(This dream entered only in daytime paper journal. No time/place info for entry.)
One dream vaguely remembered from last night.
Dream 1
Don't remember the beginning or the premise of the beginning.
I was fly-jumping up a hill of dormant, dry, tan, and purplish-pink grass on a grey day, trying to catch up with some man (my friend R?) and an artist woman. I wasn't quite able to fly up the hill as well as I could fly-jump over a flat surface.
I was afraid that I was losing my ability to fly-jump at will. But now -- the landscape changed to something indoors, like a smallish museum or a business or hotel building with a sculpture garden in it -- I was back to jump-flying regularly.
R and this unknown artist lady, who looked like the leonine math teacher in Fellini's Amarcord in a black dress, were now standing somewhere on a second or third level with me. R mentioned sculptures to the art lady as if they were my sculptures.
I don't remember what happened after this. Now I stood by some long, messy table at which R sat, either at the side or at the head. The table was kind of smashed up and covered over with papers, but it at least used to be classy.
We were in a smallish room like an apartment bedroom. It felt a little cold, as opposed to the rest of the "museum hotel," which, though resembling nothing more than a series of tiers and floors of living rooms and living room-like lobbies connected by stairways, like a suburban MC Escher, felt very warm and welcoming throughout.
Both R and I were anticipating the visit of R's girlfriend Y. But once she got there R seemed distant and consumed by whatever work was on the table.
I hung out for a second or two before telling Y she had to come see the sculptures in this place, one in particular, a fountain sculpture of a young girl. The sculptures were now the work of the artist woman.
Y and I walked out into the main area, walking along something like a balcony which overlooked some tiers and stairways. I began fly-jumping again. At first, once again, I didn't quite believe I could do it. But something in me loosened up. Y kept up with me somehow, though she wasn't fly-jumping. In fact, she was impressed by the fact that I could do this.
We came to either a ripped-out, torn-out section in the balcony or else a large, long stairway down and then back up in the middle of the balcony. I thought to myself, This is the big test whether I can really fly-jump. I jumped across the gap, barely making it.
But we weren't finding the sculptures. we weren't heading down onto the first floor (or basement?) even though that's where the sculptures were, because we didn't want to go down until we came right to the sculpture I was looking for.
Sculptures had started filling the lower levels, standing on pedestals, hidden behind strange, carpet-covered walls, standing in the center of hexagonal couch arrangements, guarded round by fences, standing all alone. They were all black, perhaps some kind of lead. They were done in a quaint, lovely early twentieth century style, or actually more like the early style of Rodin. Most of the sculptures were busts, especially busts of men.
At some point we two decided we had to go down to the lower levels to find the sculpture of the girl. We mazed around through there until we finally reached the sculpture (? -- I can't say for sure if we reached it. It may have been that as we searched I was never quite able to envision the sculpture to know exactly what to search for, and then that I at least could envision the sculpture).
But as soon as this happened we two were in some kind of small basement bedroom. At first the warm incandescent light was on. There was a bed against the long wall opposite the closed bedroom door. Over the bed was a window covered by blinds. I don't think there was anything else in the room.
Somehow Y and I were now laying in bed together. We were just friends, and we were just hanging out, talking about something. But I now managed unconsciously to have put my arm around her.
Y laughed at me as we lay there and said something like, "So even you were only pretending not to be sexually attracted to me. It kind of gets troublesome after a while."
Now the lights were out. Y and I were holding hands in some way so that my arm was still under and around her but was bent up at the forearm and perpendicular with her arm, which was also perpendicular.
It seemed to be thundering and raining outside. I cracked open a view between two slats of the blinds. The window was dotted with smattering raindrops. The sky was a streetlamp-orange purple. We were right next to a bridge like the Brooklyn Bridge, except skinnier. It was the middle of the night.
One solitary man walked past the window, saw into the window, and hurried his walk. I knew he was one of R's employees, and that he would now tell R what he had seen. I tried to get Y out of bed. But she kept pulling me back down and laughing, still holding my hand.
