(Entered in paper journal at 7:51 AM at Starbucks at 98th Street and Broadway in Manhattan.)
Dream 1
I stood on a roof with a group of people like actors in a color movie from the late 1950s about New York City, except that the actors also seem to have changed to how they'd look nowadays. The building stood below a modern building something like a mix between 60 Wall Street and the Woolworth Building (which is what someone in the dream actually called the building), but with rich, red bricks bordered with rusticated, rich, tan blocks. The day was sunny and free, and yet it felt like everything surrounding us was on stage
An old/young lady to my right said, "Now you'll have to watch this part in the movie again, really to understand how we should feel as we give our performance." But I didn't want to see it again, especially this close.
A plane flew down low and then nosed up or down so as to hit the Woolworth building with either its belly or its back. The building had a hole smashed in it, but there was no fire or explosion. Yet it was like the building had been completely destroyed. The plane flipped over, away from the building, and headed nose-down toward our building before dipping steeply down and crashing into the street below. We could hear the explosion and feel the shaking.
The lady said, "Now we have to practice living in our building." We or I went down into a series of very nice apartments and offices. We were supposed to be sorrowful about what happened, but we were also supposed to be unaware, as if nothing happened, as if it were going to happen to us.
At one point I stood by a sort of opaque window that was almost wall-sized and divided by a modernistic iron design. It may have been in a corner. I cried, with and without feeling.
Somehow the events had receded into the background. I was more interested in the building, and I may have gone around exploring it with my brother.
Now I was by myself. I was in a huge room like a library in a mansion. There were thin windows that went almost from floor to ceiling. There were a few desks. The place was ornate but also a bit ruffled and unkempt. I found a toilet just inside this room. It felt like this toilet had invisible walls around it, a whole feeling of being a restroom unto itself.
A man in a beige bathrobe walked into the "library." There was a dining table. The man set a glass of juice on it, then looked at me and chuckled and walked away. I knew that soon the whole family would be coming in for breakfast.
Now the wife came in. She wore a red bathrobe. She, like her husband, looked young and attractive in a late-1980s, upper-class, and fashionable, but not gaudy, sort of way. Now a little son and daughter came in, both in red bathrobes.
I felt silly for having decided to use this toilet and not looking for the other, more private one, which a sensible person might have found. But the little girl, who had silvery-blonde hair, said something to me that made me feel like less of an idiot.
I defecated. I could tell my feces was sticky. I finished. I finished. I flushed the toilet, but I watched as a particularly nasty, nutty piece of shit stuck in some weird, tray-like compartment of the toilet bowl. I tried to flush it away again, hoping the family wouldn't see me acting so weird, but pretty sure they would.
Now I was in another library, by myself. The room was much smaller, maybe twenty feet by ten feet, and it was filled with a clutter of old paperbacks: classics and pulps. I was looking for a particular classical science book. I didn't find it. I found a patch of other interesting science paperbacks, maybe by Sir Isaac Newton.
I walked farther and saw on one of the lower shelves, which were stuffed full of paper backs, some plays by Shakespeare, one of which may have been The Merchant of Venice. The spine of this book had a contemporary and popular look to it, like the No Fear Shakespeare series books, mixed with the style of a children's horror novel.
I sat down with my back to the shelves. I may have picked out a couple books to read.
Showing posts with label defecation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label defecation. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
Wednesday, February 15, 2017
(6/10/06) full of shit; a spaceship; monster in the cuckoo clock; one thing i can't miss
(Entered in paper journal at 9:51 AM at Starbucks on 1st Street and 7th Avenue in Brooklyn.)
Dream 1
I kept on shitting until the toilet bowl was full of a putrid, yellow-tan shit.
Dream 2
A spaceship.
Dream 3
A monster that sprang out of some structure like a cuckoo clock, except huge. It was a wooden, hollow skeleton of a dragon, made of beautiful wood, and with melty, fiery features. I was terrified as it plunged toward me.
Dream 4
It was daytime. I was in a car that was driving in the desert, down a dirt road that was somehow also not like a dirt road. I don't know who drove. I sat in a front seat, so I could look back to see my coworkers BS and ES. We were heading down into a canyon.
