It just kept flapping against the guy's face like a piece of paper.
Dream 2
I was in a stairwell with a man and woman. The stairwell was like in a multi-story house: carpeted, with wood railings and pictures on the walls. The man, woman, and I were investigators. A bad person was in the basement. The basement was completely dark. As far as the other floors, I couldn't see them.
A man burst up from the basement. But now somehow he was still in the basement. I said I would go after him. The other two investigators, just sitting on the steps, were suspicious of me but just let me go anyway.
Only a few steps down the steps became a hole about six inches in diameter, lined about three feet down with metal, then opening into the basement. I lowered myself onto the head of a ceramic (?) sculpture of a Chinese lion, white with a green and yellow man and a long, long body.
The light in the basement was dim maroon. I realized now that my brother was down here. In one sense this maze-basement was a kind of terror trap where "the killer" would hunt and kill you.
But in what was becoming more of a reality, this was all just a fun house set up by my brother to impress people. So I went through the maroon into a scary machine room that I had to climb through on my hands and knees. The next room was supposed to be the scariest. But it was just like an enormous tent, with dim blue lighting and a laser pointer shining along the floor. I couldn't wait to see my brother and tell him how good and scary this place was.
I walked into a cafeteria with metal tray counters and glass displays of tons of really good looking Mexican food. I was all alone. A TV played, talking about how important it was to eat healthy. I must have pulled some food together for myself.
I wondered where my brother was. I "spoke with" my mom, asking her where my brother was. I wanted to tell him how good his fun house was. My mom "said" something like, "Oh, don't worry about that. He didn't make up half this stuff anyhow."
Dream 3
I was on the roof of a tall building. It was night and raining. Some people were with me. They sent me to the edge of the building to take care of some construction task which involved moving things from three concrete bins into a shovel at the top of a huge crane.
I moved what were like pieces of garbage into the plastic, white mouth of the "shovel," keeping my stomach to the gravely roof surface the whole time. At one point the "shovel" lifted so I'd have to stand and reach out over the ledge for it. I stood but was suddenly far in on the roof, looking at the concrete bins and crane.
I heard a woman. She and I spoke about my being afraid and about what this whole project really meant.
Dream 4
I lay on a hillside with some friends. It was a sunny day. We all lay on beach blankets, or, rather, knit blankets of bright, gentle colors. The hill was tall, wide, and grassy, with a gentle river at the bottom.
I saw a bald eagle. I called it out to everybody. Everybody treated me like an idiot, saying, "Well, of course that's a bald eagle."
The eagle then flew right up to us and landed. I asked, "Well, it landed right here beside us. How often does that happen?" Nobody answered.
I pet the eagle and spoke a little to it. It wandered away into everybody else's attention. Soon it became a woman, some kind of scientist, who chastised me for not acting as intelligently as my friends had.
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