(3/17/05) soft core lesbian fashion ads on a snowy day

(Entered in paper journal at 5:35 AM at home in Harlem.)

Dream 1

I was in the basement of a library. The basement was huge, with high ceilings. It was grey throughout, with thin, grey carpet and dim, fluorescent lighting. The furniture was all thin, cherry-varnished wood, and the bookcases seem to have been way off in the distance.

I was at a computer, looking at the internet. At first I may have been watching someone else on the internet. Some image came up that looked like a black and white advertisement for a famous jeans company or Abercrombie & Fitch. It was of two women about to kiss or about to have sex, etc. I got aroused. I knew this was only the beginning in a series of erotically intensifying photos.

I was now controlling the imagery, I think. I moved through the photos, but I'm not sure I ever saw a photo really different from the first. But one way or another, I was satisfied that the photos had turned color and that in them the two women had gotten naked and were writhing all over each other in ways that filled up either vertical or horizontal rectangles. (The company may have been Donna Karan.)

As I walked (about forty feet) to the wall with the printer, I realized it was about time for me to go so I could XXXXX. I regretted having looked only at these photos, since I'd planned to check out a website I was pretty sure would have more interesting and intense (soft core) erotic lesbian photos.

But then I realized, or, rather, saw in my mind's eye that it was snowing outside. Up until this time, perhaps because I was in a dim basement, I felt like it was night. Now, seeing in my mind's eye that it was a silvery-grey late afternoon filled with fluffy, white snow.

I figured wherever I'd been planning to go from here would be closed or late getting started, anyway, so I could just stay here at least for a while and keep using the computer. Somewhere, somehow, I kept seeing a shelf or shelves of red, leather-bound books.

(1/1/06) on the bus; the mystical bookshelf

(Entered in paper journal at 10:03 AM at Starbucks at Astor Place.)

Dream 1

It was early morning, deep blue, and I was on a bus that was also an office. There were a lot of seats per row, like on an big airplane. We were waiting for the bus to pull out of the parking lot. I may have thought the bus driver was lazy and didn't want to leave because he didn't want any of us to have to work. I may have been a temp. Some new permanent person "moved in" to the seat beside mine. He looked like my senior coworker DH. He sat to my left.

I had been slouched in my chair. The seat back in front of me had its tray down and a computer screen in the seat back. I had a couple envelopes in my hand. I opened one. It had what looked like a check in it. The check looked like it was for a lot money. I was happy at first, but I realized I didn't any money coming to me.

I lifted the check up from down by my waist into a beam of incandescent light coming from my own or someone's ceiling light near me. The check changed before my eyes to a check-like promotion from some bank, telling me that for just $170.24 (I think) I could start up a professional bank account with them. Something about the check felt old, like a magazine ad from the 1970s.

I put the "check" down and thought, Well, obviously they don't know me, or they wouldn't have sent me an invitation like this. I was sad when I realized I also still owed a ton of money.

The new person to my left seemed to be looking at me. I sat straight up in my seat and tried to look motivated. I thought he could get me, maybe all of us, fired by telling the boss none of us worked. But then I thought, All of us are at the mercy of the bus driver.

I "saw out" of the bus to a building with a couple people in the doorway. They were the higher bosses. I knew the bus driver may have been stopping us from doing work, but that the higher bosses were also not giving us anything to do. I now felt less ashamed of sitting there doing nothing.

Dream 2

I was in some place like the outdoors. I followed a few people, mostly women. They may even have been holding my hand and leading me.

We walked past a short bookcase. I caught sight of a copy of William James's Principles of Psychology. I broke off from everybody else. I wanted to look at the book I figured I could catch up with everybody else later.

The book was on a shelf of similarly bound books. The binding/cover was a cheap, fake leather, marbleized pattern, in red, blue, or green. Principles of  Psychology was bound in red. The volumes were all thin at the binding edge, but tall, and with wide pages. I thought about what a pain it would be to carry this copy of the PoP all over the place with me. I was ashamed to look directly at the bookshelf because I didn't want anybody nearby to know I was so interested in such books.

But looking at the bookshelf as I was about to grab the Principles of Psychology, I noticed a very obscure book, bound in blue, by an author with a name like Epictetus. The book was about some strange religious question, some dark, symbolic treatise on Jesus. This book was very attractive to me, even though I felt the quality of the writing might not be as high or challenging as James's writing. I was frightened by the book, and more ashamed of looking at it and being seen.

