(Entered in paper journal at 4 AM at home in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I was in a cubicle before an office. I sat like I was in a chair directly before the doorway to the office. A woman was in the office. she was darkly tanned, a little thick-bodied, with long, wavy, soft brown, and dark blonde hair. She wore a sleeveless, black shirt.
The woman told me, "I like you. You're smart and interesting and amazing." She then began singing to the effect of, "But no matter how I try, I just can't get myself to love you. It's no offense to you. I just can't feel anything for you." I thought it was a beautiful and charming song.
As the woman was partly through, a man walked up to us. He may have been my co-worker MW. The woman stopped singing, as if she thought she would get scolded for saying she didn't love me.
We were all heading downstairs for a celebration. I thought the celebration was for me, because I was doing such a great job. We went down a long escalator in a wide room with one or two other escalators in it. I was not interested in going to this thing, but I thinking of nice things to say.
We got down to a basement that looked like a school cafeteria built into a huge basement laundry room. There were only a couple long bench-tables in the whole space.
In now learned that this celebration was all about a group of people who had put together a really interesting project. They sat at a bench-table.
People were passing around cupcakes. They wanted me to have a plate with three large, frosted cupcakes on it all to myself. But I couldn't eat that much. I took one that looked like German chocolate cake. There was another one that was chocolate on chocolate, and another that was chocolate with blue frosting.
I stood up. Another group of people walked in. I gave them the two cupcakes. I told the group I couldn't possibly eat these cupcakes.
Dream #2
I was in a car with a long-haired, pale-skinned, young man. He kept sucking his mouth around and then away from his teeth, like he had a nervous disorder. He was very thin-faced. I saw him as if I were a camera filming him in the driver's seat. But I was myself, somewhere.
We drove through "New York," around "Central Park." The man told me, "People walk down routes they wouldn't have thought of walking down years ago. This city is different. You simply couldn't walk down those routes a few years ago: you'd get killed.
"We found safer routes in those days. The easiest way was by staying close to the libraries." As we passed gates into the park, the man said, ""You definitely didn't go into the park."
We passed a big library on a triangular corner. A lovely couple walked out. The man said, "Those two right there. That's a sign of the times. They would have gotten beaten up for sure. Now they walk around here shopping for groceries."
I stood out on the corner now, on a little plaza area before the library. There were a few Asian guys in suits handing out Christian literature. I was still seeing everything as if I were a movie camera. I thought this was a movie. I wondered how they got everybody to act so natural.
Showing posts with label central park. Show all posts
Showing posts with label central park. Show all posts
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Monday, February 11, 2013
(9/18/07) the expansion of central park
(Entered in paper journal at 6:15 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I rode through a suburban street at night with my mom and sister. As we passed one intersection one man walked diagonally through a corner yard to our left. We continued on. My mom drove. I sat in the passenger's seat. My sister sat in the back seat, on the driver's side.
I said, "That's why I like being out at night: nobody ever comes out."
My mom said, "I wish nobody even had to live in these houses. That way no lights would even be on."
I thought, Why would you want no lights to be on? You wouldn't be able to see the different kinds of houses.
The houses were lit brightly, as if there were lights pointed all over the houses and yards. For some reason this reminded me of Christmas.
At the end of the block the road curved left. Facing the curve was a tall, wide house. It had a wide, triangular, solid roof with a longer slope on the left than on the right. The wood of the house seemed to be as polished as in a Greene & Greene interior. The front of the building had some grid design in the wood. One vertical strip of the house-front was rough like the trunk of an enormous tree, but it was colored red and blue.
We drove into a massive tunnel or "garage" on the left side of the house. The tunnel also, like the house-front, had polished wood walls with grid designs. The tunnel turned left. At the turn was an enormous bench, maybe twenty feet tall, built into the wall, with seat and back cushions proportional to the height of the bench. (I think the only thing the bench could fit would be the statue of Lincoln at the Lincoln Memorial.)