BS told me in a rude way that my job was to look for one thing in particular, perhaps a small bird. He said something like, "I don't want to hear how this or that is so amazing. I've already seen it. I already know."
But as we drove into the beautiful, vast canyon, just around a corner, the walls became widely visible. Stuck into the walls were enormous machines that looked like building-sized intercoms or air-conditioners. On the ground before the structures were heaps of rubble and mangled-looking, complex processing-style structures. My breath was taken away.
BS just said, "Electricity." I knew he meant, "I've seen it before. I don't care. It's worthless."
We drove now along some hex-style stone-cobble path in the canyon.
It must have been raining. The path was slick and a little scattered with mud. The sky was grey.
I saw a little bird like a roadrunner.
I wondered if I had missed the big thing BS was looking for and whether I hadn't been stupid to listen to BS about it in the first place.
Dream 1
I kept on shitting until the toilet bowl was full of a putrid, yellow-tan shit.
Dream 2
A spaceship.
Dream 3
A monster that sprang out of some structure like a cuckoo clock, except huge. It was a wooden, hollow skeleton of a dragon, made of beautiful wood, and with melty, fiery features. I was terrified as it plunged toward me.
Dream 4
It was daytime. I was in a car that was driving in the desert, down a dirt road that was somehow also not like a dirt road. I don't know who drove. I sat in a front seat, so I could look back to see my coworkers BS and ES. We were heading down into a canyon.
BS told me in a rude way that my job was to look for one thing in particular, perhaps a small bird. He said something like, "I don't want to hear how this or that is so amazing. I've already seen it. I already know."
But as we drove into the beautiful, vast canyon, just around a corner, the walls became widely visible. Stuck into the walls were enormous machines that looked like building-sized intercoms or air-conditioners. On the ground before the structures were heaps of rubble and mangled-looking, complex processing-style structures. My breath was taken away.
BS just said, "Electricity." I knew he meant, "I've seen it before. I don't care. It's worthless."
We drove now along some hex-style stone-cobble path in the canyon.
It must have been raining. The path was slick and a little scattered with mud. The sky was grey.
I saw a little bird like a roadrunner.
I wondered if I had missed the big thing BS was looking for and whether I hadn't been stupid to listen to BS about it in the first place.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
(8/10/07) narcissistic toilet
(Entered in paper journal at 5:45 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I was in a building like a hotel. My mom, who may have worked at the same place as I, had called me back to work when she saw that I had filled out some internet form incorrectly. I could "see" my mom up in some top level, a smallish area like an apartment, with thin, plywood walls, like in a double-wide trailer. My mom sat on a high stool and typed on a computer that stood on a narrow table.
I went up floors through different levels of the hotel: a nice mezzanine, some kind of fire escape area, and finally a lovely series of floors like dormitory or apartment halls.
I found a bathroom on one floor. I went in. I needed to defecate. There were three toilets. I felt like since there were three toilets, and all three were currently unoccupied, at least one must have been left "sabotaged" by someone.
So I checked the toilets. The one farthest from me was a wide stall, like the handicap-equipped stalls. I didn't want to go in there. The second one looked fine at first glance. But when I walked in I saw that it was a stall within a stall, i.e. you needed to open two doors to get to the toilet. Something about this seemed discomforting, so I walked out of the stall. The third stall was almost regular. I sat down on the toilet.
I began defecating. I looked down into the bowl of the toilet. My feces was orange-brown. And it just kept coming and coming out of me. I thought, This much shit, of this strange color, can't be good.
I saw, in the reflection of the water, the feces coming out of my anus. I thought, So this is what my anus looks like. I felt I shouldn't look at the reflection too long: I might get depressed by the carnal aspect of my existence, or else become morbidly drawn in to, mesmerized by, the "dirty parts" of my own body.
I looked away, but somehow I could still see the reflection, not as if in my mind's eye, but as if, though I was looking upward, forward, another part of me, physically, were still looking downward.
