(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.
Showing posts with label doing incorrect work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label doing incorrect work. Show all posts
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Saturday, January 26, 2013
(1/21/08) not an airport; yo-yo kiva; a real hole in the wall
(Entered in paper journal at 9:15 AM at Starbucks on Christopher Street in Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I was in a bus or van being driven to the airport. It was a grey, drizzly day. I sat near the front of the bus. The bus was empty except for me, the driver, and another man. The other man was slightly nervous. He told the driver, "I hear that when bad weather makes flight delays, they sometimes reroute you through different cities on different planes."
We drove along a group of planes that looked weird. One was a small jet with a very sleek face, like a Concorde mixed with a fighter jet. Another was an enormous plane with a very tall bulkhead (?).
The driver assured the man (as we dove around a large building with passenger drop-off areas for passenger for some airlines) that even if his flight got rerouted, he most likely wouldn't have to get on a flight that he didn't like.
I thought to myself, noticing that the driver was making a second round around a large building, that my flight was set to leave at XXXXX. It was already 12:19. Most airlines liked you to be present one hour early. But here I was, less than half an hour from my takeoff time, and still on the bus (which now seemed a lot like a plane).
I noticed that instead of airline signs in front of the building we presently drove around, there were signs for supermarkets (Albertsons?) and drug stores.
The driver said, "I don't see why I haven't found your airlines yet."
With some hesitance, not wanting to tell the driver how to do his job, I replied, "You drove the wrong way off the highway. This isn't the airport. It's just a shopping center." I pointed to my right and said, "The airport is back over that way and on the other side of the highway."
Dream #2
I and a small group of people looked down on a cylindrical hole dug in the ground. The hole was about eight feet deep and twenty feet in diameter. The floor and walls were smooth, probably soil. In the center of the floor was a small square dug out of the soil. There was also a rectangular niche of soil dug out all the way up one section of wall. Near the square on the floor was a pile of soil.
A blue toy like a yo-yo had been buried at a precise spot under that soil. Now we would fill the entire cylinder with soil, thus immovably fixing the blue toy in its spot.
But now we heard that GPS or satellite measurements showed that we had placed the toy in the incorrect space by just a few feet. We would have to unbury the toy, get rid of the soil, relocate the toy, then bury it under a pile of soil again, and again confirm our location.
I suddenly felt like all this activity was a joke, or that the people who were telling us how to do the job were laughing at us for actually taking such pains with the job, since it was all pretty useless, anyway. But I couldn't let myself believe that the job was useless, and I couldn't let myself believe that we were off in our burial location of the toy.
There might have been a white "X" somewhere on the ground, which had determined my choice. I felt like the "X" proved that I had put the yo-yo in the correct spot -- though the "X" was not under the pile of soil (i.e. it was not in the current location of the toy) and was almost on the opposite side of the circle. I was going to tell the people with me to fill the hole up as things were, that we were fine.
Dream #3
I was in a bus driving down a city street at night. I was a beautiful, rich woman. We drove down a street full of shop fronts and hole-in-the-wall bars. I thought wistfully about just relaxing and going into hole-in-the-wall bars. But I knew I couldn't. As the beautiful, rich woman, I had elevated myself to a position where I could no longer just pop into places like that. I could only allow myself to go to high-class places and events, like the one I was going to right now.
I saw one particular bar, which seemed to have no front wall at all. I stood in front of it, possibly as myself. The place was small, dimly candlelit, with a few tall-backed, black chairs, a couple tables, a small register-counter, and a long, black bench along the right wall.
Two women and one man walked around inside, talking about some way they had managed to trick somebody into giving them a good deal with something. One of the women, probably wearing a tiny, fluttery, pink skirt and a white tank-top, looked at me as if she were sexually attracted to me.
I walked into the bar. The two girls sat on the bench, the man in one of the seats. I thought I would sit between the two girls, to sit next to the girl I thought liked me.
But now Mexican man wearing a baggy, black, button-up shirt and black jeans, with long hair in a ponytail, sat down between the two women and held the girl in the pink skirt. The woman was obviously the man's girl. She had only been acting like she liked me in order to trick me into liking her. The man sitting in the chair now sat next to the other girl, so that now each woman was already with a man.