We continued, as if floating along, though perhaps no longer in a car (my vision was a lot more mobile), through a room full of books. I told my mom that this was a library I knew. The room was intimate. The walls were lined with books, and there were books all over the tables.
We continued floating/driving into a much bigger room which was just as full of books. Both rooms were very nice and comfortable, but they were both simply piled and piled with books.
I lay on a couch. My mom and sister sat in two chairs behind me. They were reading. My mom had a wide but thinnish book which, I thought, was probably an interesting picture book.
I turned forward. In front of me was a big, thick, dark, rectangular, wooden table piled with books. I pulled a large, pale blue-covered book off a pile. I was slightly disappointed to find that I had chosen a picture book on the history of Central Park. I had wanted something with subject matter a little "weightier."
I looked through pictures about how (some time in the 1950s?) the park had been expanded. There was a map of the park "as it is today." The park was long, oval-shaped with uneven edges. The parts of the park that existed before the expansion were in color. The parts of the park that came into being after the expansion were in black and white.
But if this book was right, then before the expansion the park was in two sections which, given the size of the park, were quite separated. I thought, How could people have called these separate sections one park? What's more, how could they have called these sections "Central Park" if the sections were so far apart?
I then saw that the two parks had been connected by a walkway, at the midpoint of which was an oval-shaped rest area. For some reason this made things a little more sensible.
(I imagined that, before the expansion, the area between the two parks was really like vacant dirt lots,, just barren, pale, dry soil, not streets, buildings, or anything implying a city. There may even have been patches of trees out on these vacant lots.)
As I justified the name of Central Park to myself, my psychiatrist A stomped into the room from a doorway to my right and beyond my feet (i.e. beyond the direction of my feet as I lay on the couch). A shouted, "What in the hell are you doing in my place? You don't just come into people's places like this!"
I was caught off guard by A's surprise, shocked by how mean A could be. I stammered to say A's name, but I couldn't. I looked at a page in the book. There was a photo of a Hindu snake woman from Erich Neumann's The Great Mother. Below the photograph were three numbered paragraphs, each of which described a title. The first two were titled "Snake" and "Religion." The third was a word I didn't understand.
I tried again to call out A's name. But all I could think to say, as if it wanted to burst out as a revelatory speech, was, "Snake!"
A looked pale and worn-out. She wore big, smoky-lensed sunglasses which made her face look like that of a classic grey alien. At some point A stood half-straddling me, so her right leg knelt by my left side while her left leg stood, on the floor to my right, before the couch.
I muttered, "B-but w-we, we weren't saying a single word."
A said, "I don't give a damn what you were saying. You don't go into places when you aren't invited."
I said, "But I was invited. I have it in writing." I felt like this was true. But I also felt like A wouldn't care about that. She was too mad.
Dream #1
I rode through a suburban street at night with my mom and sister. As we passed one intersection one man walked diagonally through a corner yard to our left. We continued on. My mom drove. I sat in the passenger's seat. My sister sat in the back seat, on the driver's side.
I said, "That's why I like being out at night: nobody ever comes out."
My mom said, "I wish nobody even had to live in these houses. That way no lights would even be on."
I thought, Why would you want no lights to be on? You wouldn't be able to see the different kinds of houses.
The houses were lit brightly, as if there were lights pointed all over the houses and yards. For some reason this reminded me of Christmas.
At the end of the block the road curved left. Facing the curve was a tall, wide house. It had a wide, triangular, solid roof with a longer slope on the left than on the right. The wood of the house seemed to be as polished as in a Greene & Greene interior. The front of the building had some grid design in the wood. One vertical strip of the house-front was rough like the trunk of an enormous tree, but it was colored red and blue.
We drove into a massive tunnel or "garage" on the left side of the house. The tunnel also, like the house-front, had polished wood walls with grid designs. The tunnel turned left. At the turn was an enormous bench, maybe twenty feet tall, built into the wall, with seat and back cushions proportional to the height of the bench. (I think the only thing the bench could fit would be the statue of Lincoln at the Lincoln Memorial.)