Now the lights were back on. There were now two beds in the room -- in an upside-down L shape, or a 7 shape. By the lower bed, which lay at the foot of the bed we had been laying in, was my backpack.
Y rolled out of bed, possibly covered by the blanket. She crawled toward the door, laughing a little. We could hear R laughing bitterly from some distance down what I "saw" as a dark hallway.
I now rolled out of bed. I had all my clothes on, but I also didn't have all my clothes on. I was looking for my clothes. I crawled, dramatically, desperately, yet in slow motion, toward my backpack. I must have stood at one point.
I heard R say something at some point. Y said to me, "Well, he's going to find us. We've been caught in the act."
I now collapsed over my backpack. I was upset of course, that I'd betrayed my friend and was about to hurt his feelings so bad. But I was also afraid, literally weak in the knees, because I knew R could kick my ass.
Y was still chuckling, as if this was all kind of fun and exciting. She told me something like, "Oh, get up. come on. Get up, you idiot."
Showing posts with label brooklyn bridge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label brooklyn bridge. Show all posts
Thursday, March 23, 2017
Sunday, January 13, 2013
(7/21/08) pompeii new york; vuitton or saint laurent?; bicycle arms
(Entered in paper journal at 6:15 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn into Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I was with a group of people, possibly scientists, looking over a river which ran through a range of hills. I don't know how we were there -- it was like we were disembodied, somehow.
Suddenly the view of everything went negative. In this negative view we saw lava flooding over the hills and through the river.
The view was normal again. The lava had quickly cooled, and the whole landscape was now a cinnamon-brown color, as if everything the lava had touched was itself now cooled lava. The Brooklyn Bridge was nearby. It, too, was cinnamon-brown. We flew over the bridge, as if we were in a helicopter.
Somebody mentioned that we were here to protect this area. Some people were trying to tear it all down. But we thought we needed to preserve it to show people what would happen if lava flowed through an area like this ever again.
Dream #2
I was out on a path in a foresty area. I knelt on the side of the path with a woman. The light was golden, dim, like it was late afternoon.
The woman (who may have looked like a young, thin version of my mother) was talking about how she didn't like herself or think she was beautiful since the man she loved had left her. Either I or another man may have told the woman how beautiful she was.
The woman and the other man were now walking back to a nearby wood building. The building was a school building. The woman was a teacher there. The man walking with the woman was the woman's new love interest. His name was XXXXX Saint Laurent. I followed the woman and man, but more like a camera, or a disembodied eye.
The woman said something like, "Thank you for giving me such confidence and making me feel beautiful."
The man was dressed very nicely. He looked like a businessman.
The woman opened the door. The two walked into the building. Right inside, in a small, dim hallway, stood the woman's old lover, whose name was Louis Vuitton. The man was taller than the other man, slightly better dressed, and altogether more elegant.
Louis Vuitton told the woman how he wanted her back and how he wanted to take the woman away from the "awful" life of a schoolteacher.
Vuitton saw Saint Laurent. My view was on Saint Laurent. I tried to convince myself that Saint Laurent was better for the woman than Vuitton. But I knew the woman would go with Vuitton, not Saint Laurent.
Dream #3
A young boy like my oldest cousin (who was, in waking life, my best friend through childhood) wanted to sneak into some special compartment on the subway. He and I -- I was also a young boy -- got onto the train.
The boy spoke to the conductor about his desire. The conductor told the boy he would give the boy an operation. The conductor would cut both the boy's arms off and give him detachable arms. That way the boy could just barely fit into the small, pipe-like space he desired to fit into. I could see that the boy's detachable arms would look like bike parts with bone sockets.
I couldn't see how the boy would get back out of the space without any help. I was pretty certain that once the conductor had helped the boy into the space he would never let him out. The conductor would just leave the boy there, out of either cruelty or forgetfulness.
Dream #1
I was with a group of people, possibly scientists, looking over a river which ran through a range of hills. I don't know how we were there -- it was like we were disembodied, somehow.