The four people continued talking about how they had gotten their way, how they'd tricked someone into giving them a good deal. The four of them looked at me and spoke with me as if they wanted me to be their friend. But I thought, There's no reason. There's nobody here for me to be with.
Dream #1
I was in a bus or van being driven to the airport. It was a grey, drizzly day. I sat near the front of the bus. The bus was empty except for me, the driver, and another man. The other man was slightly nervous. He told the driver, "I hear that when bad weather makes flight delays, they sometimes reroute you through different cities on different planes."
We drove along a group of planes that looked weird. One was a small jet with a very sleek face, like a Concorde mixed with a fighter jet. Another was an enormous plane with a very tall bulkhead (?).
The driver assured the man (as we dove around a large building with passenger drop-off areas for passenger for some airlines) that even if his flight got rerouted, he most likely wouldn't have to get on a flight that he didn't like.
I thought to myself, noticing that the driver was making a second round around a large building, that my flight was set to leave at XXXXX. It was already 12:19. Most airlines liked you to be present one hour early. But here I was, less than half an hour from my takeoff time, and still on the bus (which now seemed a lot like a plane).
I noticed that instead of airline signs in front of the building we presently drove around, there were signs for supermarkets (Albertsons?) and drug stores.
The driver said, "I don't see why I haven't found your airlines yet."
With some hesitance, not wanting to tell the driver how to do his job, I replied, "You drove the wrong way off the highway. This isn't the airport. It's just a shopping center." I pointed to my right and said, "The airport is back over that way and on the other side of the highway."
Dream #2
I and a small group of people looked down on a cylindrical hole dug in the ground. The hole was about eight feet deep and twenty feet in diameter. The floor and walls were smooth, probably soil. In the center of the floor was a small square dug out of the soil. There was also a rectangular niche of soil dug out all the way up one section of wall. Near the square on the floor was a pile of soil.
A blue toy like a yo-yo had been buried at a precise spot under that soil. Now we would fill the entire cylinder with soil, thus immovably fixing the blue toy in its spot.
But now we heard that GPS or satellite measurements showed that we had placed the toy in the incorrect space by just a few feet. We would have to unbury the toy, get rid of the soil, relocate the toy, then bury it under a pile of soil again, and again confirm our location.
I suddenly felt like all this activity was a joke, or that the people who were telling us how to do the job were laughing at us for actually taking such pains with the job, since it was all pretty useless, anyway. But I couldn't let myself believe that the job was useless, and I couldn't let myself believe that we were off in our burial location of the toy.
There might have been a white "X" somewhere on the ground, which had determined my choice. I felt like the "X" proved that I had put the yo-yo in the correct spot -- though the "X" was not under the pile of soil (i.e. it was not in the current location of the toy) and was almost on the opposite side of the circle. I was going to tell the people with me to fill the hole up as things were, that we were fine.
Dream #3
I was in a bus driving down a city street at night. I was a beautiful, rich woman. We drove down a street full of shop fronts and hole-in-the-wall bars. I thought wistfully about just relaxing and going into hole-in-the-wall bars. But I knew I couldn't. As the beautiful, rich woman, I had elevated myself to a position where I could no longer just pop into places like that. I could only allow myself to go to high-class places and events, like the one I was going to right now.
I saw one particular bar, which seemed to have no front wall at all. I stood in front of it, possibly as myself. The place was small, dimly candlelit, with a few tall-backed, black chairs, a couple tables, a small register-counter, and a long, black bench along the right wall.
Two women and one man walked around inside, talking about some way they had managed to trick somebody into giving them a good deal with something. One of the women, probably wearing a tiny, fluttery, pink skirt and a white tank-top, looked at me as if she were sexually attracted to me.
I walked into the bar. The two girls sat on the bench, the man in one of the seats. I thought I would sit between the two girls, to sit next to the girl I thought liked me.