A man and woman sat on a couch to the right of the bookcase. The man and woman were thin, a little like hippies, cocky, and good humored. I wanted to take one of the books. But I didn't want to carry around such bulk with me, to weigh myself down and take on more clutter than I was already bearing.

But now I looked below the tall volumes and saw a whole collection of small, thin books, half in red binding and half in green binding -- the same kind of cheap, fake leather, marbleized binding as was covering the taller volumes.

There were a lot of incredible titles, all mystical. I figured I could take one of these. They were so small that it wouldn't add much at all to my heavy load. And they were all so ancient and deep -- I was sure I could find what I needed in them.

But as I grabbed for one I looked to my left and saw some stacked containers full of old, pulpy books, all on mysticism. One in particular, a bulky one but with poor quality, newsprint-like paper had a photo on the front of an ancient Middle Eastern city with a purple-maroon afternoon sky behind it and before it a cheesy,touched-up group of two modern people and one "ancient" person (I think) standing close together like in a family portrait.

The title and subtitle of this book again had, like the book by "Epictetus," something to do with Jesus, but in a dark and spooky way, In this case, the book was about some very old, spooky ritual that was directly connected to the powers Jesus had.

The book appealed to me on so many levels. I loved its cheesy look. I loved its cheap bulkiness. And there's always something I love about the 1960s and 1970s style of getting into the deep, scary issues of mysticism -- the way the vapid, blunt American speech wraps itself around that ancient complexity and terror -- or, rather, the way I always wish it would do that.

I picked up the book and flipped it around. The photo on the back was of a green hillside and blue sky in the background before which stood "Jesus" and two modern people, maybe two children, maybe a black boy and a white girl. The back caption once again spoke of the secrets of Jesus's power, though this time much less obscurely and intellectually frightening and more self-help-focused and more obviously centered, not around "the ancient magician" but around Jesus.

I knew if the man and the woman saw the back this book, they'd laugh at me for thinking Jesus was cool. I flipped the book around so the front cover would be visible while I carried it. But I noticed then that even the title on the front was obviously about Jesus being cool and magic. I hesitated over taking the book. I may even have put it away.

To mask my taking the book I walked over to the right of the couch (now inside), where there was a makeshift "book"shelf against the wall. It was full of CDs, DVDs, and videotapes all in security casings. I think there were books behind the lowest level (which was the floor) at first. But as I flipped through the CDs the "books" behind them became videotapes.

There was a theme to all the videotapes, which all had cheesy, cheap, solid-colored boxes. The theme weas that one seriously had to question whether one should work in the mainstream at all, since to do that work would mean to succumb to the evils of the industries. The videos were all stories of these industry evils, how the industries were set to hook people on consumption, and how this consumption resulted in the murder and destruction of many people.

I hadn't been looking for any of that. I just wanted something plain and easy and big enough to cover up the title of the mystical book I wanted to take.

The couple on the couch addressed me. "Remember the old days, Preemie? You sure did a lot of silly things back then." I now pulled out a CD with a picture of me on the cover. I was dressed like I dressed in college. I was knelt down over dusty ground, throwing up.

The couple said something like, "When are you going to give us that CD you promised to give us as a present?"

I pulled out another CD. The cover showed me in the same position, still throwing up. But this time I wore green Nomex pants and a navy blue t-shirt -- the firefighting outfit I'd had while working at an Americorps program near Los Alamos, New Mexico.

I felt a little lost as I looked at this photo. I thought I should feel disappointed. But from the fact that, other than any puking, I looked so good and healthy, I couldn't tell why I should feel so disappointed.

(10/26/07) theatrical training; didn't care after all

(Entered in paper journal at 5:21 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)

Dream #1

I stood in a blue room with an older couple and a man about my age. The older couple stood to my left. The man stood before me. The older couple looked somewhat wealthy. The man my age was tall, heavyish, pale, wearing a t-shirt (pinkish-beige?). Behind him may have been a bookshelf or a closet.

The man my age told me about some stage plan like for a theatrical production. I imagined a sparse blueprint.

I saw the man again. He told me we would use the things I made as a reference for later work I would apply for. He mentioned some other training I would go through.