Suddenly the view of everything went negative. In this negative view we saw lava flooding over the hills and through the river.
The view was normal again. The lava had quickly cooled, and the whole landscape was now a cinnamon-brown color, as if everything the lava had touched was itself now cooled lava. The Brooklyn Bridge was nearby. It, too, was cinnamon-brown. We flew over the bridge, as if we were in a helicopter.
Somebody mentioned that we were here to protect this area. Some people were trying to tear it all down. But we thought we needed to preserve it to show people what would happen if lava flowed through an area like this ever again.
Dream #2
I was out on a path in a foresty area. I knelt on the side of the path with a woman. The light was golden, dim, like it was late afternoon.
The woman (who may have looked like a young, thin version of my mother) was talking about how she didn't like herself or think she was beautiful since the man she loved had left her. Either I or another man may have told the woman how beautiful she was.
The woman and the other man were now walking back to a nearby wood building. The building was a school building. The woman was a teacher there. The man walking with the woman was the woman's new love interest. His name was XXXXX Saint Laurent. I followed the woman and man, but more like a camera, or a disembodied eye.
The woman said something like, "Thank you for giving me such confidence and making me feel beautiful."
The man was dressed very nicely. He looked like a businessman.
The woman opened the door. The two walked into the building. Right inside, in a small, dim hallway, stood the woman's old lover, whose name was Louis Vuitton. The man was taller than the other man, slightly better dressed, and altogether more elegant.
Louis Vuitton told the woman how he wanted her back and how he wanted to take the woman away from the "awful" life of a schoolteacher.
Vuitton saw Saint Laurent. My view was on Saint Laurent. I tried to convince myself that Saint Laurent was better for the woman than Vuitton. But I knew the woman would go with Vuitton, not Saint Laurent.
Dream #3
A young boy like my oldest cousin (who was, in waking life, my best friend through childhood) wanted to sneak into some special compartment on the subway. He and I -- I was also a young boy -- got onto the train.
The boy spoke to the conductor about his desire. The conductor told the boy he would give the boy an operation. The conductor would cut both the boy's arms off and give him detachable arms. That way the boy could just barely fit into the small, pipe-like space he desired to fit into. I could see that the boy's detachable arms would look like bike parts with bone sockets.
I couldn't see how the boy would get back out of the space without any help. I was pretty certain that once the conductor had helped the boy into the space he would never let him out. The conductor would just leave the boy there, out of either cruelty or forgetfulness.
(7/26/08) fool in the rain; guard the house; interior design gift
(Entered in paper journal at 8:32 AM at Flying Saucer cafe in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I walked on concrete walkway before first-floor apartments in an outdoor apartment complex. I was walking with DM, one of the heads of my company's research department. We may have been among a small group of people. DM and I were speaking about something business-related. I was trying to impress DM with my intelligence.
We turned and walked up a stairwell. I was opening up an envelope from the Department of the Treasury. I thought it would be really impressive if I got a letter from Treasury saying how smart they thought I was, especially right in front of DM.
But the contents of the envelope were a packet of forms, with yellow, carbon-copy pages, and a piece of paper (or a Post-It Note?) on the front telling me I hadn't yet filled out a registration that would allow me to trade commodities (which would have nothing to do with my job in waking life, anyway...).
DM asked me why I hadn't gotten my commodities registration yet. She told me to take care of it right away. She told me so gently, but I could tell she was really disappointed that I hadn't done it yet.
We walked into a small office that was almost like a principal's secretary's office space, or a dumpy, small office in a small town. I walked into a small meeting room. The area was very narrow, with a long, narrow table that almost filled the entire room. The light was a bleak, greenish fluorescent.
I sat down at an end of the table. The table was full. All the other people were older, grizzled-looking men in outdated suits and with awful hairstyles.
The men were all talking about who should be able to speak or who should be able to make ideas for this recurring meeting. One man, a black man wearing a green sweater and a tan blazer, and with huge, puffy hair and a fat mustache, was saying that he should do it.