But now Mexican man wearing a baggy, black, button-up shirt and black jeans, with long hair in a ponytail, sat down between the two women and held the girl in the pink skirt. The woman was obviously the man's girl. She had only been acting like she liked me in order to trick me into liking her. The man sitting in the chair now sat next to the other girl, so that now each woman was already with a man.
The four people continued talking about how they had gotten their way, how they'd tricked someone into giving them a good deal. The four of them looked at me and spoke with me as if they wanted me to be their friend. But I thought, There's no reason. There's nobody here for me to be with.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
(8/3/08) the murder report
(Entered in paper journal at 8:36 AM at Heights Coffee shop in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I was out on a neighborhood street with my boss BS, my co-worker DE, and maybe somebody else. We all looked up a a big, concrete wall that was in the sunlight and was topped with a street and houses.
The day was warm. DE and I may have been sitting in a car. We were typing up a report. A computer screen was before me. The report was about a company, but it was also about a murderer.
BS and DE were accusing me of not checking my facts. I got really mad, because I had checked everything. I started to say so to BS and DE, but they immediately acquiesced, as if they didn't want to hear me. But I couldn't help myself. I yammered on and on about all the steps I had taken to check my facts. As I was saving the report file to the computer I messed up and started talking about saving the file instead of talking about checking the facts.
Now I was fumbling under the driver's side car seat, trying to find some last piece of evidence that would prove the murderer's guilt. I pushed a few books out from under the seat. One book may have had a purple cover and white lettering.
BS was somewhere, possibly in the backseat, but not visible. I told him I couldn't find the evidence. BS told me, in a voice almost like that of a good female cop, "Don't worry about it. I just went by his house. There's plenty of evidence. There are ten dead women's bodies on his basement floor."
Dream #1
I was out on a neighborhood street with my boss BS, my co-worker DE, and maybe somebody else. We all looked up a a big, concrete wall that was in the sunlight and was topped with a street and houses.
The day was warm. DE and I may have been sitting in a car. We were typing up a report. A computer screen was before me. The report was about a company, but it was also about a murderer.
BS and DE were accusing me of not checking my facts. I got really mad, because I had checked everything. I started to say so to BS and DE, but they immediately acquiesced, as if they didn't want to hear me. But I couldn't help myself. I yammered on and on about all the steps I had taken to check my facts. As I was saving the report file to the computer I messed up and started talking about saving the file instead of talking about checking the facts.
Now I was fumbling under the driver's side car seat, trying to find some last piece of evidence that would prove the murderer's guilt. I pushed a few books out from under the seat. One book may have had a purple cover and white lettering.
BS was somewhere, possibly in the backseat, but not visible. I told him I couldn't find the evidence. BS told me, in a voice almost like that of a good female cop, "Don't worry about it. I just went by his house. There's plenty of evidence. There are ten dead women's bodies on his basement floor."
Sunday, January 6, 2013
(9/27/08) the story of my boss' career
(Entered in paper journal on Q-train.)
Dream #1
I was in a big room. It might have been a mod-fashion type of room, like in a lot of movies about the 1960s and 1970s, with bright-orange walls and lots of big, white blocks everywhere for furniture. But there might also have been other objects in the room, such as small aircraft.
I stood in front of a small, blonde woman who sat on a piece of furniture. I was trying to tell the woman about the career of my boss BS. But as I got to a point where I was talking about when he began working for our company, BS walked past and corrected me. He said, "I began twenty-nine years ago." BS continued walking on and talking about his time at the company. I also continued talking to the girl about BS' time at the company, though I now felt a lot less confident about what I was saying.
The scene soon faded. I could still hear BS talking about his life. But I was now seeing as if I were floating along myself, to my right, before some docks, or along a shore. I first saw a large ship which kind of looked like a battleship and a large yacht combined. Then (at a specific point in BS' story) I saw a ship submerged so that only its bow stuck out of the water, flatly, almost even with the water. The bow itself was flat, like a wood for or a bowling lane.
