(Entered in paper journal at 6:30 PM on Q-train from Manhattan to Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I stood on the opposite end of a heap of junk from a man about my age. The heap of junk was right next to a scraggly chain link fence and was mostly scrapped material like rusted sheet metal, bed frames, springs, and pieces of scrap wood.
I made a smart-alecky comment about the pile of scrap material, like "Well, I guess we shouldn't be surprised, knowing how people are." I sneered as if I thought I was being funny, but I was hollowly disappointed in my snobby demeanor.
Dream #2
It was the dark of night. I had gone to the backyard of "my house." The backyard was like the backyard of the house where my family lived during my final years of high school.
I might have been looking for my landlady, who may have been my mother at first. I had been talking with my mother/"landlady" (the landlady being my landlady D from the place I'd lived in from May of 2006 through January of 2007) about some troubles my neighbors had been giving me.
My landlady gave me a light push backwards and told me she would take care of things. She opened the door to a separate apartment (like a mini-house) that was where my mom's garage would have been at my family's old house. My landlady opened the door just a crack and walked in, leaving me behind.
At first I thought this was a new place my landlady was allowing me to have. But when I looked inside I saw a poster on the wall, either of an island in the ocean or of a pretty pop singer. By this I understood the place was already taken. It couldn't, therefore, be meant for me. The room was very dark: I'm not sure, actually, how I even managed to see inside. I stayed outside. I thought, What's my landlady doing going in there? It's somebody else's place.
A short, very thin, black man, maybe a little younger than I, walked in front of me and into the apartment. The man wore a deep, vivid blue polo shirt. He may have had a cast or some white bandages on his left arm. Something about the man seemed very feminine. I was surprised by how gentle he had been walking in front of me: I had expected him to be a lot meaner.
Dream #3
I lay on a bed or couch. I was naked. My co-worker EB stood in front of me, fully clothed. I lay on my side, facing EB. My body felt soft, almost feminine. I may have had a shaved crotch.
Showing posts with label co-worker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label co-worker. Show all posts
Saturday, March 2, 2013
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.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
(9/22/09) joy to see the woman dead; customer and co-worker
Dream #1
I was in a place like a stage version of an old, European city at night. There were a lot of people milling around here and there. There were a couple of buildings with their ligts on inside. In the center of the street was a tall, wooden staircase.
I had watched a rich man (and a rich woman?) do something awful to one of my friends. The rich man and woman were like bosses of a company for which all of us on this street worked.
For a moment I may have been in some large room or large field, virtually alone with the rich man, with a chance to tell him that I didn't like the way he'd treated my friend. But I was too afraid to tell the rich man how I felt. I feared he would hurt me somehow.
I was back in the street. I was climbing up the wooden staircase, which also had people milling about on it, like they were in a line for an amusement park ride. I might have seen or heard the rich man laughing, either on the staircase or in the distance on the street, exulting over the cruel act he had committed. The rich man may have looked like a well-groomed, slightly softened, version of the blind accordion player from Fellini's Amarcord.
I reached the top of the staircase. I now stood in a mezzanine or balcony in a very nice hotel or mansion. The place was well-lit and clean, with white walls and railings. People were crowded all throughout the floor and all the way down the stairs. I worked my way through the crowd, as if I were walking on a railing over all the people, and arrived at the head of the staircase (although, apparently, I had just come from the staircase).
I saw, in one corner or the balcony, the rich woman lying face-down, dead, on the floor, crowded around by a thick huddle of people. The woman was dressed in a beige or tan robe and an ivory-white head-covering, like a Muslim woman might wear.
I stood or knelt or perched on a corner of railing and began laughing. I felt such relief, almost joy, to see the woman dead. It felt like a payback for what the rich man and woman had done to my friend. My laugh was so loud and so obviously, defiantly happy that the packed, milling crowd, which had been mumblingly noisy before, now became completely silent and turned to stare at me.
I could tell that the rich man was somewhere near me in the crowd. I could tell he'd be angry with me. But I now called out, "She's dead, isn't she? But it looks just like a cartoon. I wonder if we flipped her around, if she'd have X's on her eyes!" I began laughing again.
Dream #2
I was at a testing center (which I had as a temporary job for a couple months in between my permanent jobs). I sat on a desk, and my boss, NJ, stood beside me. I had had some troubles with a customer, possibly technical issues, and I was now really upset. But NJ told me to get back to work. I had to stand up and sit back down at another desk.
The person who had been my customer now sat down beside me. He was a black boy, maybe ten years old, with light brown, smooth skin, a very thin frame, and a head of huge, frizzy hair. He wore a white t-shirt that was just a little too large. The boy was now my co-worker, not my customer.
I was a little worried, thinking how the boy had been so difficult before, as a customer, that he'd now be even more difficult as a co-worker. I pulled out something, possibly a black binder, and began shuffling through either white pages or photographs that were in plastic sleeves.