We continued, as if floating along, though perhaps no longer in a car (my vision was a lot more mobile), through a room full of books. I told my mom that this was a library I knew. The room was intimate. The walls were lined with books, and there were books all over the tables.
We continued floating/driving into a much bigger room which was just as full of books. Both rooms were very nice and comfortable, but they were both simply piled and piled with books.
I lay on a couch. My mom and sister sat in two chairs behind me. They were reading. My mom had a wide but thinnish book which, I thought, was probably an interesting picture book.
I turned forward. In front of me was a big, thick, dark, rectangular, wooden table piled with books. I pulled a large, pale blue-covered book off a pile. I was slightly disappointed to find that I had chosen a picture book on the history of Central Park. I had wanted something with subject matter a little "weightier."
I looked through pictures about how (some time in the 1950s?) the park had been expanded. There was a map of the park "as it is today." The park was long, oval-shaped with uneven edges. The parts of the park that existed before the expansion were in color. The parts of the park that came into being after the expansion were in black and white.
But if this book was right, then before the expansion the park was in two sections which, given the size of the park, were quite separated. I thought, How could people have called these separate sections one park? What's more, how could they have called these sections "Central Park" if the sections were so far apart?
I then saw that the two parks had been connected by a walkway, at the midpoint of which was an oval-shaped rest area. For some reason this made things a little more sensible.
(I imagined that, before the expansion, the area between the two parks was really like vacant dirt lots,, just barren, pale, dry soil, not streets, buildings, or anything implying a city. There may even have been patches of trees out on these vacant lots.)
As I justified the name of Central Park to myself, my psychiatrist A stomped into the room from a doorway to my right and beyond my feet (i.e. beyond the direction of my feet as I lay on the couch). A shouted, "What in the hell are you doing in my place? You don't just come into people's places like this!"
I was caught off guard by A's surprise, shocked by how mean A could be. I stammered to say A's name, but I couldn't. I looked at a page in the book. There was a photo of a Hindu snake woman from Erich Neumann's The Great Mother. Below the photograph were three numbered paragraphs, each of which described a title. The first two were titled "Snake" and "Religion." The third was a word I didn't understand.
I tried again to call out A's name. But all I could think to say, as if it wanted to burst out as a revelatory speech, was, "Snake!"
A looked pale and worn-out. She wore big, smoky-lensed sunglasses which made her face look like that of a classic grey alien. At some point A stood half-straddling me, so her right leg knelt by my left side while her left leg stood, on the floor to my right, before the couch.
I muttered, "B-but w-we, we weren't saying a single word."
A said, "I don't give a damn what you were saying. You don't go into places when you aren't invited."
I said, "But I was invited. I have it in writing." I felt like this was true. But I also felt like A wouldn't care about that. She was too mad.
Friday, January 25, 2013
(3/13/08) sloppy hair; zombie art gallery
(Entered in paper journal at 5:45 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I looked at myself in a mirror. My hair was brushed down in a sloppy way. I also looked like I had straight fine hair (in waking life, my hair is kind of thick and curly). My hair was lightish brown with splotches of blonde. I could see my hair was thinning. I pulled my hair back to see my hairline had receded pretty far back.
Dream #2
I was down in the basement of a small house with a friend (probably a woman) and an older man. The basement was emptyish with grey concrete floors, white walls, and pale, incandescent lighting.
At first I thought we were avoiding zombies. If the zombies bit (?) us, we, too, would become zombies. But then I somehow noticed that my friend was a zombie, too. My friend and the old man went into a room and left the door open halfway so I could come in, too. My friend and the old man were looking at a line of small, abstract paintings of all different colors along the left wall.
Either zombies had made these paintings or zombies particularly liked these paintings. There was also a movie or video that zombies liked.