Some other man, an oldish, fattish, white man with a dollop of hair and wearing a white polo shirt, said, "You always suggest that you should be in charge. That shows you aren't mature enough to be in charge yet."
Everybody kind of chuckled. There were two other black people at the table who kind of agreed with the white man. The discussion tended more toward a group of people, rather than one individual, being in charge of these meetings.
One of the black men struck me as very familiar. He had a dull but violent look to him. His expression was almost dead, decaying. His right eye didn't seem to work. It might even have been clouded over with grey. I tried very hard to figure out where I knew him from. I thought he was someone from my neighborhood, following me around town.
The man was sitting near the right, front corner of the table (if I sat at the back, left end). But now he sat at the head of the table, on the left side.
The man said, "And why were you out on the street, standing in the rain in only your underwear, shouting out such weird things? Do you think that makes a good impression for our group?"
I thought this was kind of funny -- someone standing out in the rain in their underwear, acting crazy. I was trying to figure out which person here would have done something like that.
The man said, "Are you paying attention? I'm talking to you." I felt like the man was talking to me. I looked at him. He was looking at me. His eyes looked almost dead. Everybody else was looking at me as well. They were all silent.
I tried to figure out when I had done what the man had said I'd done. I couldn't remember having done it, but somehow it seemed reasonable to think that I had done it.
Dream #2
I was in "my mom's house," which was like the house my family had lived in during my last three years of high school. My family was gone. I was watching the place for them.
It was night. I was going to be. I went into my mom's bedroom. The room was empty except for three beds, which were evenly spaced along the back wall. The floor was tile, grey or white. The beds were all small, maybe two and a half feet across, very boxy-looking, with only white sheets on them. The sheets were all slightly disheveled.
I was about to lay down in my mom's bed. But I suddenly realized that this place wasn't safe. I had to lock every door so nobody could get in -- a lot of people were trying to get into this place.
I first locked the front door. It had a normal padlock on it, but it seemed like there was a lot of junk and clutter in front of the door, so that it was difficult to reach the lock.
The effort made me feel like not going through the trouble of locking the other doors. But then I thought of the backdoor. At first I thought it would be reasonable to think that nobody would take the trouble to go all the way around to the backyard to get into the house. But then I realized that the house had been broken into before just because someone had left the backdoor open.
I walked through the dim kitchen (it seems like the only light on was in the living room, and that the other rooms were dim, catching whatever light they could from the living room) and to the backdoor, which may have been on a side wall. The lock was big and made of dull, silver metal with two thick, black cords looping from top to bottom. It somehow reminded me of a medical device.
I locked the door. But I still felt I wasn't safe. The windows were all unlocked. Plus, people could see me through the windows. If the wrong people saw me, they';d want to get at me, even if they had to break the windows to get into this place.
I was about to lock the windows, but the phone rang. The phone was sitting on the couch. I knelt on the floor and leaned against the front of the couch. I picked up the phone. I was in a really casual posture, like I might be in if I were speaking with a good friend.
The person on the other line was a no-good person. She was a white girl, about my brother's age. She thought I was my brother. I kind of let her keep thinking I was my brother. The girl was talking nice to me, trying to convince me I should let her into the place. I knew the woman was being put up to this by a group of trashy guys (white, hippie-ish looking) who wanted to attack my brother and take his money.
I told the girl something like I couldn't let her into the house because I was leaving soon, anyway. I thought if I could convince the woman I was leaving, I would then sneak through the house without being seen through the windows (none of which had any curtains) and turn off the lights. That way the people would think my brother had left the house, and they wouldn't bother me. I thought I'd lay in bed but probably not sleep, just in case somebody tried to break into the house anyway.
Then I realized my plan might be worthless already. It was so dark outside that nothing could be seen. There may even at this moment have been people outside the windows, looking directly in at me. I felt like I was already done for.