The man showed me books that stood on a shelf over the door frame. The books were tall and thick and had old, dark blue, faded, cloth covers.

I now saw as if I were in a separate place. I heard the older couple and the man talking to me They couldn't afford to get me a really great suit -- it wasn't in the budget. But I would look good in whichever suit I got, they said. They suggested that at some point I get an all-white suit.

Dream #2

I sat in a movie theater with my old friend R. The movie was playing, but the theater was still half-lit and dim orange. R kept crowding into my view and putting his hand in front of important characters or things on the screen. When people in the movie would say important things R would interject loudly so I couldn't hear.

I got mad and told R, "This is what you do that makes me not want to hang around with you!"

R said, "So?" He laughed. I noticed how short R's hair was.

I said, "So I'm telling you because you told me to."

R said, "Yeah, well, I guess I really don't care if I'm upsetting you, even if you tell me."

(12/7/08) astral projection over college campus

(Entered in paper journal at 8 AM at Connecticut Muffin in Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn.)

Dream #1

I stood by "my car" in the parking lot of a college campus. I stood before an open field, possibly under the shade of a tree. It was a sunny day. I was looking for one building in particular. It may have been the theater building. I may have seen some yellow trees in the distance.

I began walking across the field, but stopped. I had forgotten something in the car. I may have gone back to the car. At some point I lifted myself into the air. I flew higher and higher, eventually just above the tops of the trees within my sight (there were few trees -- the campus was mostly lawn and complexes of red-brick, new-looking buildings).

I moved toward a complex of buildings near the top, left quadrant of the lawn. Some students were walking along the concrete walkways by the buildings and along the lawn. I moved myself through the air by pointing my (right?) index finger to a coordinate and "pulling down" as if I were scrolling on a computer screen. I was seeing a lot more yellow trees.

As I approached the complex of buildings (which had a concrete courtyard inside its loosely joined area), I became aware that I was doing something extraordinary by flying. I assumed that I was either dreaming or having and out-of-body experience. I thought, Well, then, this experience isn't real. But it felt real, and I thought, Then it must be real in some sense. I thought, Maybe I'm not even flying. Maybe I'm just dreaming of looking at a computer screen. After all, that's what this flying is like. But I felt the atmosphere around me, so I was convinced something about this experience was real.

I got to the other side of the complex. I flew past a modern-looking, slope-roofed building with greenhouse-style windows near the top of the building. I wondered if people would see me. I also wondered if the people walking below had seen me, and how any of them would react. Would they think I was a ghost? Would they be afraid? Would they think I was doing something I wasn't supposed to do? Would they try to pull me down? I now tried not to be seen.

For a moment I lost my ability to fly. I began flying again, approaching the building at the end of the complex. I told myself I had lost the ability to fly because I had started thinking of the complex as an interior, and of whatever was beyond it as an exterior. In my lucid dreams I would often, I told myself, be afraid of approaching exteriors, because I thought of the dreams as products of my imagination, and I'd never believed I had strong enough imagination to produce an entire exterior environment.

But I told myself, This environment all has something real to it. Don't think of it as your imagination. Just relax and go beyond.

I started flying again, high enough to see over the building at the end of the complex. I could see blue sky and green trees. I told myself, There. See? You're seeing things just fine.

But as I approached the last building, I again lost my ability to fly. I dropped quickly, so that I had to grab onto the edge of a roof. I didn't know if I could fly anymore. But I knew I had to get past the complex. I thought I would climb onto the roof, then find some way off the roof, after which I would simply walk beyond the buildings and see what was there. But as I started pulling myself up onto the roof, there was a movement, as if the building were falling over, so that it would crash to the ground and smash me.

But suddenly the building was just a big bookshelf in a bedroom. The bookshelf was empty, pale, unfinished, and had a weird structure on top of it, like the roof of an old, tall house. I wasn't hurt when the bookshelf and I fell to the ground.

I may now have been like a little kid. I thought I should try to stand the building back up. I may have tried, to see if I had the strength. I didn't. But some figure, like a girl-angel, lifted the bookshelf back up for me.

I looked around and thought about something like bugs. I thought I should clean this place up to prevent getting bugs. I then had some weird, distorted visions of simply-drawn cartoon faces.