I was in a place like a stage version of an old, European city at night. There were a lot of people milling around here and there. There were a couple of buildings with their ligts on inside. In the center of the street was a tall, wooden staircase.
I had watched a rich man (and a rich woman?) do something awful to one of my friends. The rich man and woman were like bosses of a company for which all of us on this street worked.
For a moment I may have been in some large room or large field, virtually alone with the rich man, with a chance to tell him that I didn't like the way he'd treated my friend. But I was too afraid to tell the rich man how I felt. I feared he would hurt me somehow.
I was back in the street. I was climbing up the wooden staircase, which also had people milling about on it, like they were in a line for an amusement park ride. I might have seen or heard the rich man laughing, either on the staircase or in the distance on the street, exulting over the cruel act he had committed. The rich man may have looked like a well-groomed, slightly softened, version of the blind accordion player from Fellini's Amarcord.
I reached the top of the staircase. I now stood in a mezzanine or balcony in a very nice hotel or mansion. The place was well-lit and clean, with white walls and railings. People were crowded all throughout the floor and all the way down the stairs. I worked my way through the crowd, as if I were walking on a railing over all the people, and arrived at the head of the staircase (although, apparently, I had just come from the staircase).
I saw, in one corner or the balcony, the rich woman lying face-down, dead, on the floor, crowded around by a thick huddle of people. The woman was dressed in a beige or tan robe and an ivory-white head-covering, like a Muslim woman might wear.
I stood or knelt or perched on a corner of railing and began laughing. I felt such relief, almost joy, to see the woman dead. It felt like a payback for what the rich man and woman had done to my friend. My laugh was so loud and so obviously, defiantly happy that the packed, milling crowd, which had been mumblingly noisy before, now became completely silent and turned to stare at me.
I could tell that the rich man was somewhere near me in the crowd. I could tell he'd be angry with me. But I now called out, "She's dead, isn't she? But it looks just like a cartoon. I wonder if we flipped her around, if she'd have X's on her eyes!" I began laughing again.
Dream #2
I was at a testing center (which I had as a temporary job for a couple months in between my permanent jobs). I sat on a desk, and my boss, NJ, stood beside me. I had had some troubles with a customer, possibly technical issues, and I was now really upset. But NJ told me to get back to work. I had to stand up and sit back down at another desk.
The person who had been my customer now sat down beside me. He was a black boy, maybe ten years old, with light brown, smooth skin, a very thin frame, and a head of huge, frizzy hair. He wore a white t-shirt that was just a little too large. The boy was now my co-worker, not my customer.
I was a little worried, thinking how the boy had been so difficult before, as a customer, that he'd now be even more difficult as a co-worker. I pulled out something, possibly a black binder, and began shuffling through either white pages or photographs that were in plastic sleeves.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
(2/2/10) new and old friends at bar
(Entered in paper journal at 6:30 AM on B-train into work from Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I was in a bar, possibly with my co-workers. The bar was spacious, lit slightly dimly. There were a moderate amount of people inside. I had been wandering around for a while and was about to leave.
I saw my old friend R. He had kind of shaggy hair and was wearing a green t-shirt with a yellow design. At first R ignored me when I tried to greet him. I was relieved. I didn't really want to speak with him.
I decided to grab my book bag so I could leave. My bag was behind the bar, for some reason. The bartender, who looked like a senior co-worker, JM, handed me the bag. One or two of my co-workers may have seen that I was getting ready to leave. They themselves left.
I wandered back through the bar one more time, to see if there were any co-workers I needed to say goodbye to. It seemed like everybody was gone. So I walked back toward the door. The space before the door had dark wood floors and white stucco walls and kind of looked like a church. On the wall o my right was a mirror.
My friend R confronted me, not angry, but a little put off, asking me questions, possibly like why was I here, and why hadn't I spoken with him in so long?
I looked at my face in the mirror. I had a big pimple on the left side of my face, near my nose. I felt like I looked horrible. I may have walked toward the exit.
Dream #1
I was in a bar, possibly with my co-workers. The bar was spacious, lit slightly dimly. There were a moderate amount of people inside. I had been wandering around for a while and was about to leave.
I saw my old friend R. He had kind of shaggy hair and was wearing a green t-shirt with a yellow design. At first R ignored me when I tried to greet him. I was relieved. I didn't really want to speak with him.
I decided to grab my book bag so I could leave. My bag was behind the bar, for some reason. The bartender, who looked like a senior co-worker, JM, handed me the bag. One or two of my co-workers may have seen that I was getting ready to leave. They themselves left.
I wandered back through the bar one more time, to see if there were any co-workers I needed to say goodbye to. It seemed like everybody was gone. So I walked back toward the door. The space before the door had dark wood floors and white stucco walls and kind of looked like a church. On the wall o my right was a mirror.
My friend R confronted me, not angry, but a little put off, asking me questions, possibly like why was I here, and why hadn't I spoken with him in so long?
I looked at my face in the mirror. I had a big pimple on the left side of my face, near my nose. I felt like I looked horrible. I may have walked toward the exit.
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