Dream #1
I was in a building like a hotel. My mom, who may have worked at the same place as I, had called me back to work when she saw that I had filled out some internet form incorrectly. I could "see" my mom up in some top level, a smallish area like an apartment, with thin, plywood walls, like in a double-wide trailer. My mom sat on a high stool and typed on a computer that stood on a narrow table.
I went up floors through different levels of the hotel: a nice mezzanine, some kind of fire escape area, and finally a lovely series of floors like dormitory or apartment halls.
I found a bathroom on one floor. I went in. I needed to defecate. There were three toilets. I felt like since there were three toilets, and all three were currently unoccupied, at least one must have been left "sabotaged" by someone.
So I checked the toilets. The one farthest from me was a wide stall, like the handicap-equipped stalls. I didn't want to go in there. The second one looked fine at first glance. But when I walked in I saw that it was a stall within a stall, i.e. you needed to open two doors to get to the toilet. Something about this seemed discomforting, so I walked out of the stall. The third stall was almost regular. I sat down on the toilet.
I began defecating. I looked down into the bowl of the toilet. My feces was orange-brown. And it just kept coming and coming out of me. I thought, This much shit, of this strange color, can't be good.
I saw, in the reflection of the water, the feces coming out of my anus. I thought, So this is what my anus looks like. I felt I shouldn't look at the reflection too long: I might get depressed by the carnal aspect of my existence, or else become morbidly drawn in to, mesmerized by, the "dirty parts" of my own body.
I looked away, but somehow I could still see the reflection, not as if in my mind's eye, but as if, though I was looking upward, forward, another part of me, physically, were still looking downward.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
(1/20/08) art-books-feces; psychology: earth, cults, flying saucers
(Entered in paper journal at 8:28 AM at Flying Saucer cafe in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I was with my grandfather and a couple other family members in a room, like a small museum. I was looking out the window. The scenery outside was moving, like I was in a car. The scenery was like a cemetery. My family members and I were talking about how the exhibit we had seen was disappointing because it didn't employ the principles of recycling. Because of this, we argued, the exhibit lacked feeling.
We "passed" a hill that looked cut-away or sectioned so we could see the roots of the grass and a nearby tree. Something like a red glob or ball rolled along the hill, then merged into the ground. This, my grandfather said, was the one work of art he liked, because it employed the principles of recycling. The ball reappeared from the sectioned area of the hill and rolled down the slope and across the road, as if it were willfully coming toward the building, and toward me in particular.
We all looked away from the window. My grandfather said we were getting ready to leave. I now sat on a tall chair like a swivel chair that was as tall as a library or ladder, with rollers or wheels at the bottom. The room was warm and warm-colored. In the corner of the room sat an old man who looked like the old version of the Tim Roth character in Youth Without Youth. He was like the curator of the museum.
The room was small but very elegant, modern. It was understated, except that on the walls were all kinds of art works and artifacts. A lot of them had the appearance of geode slices: the glassy, ringed, vivid-colored look. There were also a couple of tall, thin bookshelves along the walls.
Everybody else had pretty much left. I was following them. But I had to linger to see some of the items on the wall. There was something about their ordering which didn't seem completely satisfactory. But the pieces themselves were quite beautiful. Nevertheless, I felt bad liking the pieces because my grandfather had just commented how the pieces had no artistic quality.
I was still moving through the room on the tall chair. I went out the door, which was apparently tall enough to allow the tall chair through! I turned back before closing the door. I told the man in the corner of the room, "Goodbye, and thank you, Dr. Neuman." The man might have been reading a book. He waved very slightly, but kindly.
The door closed as I thought, Is that man's name really Neuman? I now saw a green and brass (?) nameplate on the door that said "Dr. Ed Neuman." I rolled (on the tall chair) down a ramping hallway to catch upp with my family.
I was now in a basement with my mother. I was standing on the floor, no longer sitting in the tall chair. My mom and I were heading toward a front door, but we were waiting for one or two more members of our family to catch up with us. In the meantime we were picking up and reorganizing a bunch of books that were on the floor.