Dream #3
It was night. I stood on a sidewalk corner that was lit by orange streetlamp light. The corner faced a wide street that spanned off straight along to my right into the blackness of the desert, or perhaps over a wide river.
To my right was parked a semi-truck, its back end facing me. An oldish, toughish-looking, black man dressed in clothes like a freight-lifter might wear (darkish blue jacket and pants and a wool cap?) stood to my right.
Somewhere a radio was playing something like the transmission's from my company's morning meeting between the Research and Sales departments. News had come in that one of our analysts, DB, was going to upgrade a stock (a stock which, I believe, I had, within the few months before this dream, lost about 30% on -- the day after having bought the stock).
I suddenly knew why DB was upgrading the stock. The stock, I knew, would finally go back up to the price at which I had bought it. I would sell it as soon as it got there. The reason it was going up was, I thought, and then said out loud, right as the radio said the exact same thing, "Because it's getting bought out by a manufacturer!"
I smiled in triumph and looked up at the man beside me. He smiled back, knowing I'd just been a part of some really cool stock trading event.
The man and I crossed the street. I turned right and started walking up the "Brooklyn Bridge." It was the deep of night, but there were still a few people heading up and down the bridge.
I felt suspicious of all these people, like they'd know I'd had a good trading moment with a stock, and like they'd want to take my money because of it. But I thought, I don't have any money from the trade. I only got myself back to break-even.
The bridge I was on looked more like the Manhattan Bridge than the Brooklyn Bridge, with the walkways on the sides, and with stone arches over the walkways occasionally. But it was incredibly long, like it spanned over an enormous river.
I thought to myself, I didn't know this was going to happen with that stock when I bought it. But I also didn't know the same manufacturer was going to buy that other company, either. (A previous stock I'd bought had, in waking life, been bought by the manufacturer, sending the stock I'd bought up by about 40% soon after I'd bought it. It was luck -- I hadn't foreseen the buyout at all.) I thought, It looks like I'll always just be an accidental buyer of stocks whose prices go way up when they get taken out by this manufacturer!
For a moment I felt like I was psychic. How else could I have been so lucky twice? But then I told myself again, Nothing really great happened to you. You didn't make a ton of money off this deal. You broke even.
I was starting to feel winded by the walk. The bridge was so much steeper than I'd remembered, and it seemed to be so long. But, I thought to myself, I always take the bridge from Manhattan back home to Brooklyn. I seldom take it from Brooklyn into Manhattan. It's obviously more difficult this way because I'm going up instead of down.
I told myself to brace up and cross the bridge. I'd crossed it so many times before; I couldn't not cross it now. Suddenly the way flattened out. The bridge opened out into a wide street full of cars and edged with an area full of lit buildings. It might have been raining a little. I was slightly disappointed taht the bridge had suddenly been crossed so easily.
I was now walking through a building like a furntiture store or a museum of interior design. The front of the place had been like a warehouse, or lie the "ABC" design store just north of Union Square. Daylight came in through wide window walls. The place was full of beautiful items.
I was with a group of people, possibly older, somewhat wealthy, white people, and maybe also one or two female relatives of the people, who were about my age. We all turned right and walked into a small hallway that had small displays that were set into the walls. The displays were of china and porcelain figures and furniture like wood-and-leather chairs.
We stood at the intersection of a few different hallways. The "father" of the group said, "Yeah, we're all a bunch of tourists, or, at least we're acting like tourists right now. Too bad for us if we are, I guess." He walked through a hallway up and to the left.
I hesitated before following. I thought to myself, He said that just to piss me off. I came here to have fun with these guys. But this guy chose this activity because he thought it was something I wouldn't like. He thought I'd think it was too touristy! He wanted to make me feel like I had no control over what we did, that I'd have to so something, even if I didn't like it.
For a moment I thought I'd just leave, just to show the "father" that I could control what I did and didn't do. But then I reminded myself that I actually did like what we were doing. I told myself I should just hang out and have a good time, regardless of how controlling the "father" thought he was being.