My friend asked me to become a zombie, too. I wouldn't of my own will, though I knew (and was afraid) that a zombie could attack me at any time.
I walked up from the basement, out a back door, and into a backyard. I walked to the front of the house along the left side of the house, which was densely shaded by trees. I was going to escape the house, but I couldn't let anybody know.
I flew up onto the roof, which was slightly sloped, solidly pale-black (???), with tiny metal "antennae" sticking out at random places, almost like random weed-shoots or tree-suckers.
At first I tried to walk very quickly along the roof so I wouldn't make a noise. I thought I was doing pretty well. But now I lay in a thick patch of shade (the roof was only partially shaded), telling myself if I could rest until dark I could escape more easily.
I worried, though, that if I slept in this position after the sun moved, that the sun would burn me pretty bad once I was out of the shade. But then I reflected that I didn't have to worry, after all. The shadow was pretty big. It might not move enough for me ever to be lying outside its boundary. I saw in through a window of the house or apartment building across from me. Some TV show was playing.
I stood in the dark on a park road like the road between the Metropolitan Art Museum and Cleopatra's Needle in Central Park. I looked down at my shadow. It was swirling with red and white patterns. Other shadows around me may have been doing the same thing. I thought this was just a trick of my vision and that it was due to my having been caught unaware and turned into a zombie. I somehow reasoned that this couldn't be true.
I started running down the road to get to some point of safety. The road was pretty well lit with orange streetlamps. I held my winter hat in my right hand. I ran past a police car. I hoped I wouldn't look suspicious. Again, I somehow reasoned that I wouldn't look suspicious.
I was feeling out of breath. The air might have been slightly chilly. I was getting close to being out of the park. Outside the park was possibly a quiet neighborhood. There would be, I knew, very few streetlights. I wondered if I would be able to make my way.
But already in the park were fewer streetlights. Where there was less streetlamp light I began to notice how brightly the moon lit things. I thought that once I got out of the park the light of the moon would be bright enough to guide me.
Dream #1
I looked at myself in a mirror. My hair was brushed down in a sloppy way. I also looked like I had straight fine hair (in waking life, my hair is kind of thick and curly). My hair was lightish brown with splotches of blonde. I could see my hair was thinning. I pulled my hair back to see my hairline had receded pretty far back.
Dream #2
I was down in the basement of a small house with a friend (probably a woman) and an older man. The basement was emptyish with grey concrete floors, white walls, and pale, incandescent lighting.
At first I thought we were avoiding zombies. If the zombies bit (?) us, we, too, would become zombies. But then I somehow noticed that my friend was a zombie, too. My friend and the old man went into a room and left the door open halfway so I could come in, too. My friend and the old man were looking at a line of small, abstract paintings of all different colors along the left wall.
Either zombies had made these paintings or zombies particularly liked these paintings. There was also a movie or video that zombies liked.
My friend asked me to become a zombie, too. I wouldn't of my own will, though I knew (and was afraid) that a zombie could attack me at any time.
I walked up from the basement, out a back door, and into a backyard. I walked to the front of the house along the left side of the house, which was densely shaded by trees. I was going to escape the house, but I couldn't let anybody know.
I flew up onto the roof, which was slightly sloped, solidly pale-black (???), with tiny metal "antennae" sticking out at random places, almost like random weed-shoots or tree-suckers.
At first I tried to walk very quickly along the roof so I wouldn't make a noise. I thought I was doing pretty well. But now I lay in a thick patch of shade (the roof was only partially shaded), telling myself if I could rest until dark I could escape more easily.
I worried, though, that if I slept in this position after the sun moved, that the sun would burn me pretty bad once I was out of the shade. But then I reflected that I didn't have to worry, after all. The shadow was pretty big. It might not move enough for me ever to be lying outside its boundary. I saw in through a window of the house or apartment building across from me. Some TV show was playing.