I held some one-word-titled book by Mario Puzo. The cover was black, Puzo's name was lettered white, and the title (beginning with the letter "c"?) was lettered red.
My mom and I were talking about my grandfather, who sat upstairs, as if he were now sitting in Neuman's place. My grandpa was too sick and tired to see us out of the building, but he had been very happy to see us. After seeing us, he even felt like he had more energy.
My mom said, "We should tease him and tell him that if he has so much energy he should come down here and help us rearrange these books! No, I'm just kidding. We don't want him to feel bad or obliged. If he did come down here, the physical work would really hurt him."
I sat on a couch piled with books. Before me were books. I held a book in my hand. My mom may still have been talking. I looked at the book's binding. The top gave the last name of the author: Ligasa or Lisaga.
A band below the name showed a painting of a woman like Liberty in Delacroix's painting of the French Revolution. The woman was charging forward and carrying a flag. But she was looking backward, as if calling the troops, instead of looking forward like in the painting.
I looked at the back of the book, mainly because I somehow caught the name "Freud" on the back or the binding of the book. Apparently the book was by a Latin American author, and was thus acclaimed. The description of the book went something like, "A Native American is wounded in the war" (World War I?) "and looks back on his life. The works of Sigmund Freud have put forward the idea that a person's experiences of his past are not linear but move back and forth through different time periods."
A boy who was supposed to be my second oldest nephew sat to my left. He was a black boy, maybe ten or eleven years old. My mom said something like, "He's finally having less trouble going to the bathroom."
My nephew told me, "I go to the bathroom every morning. I know the pieces of poop when they come out of me. I even know their names. But I'm not like other people. I know their names before they come out of me. I meet them at night. I see them, and I know what shape they'll be. I tell them, 'XXXXX, you aren't going to stay in me! You are going to get out!'"
I could tell my nephew was afraid about having to do this, but that he was proud that he was able to do it. He seemed to need urgently to tell me about this.
We all headed out into a hallway which (now) led to the front door. The hall was white, perhaps with marble floors and walls and a red carpet.
Somewhere there might have been a weird, futuristic-looking altar-type structure, very tall, made out of an aluminum-like substance. The legs were tin rods that supported a wide "bowl" topped with a flat disk that had a hole in its center. This "bowl" was filled with my nephew's feces, as if each piece he had gotten rid of were saved here and treated as sacred.
Dream #2
I was looking through a list of courses to take at a college like a community college. There was a specific philosophy class I wanted to take because it seemed to discuss issues I had currently been involving myself in. But I saw that there was a prerequisite course to this course. I thought, Why should I have to take a prerequisite? I'm not taking this class to get a degree. I'm just interested.
But I looked at the prerequisite course anyway. It was called "Psychology: Earth." It was a short course and was done by video. I now saw that after this course I'd have to take even another course before I could take the philosophy course I'd wanted. This other prerequisite course was called "Psychology: Cults and Flying Saucers." It was also a video course.
Dream #1
I was with my grandfather and a couple other family members in a room, like a small museum. I was looking out the window. The scenery outside was moving, like I was in a car. The scenery was like a cemetery. My family members and I were talking about how the exhibit we had seen was disappointing because it didn't employ the principles of recycling. Because of this, we argued, the exhibit lacked feeling.
We "passed" a hill that looked cut-away or sectioned so we could see the roots of the grass and a nearby tree. Something like a red glob or ball rolled along the hill, then merged into the ground. This, my grandfather said, was the one work of art he liked, because it employed the principles of recycling. The ball reappeared from the sectioned area of the hill and rolled down the slope and across the road, as if it were willfully coming toward the building, and toward me in particular.
We all looked away from the window. My grandfather said we were getting ready to leave. I now sat on a tall chair like a swivel chair that was as tall as a library or ladder, with rollers or wheels at the bottom. The room was warm and warm-colored. In the corner of the room sat an old man who looked like the old version of the Tim Roth character in Youth Without Youth. He was like the curator of the museum.
The room was small but very elegant, modern. It was understated, except that on the walls were all kinds of art works and artifacts. A lot of them had the appearance of geode slices: the glassy, ringed, vivid-colored look. There were also a couple of tall, thin bookshelves along the walls.