(10/29/08) injured woman; diseased group; inaccurate work
(Entered in paper journal at 6:10 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
Something like a movie or a documentary about a woman. The woman may have been going to sue a group of people for having gotten her involved in some situation. I saw old black and white photos of the woman. The woman was fat, with short, sloppily arranged hair. She had pale blue-green (?) eyes. In one photo she may have been opening presents with someone like her father. In all the photos she looked mentally unstable.
I now saw the woman lying on a bed, on her back, with her head hung down over the side of the bed. It was obvious the woman had some kind of motor-system dysfunction.
The woman was "talking" -- actually it sounded and looked more like she was narrating. The woman's voice played in the background as the woman, without speaking, was, in my view, trying to pull something out from under her bed. The thing was possibly a cane that looked like a weed-whacker with a microphone at its top. The woman slowly pulled herself out of bed and walked toward the bathroom.
The woman was "talking" about the situation, and how she had already come into it with a lot of bodily troubles. The woman said how the situation had caused her to get a gunshot in her skull (she might have shot herself) and how she also ended up with severe injuries limiting even further her use of her arms and legs.
Dream #2
Something like a movie. A small group of people had been exposed to something like a degenerative pathogen. They had gone their separate ways and then started to feel the effects of the pathogen. Some of the people had managed to stop or delay the effects, but not until after the degeneration of their tissue had caused a loss of blood. It seemed like everybody from the small group would die, except, perhaps, an evil man who was going to do something even worse to all the other doomed men so that he could live.
The scene was now of a "cop" getting ready for bed. He had been at the scene with the other men and had been kind to them, while warning them about whatever they had been doing. I thought he was nice. He was apparently played by Klaus Kinski.
The cop was in something like a barracks with a lot of other men. The place looked like a cabin, with dark wood walls and floors and dim (but full) light from hanging electric lamps. The place seemed very warm and comforting. The beds were all close together. The men were all in white long underwear. The beds all had white sheets, but at least the cop's bed was also blanketed in a thick fur.
The cop got into bed with another man and turned his back to him. He at first pulled the blanket over him, but then pulled the blanket away to reveal that his nose (maybe eyes, too?) was trickling blood. He'd gotten infected, as well.
I thought, Oh, no! Not him, too. He's such a nice guy! But I knew not only that the cop was infected, but that he was also doomed to die much more quickly than the others, since nobody would be around to help him delay things.
Dream #3
My co-worker CL and my boss BS had worked together on some project. CL now poked his head into BS' office to thank him for the work, which was almost completely related to the industry CL did research on, and only slightly related to the industry that BS did research on. But BS, and possibly my co-worker IA, now warned CL not to trust the work after all, as it had been done mostly by me, and I had done an inexact job.
Both BS' and CL's offices were dark. BS may not have been in his office at all.
Dream #1
Something like a movie or a documentary about a woman. The woman may have been going to sue a group of people for having gotten her involved in some situation. I saw old black and white photos of the woman. The woman was fat, with short, sloppily arranged hair. She had pale blue-green (?) eyes. In one photo she may have been opening presents with someone like her father. In all the photos she looked mentally unstable.
I now saw the woman lying on a bed, on her back, with her head hung down over the side of the bed. It was obvious the woman had some kind of motor-system dysfunction.
The woman was "talking" -- actually it sounded and looked more like she was narrating. The woman's voice played in the background as the woman, without speaking, was, in my view, trying to pull something out from under her bed. The thing was possibly a cane that looked like a weed-whacker with a microphone at its top. The woman slowly pulled herself out of bed and walked toward the bathroom.
The woman was "talking" about the situation, and how she had already come into it with a lot of bodily troubles. The woman said how the situation had caused her to get a gunshot in her skull (she might have shot herself) and how she also ended up with severe injuries limiting even further her use of her arms and legs.
Dream #2
Something like a movie. A small group of people had been exposed to something like a degenerative pathogen. They had gone their separate ways and then started to feel the effects of the pathogen. Some of the people had managed to stop or delay the effects, but not until after the degeneration of their tissue had caused a loss of blood. It seemed like everybody from the small group would die, except, perhaps, an evil man who was going to do something even worse to all the other doomed men so that he could live.