I stood in the dark on a park road like the road between the Metropolitan Art Museum and Cleopatra's Needle in Central Park. I looked down at my shadow. It was swirling with red and white patterns. Other shadows around me may have been doing the same thing. I thought this was just a trick of my vision and that it was due to my having been caught unaware and turned into a zombie. I somehow reasoned that this couldn't be true.
I started running down the road to get to some point of safety. The road was pretty well lit with orange streetlamps. I held my winter hat in my right hand. I ran past a police car. I hoped I wouldn't look suspicious. Again, I somehow reasoned that I wouldn't look suspicious.
I was feeling out of breath. The air might have been slightly chilly. I was getting close to being out of the park. Outside the park was possibly a quiet neighborhood. There would be, I knew, very few streetlights. I wondered if I would be able to make my way.
But already in the park were fewer streetlights. Where there was less streetlamp light I began to notice how brightly the moon lit things. I thought that once I got out of the park the light of the moon would be bright enough to guide me.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
(4/1/08) the city had changed; the psychotic killer wins
(Entered in paper journal at 4:50 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I was in a toy store. It had an oldish feel to it, like a cheapish toy store from the 1980s. I must at first have thought it was a novelty shop.
I sat near the checkout stand, looking at the aisles and thinking of some kind of lingerie outfit I wanted to buy. But then I saw people coming in and buying toys. I took a walk through one of the nearby aisles. I thought, This place won't have the lingerie I was looking for, anyway. But I also thought there was something I did need to buy from here: something like a board game or an electronic device like a calculator.
I turned back toward the checkout stand and saw it was full of people asking where certain things were. I thought, I don't have enough time to wait here to find out where the thing I need is. I decided I would just go to the novelty shop, which was nearby, and buy the lingerie I was looking for.
I could see the novelty ship in my head. It looked very rundown and seedy, like an Eighth Avenue porn shop. I thought about how much things in New York City had changed over the years.
In my head I asked my sister if she thought the city had changed. She said, "I don't know. I live in a building in the middle of Central Park. Nothing much has been touched there."
I now stood in a building, a house that seemed to be one gigantic living room. It had a circular floor plan and walls sloping up to a roof. The floor was of concrete. The walls may have been of wood. The place was lit with natural light. I saw the front door and knew that outside was an enormous valley of green and orange grass, like the vast valleys of the Valles Caldera in New Mexico.
Dream #2
I was in something like a movie. I was a man in his forties, bald, a little fattish. I had probably been a mafia-type gangster. Now I was trying to stop a young man from also becoming a gangster.
We were in a park-like area of an apartment complex during the day. The young man was walking away from me, past a sandbox. I noticed the young man had a gun. He was planning to shoot three men.
I chased after the young man to confiscate the gun. Three gangsters stood behind me and a ways back. I caught up to the young man and grabbed the gun, which the young man held upside down and at a backward angle. My view of the gun was very close, as if I were on my knees.
The gun went off. It shot a little boy (who was among two other little boys) on a swingset. The boy hunched over, dead. I thought, Well, now he (the young man) is doomed to a life of crime. The young man had wrestled away from me.
Now my view was as if I were seeing from the young man's point of view, though I was still the older man. The young man was on his knees, pointing the gun at the older man/me. The older man/I stood with (my) back to a white, 1970s-style car.
The young man kept making threats at (me) with the gun. I thought if I kept letting the young man threaten me he'd see he could trust me.
But, really, the young man was somehow slowly hypnotizing me. The young man had convinced me to put the gun in my mouth and pull the trigger. At the moment the older man (no longer I?) died, the white car exploded. The young man was now completely psychotic, but he would, it was somehow implied, have power to do whatever he wanted. This was apparently a good thing.
The "movie" must now have been over, because a "song by Radiohead" was playing, as if it were the song for the ending credits. The Radiohead song was a particularly spoiled-brat-psycho kind of song, which I actually "remembered" liking when I'd heard it in the past.