I walked into the room with everybody else. This room looked like ABC as well, except smaller. It was also full, with beautiful merchandise everywhere. There were beautiful, clear, colored-glass plates, bowls, and other vessels all over the place. Some items had golden and silver line-drawings on them, something like peacock designs. There wee a lot of red, blue, and black vessels. The black vessels, unlike the other vessels, weren't transparent.
I couldn't remember the name of this place. But I tried hard to recall it. I wanted to ask my girlfriend H next time I saw her if she'd ever been here and what she'd thought of it.
Suddenly I remembered -- the place was called Shiseido. As soon as I remembered the name of the place, I found a little, black, glass vessel, rectangular, about two inches wide and three inches long. I thought this was perfect for H. I decided I'd get it for her.
The people with me (not the same as the people who'd been with me before) made a half-joking, half-positive comment about my buying a present for H. I felt like they thought I was a little silly, a little cute, and goodhearted overall. I felt proud. I may have paid for the item at a crowded counter where I could barely see the cashier.
Suddenly H was here and she had the present. H was a tallish, thin, girl from India (instead of being Japanese). She wore a tiny, purple shirt and thin jeans which may also have had a purplish tint. She was so happy to receive a gift from me. We sat in a big, green chair. She sat on my lap. I kind of cradled her.
Dream #1
I walked on concrete walkway before first-floor apartments in an outdoor apartment complex. I was walking with DM, one of the heads of my company's research department. We may have been among a small group of people. DM and I were speaking about something business-related. I was trying to impress DM with my intelligence.
We turned and walked up a stairwell. I was opening up an envelope from the Department of the Treasury. I thought it would be really impressive if I got a letter from Treasury saying how smart they thought I was, especially right in front of DM.
But the contents of the envelope were a packet of forms, with yellow, carbon-copy pages, and a piece of paper (or a Post-It Note?) on the front telling me I hadn't yet filled out a registration that would allow me to trade commodities (which would have nothing to do with my job in waking life, anyway...).
DM asked me why I hadn't gotten my commodities registration yet. She told me to take care of it right away. She told me so gently, but I could tell she was really disappointed that I hadn't done it yet.
We walked into a small office that was almost like a principal's secretary's office space, or a dumpy, small office in a small town. I walked into a small meeting room. The area was very narrow, with a long, narrow table that almost filled the entire room. The light was a bleak, greenish fluorescent.
I sat down at an end of the table. The table was full. All the other people were older, grizzled-looking men in outdated suits and with awful hairstyles.
The men were all talking about who should be able to speak or who should be able to make ideas for this recurring meeting. One man, a black man wearing a green sweater and a tan blazer, and with huge, puffy hair and a fat mustache, was saying that he should do it.
Some other man, an oldish, fattish, white man with a dollop of hair and wearing a white polo shirt, said, "You always suggest that you should be in charge. That shows you aren't mature enough to be in charge yet."
Everybody kind of chuckled. There were two other black people at the table who kind of agreed with the white man. The discussion tended more toward a group of people, rather than one individual, being in charge of these meetings.
One of the black men struck me as very familiar. He had a dull but violent look to him. His expression was almost dead, decaying. His right eye didn't seem to work. It might even have been clouded over with grey. I tried very hard to figure out where I knew him from. I thought he was someone from my neighborhood, following me around town.
The man was sitting near the right, front corner of the table (if I sat at the back, left end). But now he sat at the head of the table, on the left side.
The man said, "And why were you out on the street, standing in the rain in only your underwear, shouting out such weird things? Do you think that makes a good impression for our group?"
I thought this was kind of funny -- someone standing out in the rain in their underwear, acting crazy. I was trying to figure out which person here would have done something like that.
The man said, "Are you paying attention? I'm talking to you." I felt like the man was talking to me. I looked at him. He was looking at me. His eyes looked almost dead. Everybody else was looking at me as well. They were all silent.