(1/8/10) jumping in the hay: a novel

(Entered in paper journal at 6:30 AM on B-train into work from Brooklyn.)

Dream #1

I was walking down a street in a city which was probably supposed to be New York. The streets were clean and calm, though there were a moderate amount of people walking along them. The whole area had a small town feel. It was afternoon, and the sky was a placid silver-blue.

I had been walking from a place far uptown -- possibly 125th Street -- and possibly even across a bridge. I was now down on what was supposed to have been 86th Street. I was looking for a place to have coffee. I was going to have coffee and write or read for a little while, then head back uptown. It was like I had gotten some kind of break time from a large training event or conference.

I found a coffee shop in a building hat looked very small-town like. I walked inside. There was a lot of space. The floors and tables were of pale wood. The tables were as wide as dining tables. The place had two areas. The "back" area, to my left, was set slightly lower than the "front" area.

I thought I would sit in the cafe and read for a while. But for some reason I felt pressed for time. I worried either that I would have to get out of here before sunset or that I would have to get out of here in time to get back to the event uptown. I thought to myself that it would be much smarter for me, in the future, to walk down somewhere, have coffee there, and then walk back uptown (as if that were different from what I had just done!). That way I could avoid getting out of here after sunset.

The place was empty except for two old, heavyish ladies with square, grey haircuts. The ladies sat across from each other at a table near a divider-screen which set apart the back area from the front area. The ladies wore slightly oversized t-shirts, probably blue and red, and pale jeans. They spoke like two grandmothers, with a deadpan, but patient and cheerful tone of voice.

I had to squeeze past the two ladies to get into the back area, where I thought I'd sit because it had so much space. I may have seen two more people enter the shop: a man and woman about my age. This may have made me a little anxious.

I wanted to buy some coffee or tea, but I hadn't seen a cashier yet. I saw a stairway that went down to a basement. It was narrow, with clean walls and pale wood steps. It looked newly built. I knew the cashier was actually in the basement.

I went down into the basement. It was huge, like three or four living rooms put together. The place itself seemed to be set up like three or four different living rooms. The whole place was cast in a bluish light, which I think came from the ground-level windows, high up on the walls. The floor was covered in thick, white shag carpet or rugs of the same material. There were couches everywhere. There were square pillars of dark wood near the center of the room. There were other household items, like bicycles, etc., scattered about.

Bookshelves lined most of the walls. All the books on the shelves looked like popular novels. What mostly caught my attention as I gazed at the bookshelves from the center of the room were books whose spines looked like those of the old V.C. Andrews books.

I saw the cash register, but nobody was there. I knew the cashier was in the restroom. I tried to be quiet, almost invisible as well. I was afraid that if I was too "forward" about my presence, I would cause the cashier to dislike me, which would, I feared, make my future visits here really stressful.

I pulled back my personality so much that I became like a ghost. I "walked," moving my legs, but not moving because I was moving my legs. I was actually moving by cruising forward while floating about an inch above the floor. I crept-floated around the corner of a pillar and possibly squeezed between the space between the back of a chair or couch and the pillar. I floated toward a bookshelf and reached out for a book.

The cashier walked out from the bathroom, which, I saw, was near a smallish, concrete-floored laundry room. The cashier was a tallish, skinny man with a slight, stubbly, black beard and glasses. He may have worn a wool cap.

The cashier, seeing me, at first seemed hesitant to interact. Then he said, "Beautiful night."

I said something in response, but my words were drowned out to me by my thoughts about what I should say. I knew the man had said what he'd said because he didn't want to go through the whole "how are you doing" or "how can I help you" kind of thing.

But I thought that since he'd said it was a beautiful night, I'd sound like I was an idiot if anything I said implied I would be staying inside reading. I thought I'd say something about the long walk I'd just taken to show that I hadn't wasted the beauty of the day by being inside.

I may have asked the man about a book to read. The man told me that I should read XXXXX (can't remember). I thought to myself, Who does that guy think he is, telling me what book to read? I won't read it!

I walked up to a bookshelf to the right (as I faced it) of the cash register. This bookshelf had previously been along the back wall, but now it was on the right wall. I looked up at one of the top shelves, to a row of Stephen King books with the "new style" white bindings with blocks of color across the bottom of the page, where the titles are. I focused on one book called something like Jumping in the Hay.