I was now standing in the scene as myself, eating a box of Little Debbie Nutty Bars. I wondered how a movie could have an ending with such a nasty character winning and yet also seem to be promoting the ending as a positive one.
Dream #1
I was in a toy store. It had an oldish feel to it, like a cheapish toy store from the 1980s. I must at first have thought it was a novelty shop.
I sat near the checkout stand, looking at the aisles and thinking of some kind of lingerie outfit I wanted to buy. But then I saw people coming in and buying toys. I took a walk through one of the nearby aisles. I thought, This place won't have the lingerie I was looking for, anyway. But I also thought there was something I did need to buy from here: something like a board game or an electronic device like a calculator.
I turned back toward the checkout stand and saw it was full of people asking where certain things were. I thought, I don't have enough time to wait here to find out where the thing I need is. I decided I would just go to the novelty shop, which was nearby, and buy the lingerie I was looking for.
I could see the novelty ship in my head. It looked very rundown and seedy, like an Eighth Avenue porn shop. I thought about how much things in New York City had changed over the years.
In my head I asked my sister if she thought the city had changed. She said, "I don't know. I live in a building in the middle of Central Park. Nothing much has been touched there."
I now stood in a building, a house that seemed to be one gigantic living room. It had a circular floor plan and walls sloping up to a roof. The floor was of concrete. The walls may have been of wood. The place was lit with natural light. I saw the front door and knew that outside was an enormous valley of green and orange grass, like the vast valleys of the Valles Caldera in New Mexico.
Dream #2
I was in something like a movie. I was a man in his forties, bald, a little fattish. I had probably been a mafia-type gangster. Now I was trying to stop a young man from also becoming a gangster.
We were in a park-like area of an apartment complex during the day. The young man was walking away from me, past a sandbox. I noticed the young man had a gun. He was planning to shoot three men.
I chased after the young man to confiscate the gun. Three gangsters stood behind me and a ways back. I caught up to the young man and grabbed the gun, which the young man held upside down and at a backward angle. My view of the gun was very close, as if I were on my knees.
The gun went off. It shot a little boy (who was among two other little boys) on a swingset. The boy hunched over, dead. I thought, Well, now he (the young man) is doomed to a life of crime. The young man had wrestled away from me.
Now my view was as if I were seeing from the young man's point of view, though I was still the older man. The young man was on his knees, pointing the gun at the older man/me. The older man/I stood with (my) back to a white, 1970s-style car.
The young man kept making threats at (me) with the gun. I thought if I kept letting the young man threaten me he'd see he could trust me.
But, really, the young man was somehow slowly hypnotizing me. The young man had convinced me to put the gun in my mouth and pull the trigger. At the moment the older man (no longer I?) died, the white car exploded. The young man was now completely psychotic, but he would, it was somehow implied, have power to do whatever he wanted. This was apparently a good thing.
The "movie" must now have been over, because a "song by Radiohead" was playing, as if it were the song for the ending credits. The Radiohead song was a particularly spoiled-brat-psycho kind of song, which I actually "remembered" liking when I'd heard it in the past.
I was now standing in the scene as myself, eating a box of Little Debbie Nutty Bars. I wondered how a movie could have an ending with such a nasty character winning and yet also seem to be promoting the ending as a positive one.
Monday, December 31, 2012
(1/30/09) a portrait of the lennons; screwed and loving it
(Entered in paper journal at 8:30 AM at Red Horse cafe in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I was in a very grimy and messy, unfinished basement, like the basement of the house my family lived in in my last three years of high school. I was coming out of the basement as if I were coming back from a long trip. I walked through a plastic (?) curtain to get into the stairwell. The stairwell was also grimy, like the basement, but had white walls and white-tiled stairs (with reddish and brownish grime all over the place) and was yellowed with sunlight from a door-window at the top of the stairs.
As I walked up the stairs I said, as if speaking to a camera, "I know I'm being watched, so I'd better behave." I may have turned around to see a small surveillance camera on the wall over the doorway at the foot of the stairwell. I might have been or thought of myself as a pretty girl with dark, tan skin and long, black hair.