I tried to figure out when I had done what the man had said I'd done. I couldn't remember having done it, but somehow it seemed reasonable to think that I had done it.
Dream #2
I was in "my mom's house," which was like the house my family had lived in during my last three years of high school. My family was gone. I was watching the place for them.
It was night. I was going to be. I went into my mom's bedroom. The room was empty except for three beds, which were evenly spaced along the back wall. The floor was tile, grey or white. The beds were all small, maybe two and a half feet across, very boxy-looking, with only white sheets on them. The sheets were all slightly disheveled.
I was about to lay down in my mom's bed. But I suddenly realized that this place wasn't safe. I had to lock every door so nobody could get in -- a lot of people were trying to get into this place.
I first locked the front door. It had a normal padlock on it, but it seemed like there was a lot of junk and clutter in front of the door, so that it was difficult to reach the lock.
The effort made me feel like not going through the trouble of locking the other doors. But then I thought of the backdoor. At first I thought it would be reasonable to think that nobody would take the trouble to go all the way around to the backyard to get into the house. But then I realized that the house had been broken into before just because someone had left the backdoor open.
I walked through the dim kitchen (it seems like the only light on was in the living room, and that the other rooms were dim, catching whatever light they could from the living room) and to the backdoor, which may have been on a side wall. The lock was big and made of dull, silver metal with two thick, black cords looping from top to bottom. It somehow reminded me of a medical device.
I locked the door. But I still felt I wasn't safe. The windows were all unlocked. Plus, people could see me through the windows. If the wrong people saw me, they';d want to get at me, even if they had to break the windows to get into this place.
I was about to lock the windows, but the phone rang. The phone was sitting on the couch. I knelt on the floor and leaned against the front of the couch. I picked up the phone. I was in a really casual posture, like I might be in if I were speaking with a good friend.
The person on the other line was a no-good person. She was a white girl, about my brother's age. She thought I was my brother. I kind of let her keep thinking I was my brother. The girl was talking nice to me, trying to convince me I should let her into the place. I knew the woman was being put up to this by a group of trashy guys (white, hippie-ish looking) who wanted to attack my brother and take his money.
I told the girl something like I couldn't let her into the house because I was leaving soon, anyway. I thought if I could convince the woman I was leaving, I would then sneak through the house without being seen through the windows (none of which had any curtains) and turn off the lights. That way the people would think my brother had left the house, and they wouldn't bother me. I thought I'd lay in bed but probably not sleep, just in case somebody tried to break into the house anyway.
Then I realized my plan might be worthless already. It was so dark outside that nothing could be seen. There may even at this moment have been people outside the windows, looking directly in at me. I felt like I was already done for.
Dream #3
It was night. I stood on a sidewalk corner that was lit by orange streetlamp light. The corner faced a wide street that spanned off straight along to my right into the blackness of the desert, or perhaps over a wide river.
To my right was parked a semi-truck, its back end facing me. An oldish, toughish-looking, black man dressed in clothes like a freight-lifter might wear (darkish blue jacket and pants and a wool cap?) stood to my right.
Somewhere a radio was playing something like the transmission's from my company's morning meeting between the Research and Sales departments. News had come in that one of our analysts, DB, was going to upgrade a stock (a stock which, I believe, I had, within the few months before this dream, lost about 30% on -- the day after having bought the stock).
I suddenly knew why DB was upgrading the stock. The stock, I knew, would finally go back up to the price at which I had bought it. I would sell it as soon as it got there. The reason it was going up was, I thought, and then said out loud, right as the radio said the exact same thing, "Because it's getting bought out by a manufacturer!"
I smiled in triumph and looked up at the man beside me. He smiled back, knowing I'd just been a part of some really cool stock trading event.
The man and I crossed the street. I turned right and started walking up the "Brooklyn Bridge." It was the deep of night, but there were still a few people heading up and down the bridge.
I felt suspicious of all these people, like they'd know I'd had a good trading moment with a stock, and like they'd want to take my money because of it. But I thought, I don't have any money from the trade. I only got myself back to break-even.