Everybody else had pretty much left. I was following them. But I had to linger to see some of the items on the wall. There was something about their ordering which didn't seem completely satisfactory. But the pieces themselves were quite beautiful. Nevertheless, I felt bad liking the pieces because my grandfather had just commented how the pieces had no artistic quality.
I was still moving through the room on the tall chair. I went out the door, which was apparently tall enough to allow the tall chair through! I turned back before closing the door. I told the man in the corner of the room, "Goodbye, and thank you, Dr. Neuman." The man might have been reading a book. He waved very slightly, but kindly.
The door closed as I thought, Is that man's name really Neuman? I now saw a green and brass (?) nameplate on the door that said "Dr. Ed Neuman." I rolled (on the tall chair) down a ramping hallway to catch upp with my family.
I was now in a basement with my mother. I was standing on the floor, no longer sitting in the tall chair. My mom and I were heading toward a front door, but we were waiting for one or two more members of our family to catch up with us. In the meantime we were picking up and reorganizing a bunch of books that were on the floor.
I held some one-word-titled book by Mario Puzo. The cover was black, Puzo's name was lettered white, and the title (beginning with the letter "c"?) was lettered red.
My mom and I were talking about my grandfather, who sat upstairs, as if he were now sitting in Neuman's place. My grandpa was too sick and tired to see us out of the building, but he had been very happy to see us. After seeing us, he even felt like he had more energy.
My mom said, "We should tease him and tell him that if he has so much energy he should come down here and help us rearrange these books! No, I'm just kidding. We don't want him to feel bad or obliged. If he did come down here, the physical work would really hurt him."
I sat on a couch piled with books. Before me were books. I held a book in my hand. My mom may still have been talking. I looked at the book's binding. The top gave the last name of the author: Ligasa or Lisaga.
A band below the name showed a painting of a woman like Liberty in Delacroix's painting of the French Revolution. The woman was charging forward and carrying a flag. But she was looking backward, as if calling the troops, instead of looking forward like in the painting.
I looked at the back of the book, mainly because I somehow caught the name "Freud" on the back or the binding of the book. Apparently the book was by a Latin American author, and was thus acclaimed. The description of the book went something like, "A Native American is wounded in the war" (World War I?) "and looks back on his life. The works of Sigmund Freud have put forward the idea that a person's experiences of his past are not linear but move back and forth through different time periods."
A boy who was supposed to be my second oldest nephew sat to my left. He was a black boy, maybe ten or eleven years old. My mom said something like, "He's finally having less trouble going to the bathroom."
My nephew told me, "I go to the bathroom every morning. I know the pieces of poop when they come out of me. I even know their names. But I'm not like other people. I know their names before they come out of me. I meet them at night. I see them, and I know what shape they'll be. I tell them, 'XXXXX, you aren't going to stay in me! You are going to get out!'"
I could tell my nephew was afraid about having to do this, but that he was proud that he was able to do it. He seemed to need urgently to tell me about this.
We all headed out into a hallway which (now) led to the front door. The hall was white, perhaps with marble floors and walls and a red carpet.
Somewhere there might have been a weird, futuristic-looking altar-type structure, very tall, made out of an aluminum-like substance. The legs were tin rods that supported a wide "bowl" topped with a flat disk that had a hole in its center. This "bowl" was filled with my nephew's feces, as if each piece he had gotten rid of were saved here and treated as sacred.
Dream #2
I was looking through a list of courses to take at a college like a community college. There was a specific philosophy class I wanted to take because it seemed to discuss issues I had currently been involving myself in. But I saw that there was a prerequisite course to this course. I thought, Why should I have to take a prerequisite? I'm not taking this class to get a degree. I'm just interested.
But I looked at the prerequisite course anyway. It was called "Psychology: Earth." It was a short course and was done by video. I now saw that after this course I'd have to take even another course before I could take the philosophy course I'd wanted. This other prerequisite course was called "Psychology: Cults and Flying Saucers." It was also a video course.
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