I was now somewhere upstairs with my mom. She had gotten me a camera, since I had expressed my frustration over not having been able to take photos of things recently. But, she told me, the camera had only a XXXXX memory, so I could only take (five? ten?) photos at a time. But the medium was also film, not digital memory. So I knew I'd have to get the photos developed. The photos were also only in black and white, although they apparently had the most desirable resolution quality imaginable.
I saw a few photos that had been taken, as if I were holding onto them crookedly, in a disordered pile, as if I couldn't put them in order at all in my hands. The photos looked like crime scene or car crash (or punk rock) photos: very jangled, with people lying or standing in awkward, wild poses, with their mouths wide open, and with objects scattered all over, maybe broken.
I then saw a photo of John Lennon and his family, possibly standing in Central Park. There were a lot of people in the photo. The photo stood before all my vision, as if I were seeing it on a movie or television screen. At first I could only see a small fragment of it, like pant legs, then a section of face. But eventually the whole photo became clear to me.
Julian Lennon, as a boy, caught my attention first. He looked exactly like John Lennon. He wore a pea coat that went down to his knees. He stood just about in the center of the photo, a little to the left. Just to the left of him and behind stood Yoko Ono. Farther to the left and farther back stood John. He and Julian may have been making the same kind of expression: a complacent, but somehow sad, tucking upward of the right corner of the mouth, with a bright, but blank, almost depressed, look in the eyes.
Farther to the left stood people like my brother and sister. To the right of Julian, beside him, stood one or two of his brothers/sisters by John and Yoko. The children were all the same height, and they looked somewhat the same, thought the brothers/sisters may have looked like children who had more "personality."
Behind Julian stood a tallish, blonde, teenage girl. Whereas everybody so far (except John and Yoko?) had a kind of dressed-up casual, late 1960s look, this girl looked like a fashionable casual girl from the 1980s. She wore a patterned sweater and had short, loosely curled, blonde hair. She was looking to the right, to a woman who looked just like her, except that she was more formally dressed, though still in the 1980s style. This was the girl's mother, who was also (i.e. at the same time as Yoko) John's wife.
To the girl's immediate right were a couple of the girl's brothers/sisters, who were slightly shorter than she, and were dressed more in the 1960s style. I may have been in the photo as well, somewhere far to the right.
Dream #2
I was in an office, which actually looked more like a theater or auditorium, talking with my boss BS about my having gotten fired. The place was bright and grey with window light -- probably high windows on a sunny day. The place was also full of young people, mostly men, who were very active and happy. They all looked like business people, but they were dressed in t-shirts and jeans.
One of my friends caught my attention. He had let his seat move back into its upward position. He then sat on its edge and moved back and forth on it. He said something like, "Now I can feel what our company did to us is really like!" This was supposed to mean he felt that we had gotten screwed. But then he said, "It kind of feels good. I can tell by your look that you think it feels good, too. Don't tell me you're one of those guys who likes it up the ass."
I looked away and I thought, It couldn't be. I thought the swaying back and forth on the seat edge was fun. But could that mean I liked anal sex? I then moved away from my chair, not standing, but crouching. I let the seat cushion spring back up, like a normal seat in an auditorium or movie theater might do. I then started scratching my back against the seat edge. Everybody around me said, "Now that's a great idea!"
The guys were all starting to act rowdy. They were all scratching their backs against their seat edges, but they were also standing and joking with each other, having a lot of fun. I had previously felt like they were making fun of me. Now I realized that all their joking had been to make me laugh, and that they were largely looking for my approval.
Dream #1
I was in a very grimy and messy, unfinished basement, like the basement of the house my family lived in in my last three years of high school. I was coming out of the basement as if I were coming back from a long trip. I walked through a plastic (?) curtain to get into the stairwell. The stairwell was also grimy, like the basement, but had white walls and white-tiled stairs (with reddish and brownish grime all over the place) and was yellowed with sunlight from a door-window at the top of the stairs.