The bridge I was on looked more like the Manhattan Bridge than the Brooklyn Bridge, with the walkways on the sides, and with stone arches over the walkways occasionally. But it was incredibly long, like it spanned over an enormous river.
I thought to myself, I didn't know this was going to happen with that stock when I bought it. But I also didn't know the same manufacturer was going to buy that other company, either. (A previous stock I'd bought had, in waking life, been bought by the manufacturer, sending the stock I'd bought up by about 40% soon after I'd bought it. It was luck -- I hadn't foreseen the buyout at all.) I thought, It looks like I'll always just be an accidental buyer of stocks whose prices go way up when they get taken out by this manufacturer!
For a moment I felt like I was psychic. How else could I have been so lucky twice? But then I told myself again, Nothing really great happened to you. You didn't make a ton of money off this deal. You broke even.
I was starting to feel winded by the walk. The bridge was so much steeper than I'd remembered, and it seemed to be so long. But, I thought to myself, I always take the bridge from Manhattan back home to Brooklyn. I seldom take it from Brooklyn into Manhattan. It's obviously more difficult this way because I'm going up instead of down.
I told myself to brace up and cross the bridge. I'd crossed it so many times before; I couldn't not cross it now. Suddenly the way flattened out. The bridge opened out into a wide street full of cars and edged with an area full of lit buildings. It might have been raining a little. I was slightly disappointed taht the bridge had suddenly been crossed so easily.
I was now walking through a building like a furntiture store or a museum of interior design. The front of the place had been like a warehouse, or lie the "ABC" design store just north of Union Square. Daylight came in through wide window walls. The place was full of beautiful items.
I was with a group of people, possibly older, somewhat wealthy, white people, and maybe also one or two female relatives of the people, who were about my age. We all turned right and walked into a small hallway that had small displays that were set into the walls. The displays were of china and porcelain figures and furniture like wood-and-leather chairs.
We stood at the intersection of a few different hallways. The "father" of the group said, "Yeah, we're all a bunch of tourists, or, at least we're acting like tourists right now. Too bad for us if we are, I guess." He walked through a hallway up and to the left.
I hesitated before following. I thought to myself, He said that just to piss me off. I came here to have fun with these guys. But this guy chose this activity because he thought it was something I wouldn't like. He thought I'd think it was too touristy! He wanted to make me feel like I had no control over what we did, that I'd have to so something, even if I didn't like it.
For a moment I thought I'd just leave, just to show the "father" that I could control what I did and didn't do. But then I reminded myself that I actually did like what we were doing. I told myself I should just hang out and have a good time, regardless of how controlling the "father" thought he was being.
I walked into the room with everybody else. This room looked like ABC as well, except smaller. It was also full, with beautiful merchandise everywhere. There were beautiful, clear, colored-glass plates, bowls, and other vessels all over the place. Some items had golden and silver line-drawings on them, something like peacock designs. There wee a lot of red, blue, and black vessels. The black vessels, unlike the other vessels, weren't transparent.
I couldn't remember the name of this place. But I tried hard to recall it. I wanted to ask my girlfriend H next time I saw her if she'd ever been here and what she'd thought of it.
Suddenly I remembered -- the place was called Shiseido. As soon as I remembered the name of the place, I found a little, black, glass vessel, rectangular, about two inches wide and three inches long. I thought this was perfect for H. I decided I'd get it for her.
The people with me (not the same as the people who'd been with me before) made a half-joking, half-positive comment about my buying a present for H. I felt like they thought I was a little silly, a little cute, and goodhearted overall. I felt proud. I may have paid for the item at a crowded counter where I could barely see the cashier.
Suddenly H was here and she had the present. H was a tallish, thin, girl from India (instead of being Japanese). She wore a tiny, purple shirt and thin jeans which may also have had a purplish tint. She was so happy to receive a gift from me. We sat in a big, green chair. She sat on my lap. I kind of cradled her.
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