The scene was now of a "cop" getting ready for bed. He had been at the scene with the other men and had been kind to them, while warning them about whatever they had been doing. I thought he was nice. He was apparently played by Klaus Kinski.
The cop was in something like a barracks with a lot of other men. The place looked like a cabin, with dark wood walls and floors and dim (but full) light from hanging electric lamps. The place seemed very warm and comforting. The beds were all close together. The men were all in white long underwear. The beds all had white sheets, but at least the cop's bed was also blanketed in a thick fur.
The cop got into bed with another man and turned his back to him. He at first pulled the blanket over him, but then pulled the blanket away to reveal that his nose (maybe eyes, too?) was trickling blood. He'd gotten infected, as well.
I thought, Oh, no! Not him, too. He's such a nice guy! But I knew not only that the cop was infected, but that he was also doomed to die much more quickly than the others, since nobody would be around to help him delay things.
Dream #3
My co-worker CL and my boss BS had worked together on some project. CL now poked his head into BS' office to thank him for the work, which was almost completely related to the industry CL did research on, and only slightly related to the industry that BS did research on. But BS, and possibly my co-worker IA, now warned CL not to trust the work after all, as it had been done mostly by me, and I had done an inexact job.
Both BS' and CL's offices were dark. BS may not have been in his office at all.
Monday, December 31, 2012
(1/2/09) looking at porn and doing the wrong work
(Entered in paper journal at 8:54 AM at Flying Saucer cafe in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I was in a room with my brother. The room was like a living room, but I may have been thinking of it as an office. The room had a wood frame around it, like the framing for a loft bed. There may only have been two solid walls, while the other walls were like the section of frame where the walls would eventually be put up. The floors were piled under with multicolored quilts and blankets.
My brother sat or lay on his stomach before an entertainment center which had two or three bright-screened computers on it. I thought, I shouldn't check what he's doing. I'll get in trouble for not working. I looked at the computer screen.
I knew that my brother was typing a lot of random-seeming, almost humorous, words into an internet search engine to pull up pornographic websites showing fat, black women in lingerie. I could see a page like this in my mind's eye: photos of women dispersed throughout a white page, with faded borders around them. But when my brother actually pulled up the web page, it displayed a photo of a few really beautiful, black women, skinny, wearing really elegant lingerie.
I was now "upstairs," on a floor of desks like a trading floor. Only about a quarter of the lights on the floor were on. It was night. I was walking toward "my desk." I was trying to remember the user ID and password for my computer.
I was going to do some work. But I thought to myself, What kind of work am I supposed to be doing? I thought I would pull some earnings conference call transcripts off the internet, to keep my mind fresh on how companies were doing. I wondered whether this would be considered work or whether this would be considered something I wasn't supposed to do.
Dream #1
I was in a room with my brother. The room was like a living room, but I may have been thinking of it as an office. The room had a wood frame around it, like the framing for a loft bed. There may only have been two solid walls, while the other walls were like the section of frame where the walls would eventually be put up. The floors were piled under with multicolored quilts and blankets.
My brother sat or lay on his stomach before an entertainment center which had two or three bright-screened computers on it. I thought, I shouldn't check what he's doing. I'll get in trouble for not working. I looked at the computer screen.
I knew that my brother was typing a lot of random-seeming, almost humorous, words into an internet search engine to pull up pornographic websites showing fat, black women in lingerie. I could see a page like this in my mind's eye: photos of women dispersed throughout a white page, with faded borders around them. But when my brother actually pulled up the web page, it displayed a photo of a few really beautiful, black women, skinny, wearing really elegant lingerie.
I was now "upstairs," on a floor of desks like a trading floor. Only about a quarter of the lights on the floor were on. It was night. I was walking toward "my desk." I was trying to remember the user ID and password for my computer.
I was going to do some work. But I thought to myself, What kind of work am I supposed to be doing? I thought I would pull some earnings conference call transcripts off the internet, to keep my mind fresh on how companies were doing. I wondered whether this would be considered work or whether this would be considered something I wasn't supposed to do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)