As I walked up the stairs I said, as if speaking to a camera, "I know I'm being watched, so I'd better behave." I may have turned around to see a small surveillance camera on the wall over the doorway at the foot of the stairwell. I might have been or thought of myself as a pretty girl with dark, tan skin and long, black hair.
I was now somewhere upstairs with my mom. She had gotten me a camera, since I had expressed my frustration over not having been able to take photos of things recently. But, she told me, the camera had only a XXXXX memory, so I could only take (five? ten?) photos at a time. But the medium was also film, not digital memory. So I knew I'd have to get the photos developed. The photos were also only in black and white, although they apparently had the most desirable resolution quality imaginable.
I saw a few photos that had been taken, as if I were holding onto them crookedly, in a disordered pile, as if I couldn't put them in order at all in my hands. The photos looked like crime scene or car crash (or punk rock) photos: very jangled, with people lying or standing in awkward, wild poses, with their mouths wide open, and with objects scattered all over, maybe broken.
I then saw a photo of John Lennon and his family, possibly standing in Central Park. There were a lot of people in the photo. The photo stood before all my vision, as if I were seeing it on a movie or television screen. At first I could only see a small fragment of it, like pant legs, then a section of face. But eventually the whole photo became clear to me.
Julian Lennon, as a boy, caught my attention first. He looked exactly like John Lennon. He wore a pea coat that went down to his knees. He stood just about in the center of the photo, a little to the left. Just to the left of him and behind stood Yoko Ono. Farther to the left and farther back stood John. He and Julian may have been making the same kind of expression: a complacent, but somehow sad, tucking upward of the right corner of the mouth, with a bright, but blank, almost depressed, look in the eyes.
Farther to the left stood people like my brother and sister. To the right of Julian, beside him, stood one or two of his brothers/sisters by John and Yoko. The children were all the same height, and they looked somewhat the same, thought the brothers/sisters may have looked like children who had more "personality."
Behind Julian stood a tallish, blonde, teenage girl. Whereas everybody so far (except John and Yoko?) had a kind of dressed-up casual, late 1960s look, this girl looked like a fashionable casual girl from the 1980s. She wore a patterned sweater and had short, loosely curled, blonde hair. She was looking to the right, to a woman who looked just like her, except that she was more formally dressed, though still in the 1980s style. This was the girl's mother, who was also (i.e. at the same time as Yoko) John's wife.
To the girl's immediate right were a couple of the girl's brothers/sisters, who were slightly shorter than she, and were dressed more in the 1960s style. I may have been in the photo as well, somewhere far to the right.
Dream #2
I was in an office, which actually looked more like a theater or auditorium, talking with my boss BS about my having gotten fired. The place was bright and grey with window light -- probably high windows on a sunny day. The place was also full of young people, mostly men, who were very active and happy. They all looked like business people, but they were dressed in t-shirts and jeans.
One of my friends caught my attention. He had let his seat move back into its upward position. He then sat on its edge and moved back and forth on it. He said something like, "Now I can feel what our company did to us is really like!" This was supposed to mean he felt that we had gotten screwed. But then he said, "It kind of feels good. I can tell by your look that you think it feels good, too. Don't tell me you're one of those guys who likes it up the ass."
I looked away and I thought, It couldn't be. I thought the swaying back and forth on the seat edge was fun. But could that mean I liked anal sex? I then moved away from my chair, not standing, but crouching. I let the seat cushion spring back up, like a normal seat in an auditorium or movie theater might do. I then started scratching my back against the seat edge. Everybody around me said, "Now that's a great idea!"
The guys were all starting to act rowdy. They were all scratching their backs against their seat edges, but they were also standing and joking with each other, having a lot of fun. I had previously felt like they were making fun of me. Now I realized that all their joking had been to make me laugh, and that they were largely looking for my approval.
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