(Entered in paper journal at 5:30 AM at home in Harlem.)
Dream 1
I sat in something like a waiting room or an airport lobby or some second- or third-floor cafe. It was daytime. Daylight streamed through the window-wall before me. A "familiar"-looking woman sat by me somehow, either at a table or in a close row of chairs. She had puffy, wide pale auburn hair with undertones of black, and a longish, puffy face caked with not-so-smooth makeup. But it was something in her face or in her eyes that made me think she was familiar.
She asked me if I wanted to go with her to some event or play with which she had something to do, though her going to it had something to do with my friend R and his girlfriend L. I now slowly realized that this person was L, that some kind of trap or practical joke was being laid for me. I didn't let on, though I said I couldn't go.
L's face shifted slowly back to her own as L began telling me all the different good things about this event which had to do with her. She couldn't figure out why this wasn't good enough incentive for me.
Dream 2
I was with a group of folks "my age," which might have been high-school-aged. We were at some kind of wide pond or marsh or wetland of some sort. Two groups were separated by the large body of water, or perhaps one group was not all the way across the water but on an island or bar of land in the middle of the body of water.
Something happened so that I felt obligated, as if against petty jokes about my personal character, to swim across to the island group to make sure they were okay. We were all okay. This was just some fun, day-long project. So I don't exactly know what I meant by "making sure they were okay."
I knew there was an alligator in the water that could swim up and rip my belly open. But I just felt it wouldn't happen.
I reached the island. I now looked back to the shore. I could feel that the first group of people were now making jokes about my personal character because I wasn't swimming over to them "to make sure they were okay."
Showing posts with label friend L. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friend L. Show all posts
Saturday, March 11, 2017
Monday, February 18, 2013
(9/8/07) drama on an aircraft carrier
(Entered in paper journal at 7:50 AM at Ozzie's cafe on Seventh Avenue and Lincoln Place in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I sat outside a house (in the woods?) with my co-worker ES. ES told me that a woman who had just been by had really impressed her, but that ES felt like she must not have been impressive to the woman. I listened as I sat on a four-foot-long log. There were a few other logs lying around. The day was calm and grey.
ES walked behind me and off to my right, where there may have been a couple vehicles like old Ford Broncos. ES continued speaking about the beautiful girl (whom I saw in my mind's eye as tall and blonde). ES said, "She just has everything: she's beautiful, she's smart, she's nice. I hope she knows how much I appreciate that." It suddenly dawned on me that ES was in love with this woman.
I stood at a lawn in front of a building like a long house or like my old high school. The day was still grey, though now it was a little windier. There were a lot of people outside with me. Most were men. It was like people were coming out of a movie.
A little verbal conflict started and finished quickly between two short, Mexican men and a tall, white man. Now everybody was gone. I stood by myself thinking, Those two kids are going to come by to find that man and make him pay for fighting with them. I couldn't remember now whether I was the white man. It felt eerie outside all alone in the grey breeze waiting, presumably, for some carload of kids to come by and shoot me.
I stood inside an almost empty house. The house was like the house I lived from about my sixth grade to ninth grade years of school. I was in the living room. Off to my back and right the room seemed to have opened into a hallway for a larger building like a community building or a large church which could also serve as a community building. In front of the front window of the living room stood a table with a lot of food on it.
I milled around the room, possibly waiting for a woman to get finished at a presentation or a movie. I was still afraid of the two kids and their friends coming after me. But I was also disappointed that I had "pulled" myself out of the range of their fire (apparently by shifting scenes).
I looked a little through the food on the table. Some cups on the windowsill caught my attention. I felt like there was a sweet, warm liquid in them. That was what I wanted. But as I grabbed the cup I felt like maybe I shouldn't take it, that maybe people were watching me and my taking food would only confirm to them what a "waster" or "grubber" I was.
I took the cup anyway, but when I looked inside I saw that all there was was some thin layer of grimy, pale-brown, translucent, sludgy material dotted with little, white, goopy chunks. It smelled almost too sweet. I thought, This isn't what I was looking for.
I thought I had picked up something diseased. I worried whether touching the cup would also make me diseased. But now I looked back in the cup. The material inside was just dry, powdered hot chocolate with tiny, dry marshmallows. I thought, Oh, it was just hot chocolate mix after all. Still, it wasn't the drink I'd wanted.
I sat in a room with my friend R, his fiancee L, and a couple other people. The room was large, and the table we sat at took up most of it. It was low to the ground, circular, and made of dark, dark wood. We sat on various items, but not regular chairs, which would have been too tall for the table. We all spoke about something that made me ashamed. It may have been about work or about me leaving work.
I stood on the deck (?) of an aircraft carrier. I stood before two men, both of high rank (for the Navy?). One stood directly in front of me; the other before me and to my right. To my left was a grey aircraft which, as I looked at it, I tried to identify by sorting through aircraft images in my mind. Finally my mind locked on something like an SR-71.
The man in front of me waved his right arm toward the craft and told me that everybody felt I should be the one to make the last flight of this craft. I felt honored in a very relaxed, understated way.
The jet was now in a small space that seemed to have been formed to fit only this craft. The space matched the contours of the jet and extended out only a few feet on all sides. The surrounding material seemed to be thick stucco or concrete, round, like the walls of a Spanish building or catacombs (?), not like the inside of an aircraft carrier (?).
The two high-ranking Navy men and I stood before the jet. The two men were joking about some movie, which I didn't figure out until later was Top Gun. I now knelt, as the men kept joking about the "unreality" of the movie, by the left underside of the craft, near the wing.
I stuck my head into the small gap between the undercarriage of the jet and the wall of the space. I turned my head in a strange way and, trying to pull my head back out of the gap, found I couldn't. I was panicked for a moment. But then I turned my head and came back out of the gap with no trouble. As I was doing this the two men were joking about some place name, something that started with a "B" but was always mistaken "in the movie" to start with a "G."
I could see the glass (?) dome of the cockpit, which had tan pieces of tape holding white, washer-shaped, paper circles to the window.
I may have tapped (somehow -- I wasn't in the cockpit) on the glass and remembered the flip-off scene from the beginning of Top Gun.
Now the jet pilot was getting ready to fly. I heard some people talking to the pilot as I (disembodied?) looked out over brightly rolling waves underneath a hot, blue sky. The waves would surge in a white blaze of sun reflections and then trough in fading, brilliant, deep blue.
One man told the pilot, "I never thought anything yo did was ridiculous. I was just a little jealous. But now that you're making this flight," (which was now going to keep the pilot away from home for a long, long time) "I want you to know how you important I think it is and how good it is that you are doing it."
I could see that the jet was going to launch from a hole in the front and midsection of the aircraft carrier.
I may have been flying with another person. We flew through a bunch of clutter floating on the water. We were near a tall wall of concrete, like at the edge of a river.
As we flew past one piece of clutter, a yellow, metal, rectangular "box," maybe fifty feet long, probably lying on a waterlogged, wooden barge, the person I flew with said something like, "Perhaps while you're there, they'll even let you open the research box." I knew the research box was this yellow box. It was stuffed with a grimy, smelly, sludgy matter. It was like decomposed garbage, I thought. I thought, Why would I want to open something like that?
I stood on a ledge of the tall wall. The front of the aircraft carrier faced an end of the ledge. The pilot and other people could load into the carrier from the ledge. A lot of other people were on the ledge, which may have been about twenty feet wide. The people were having a sort of "bon voyage party" for the pilot. The only person I could pick out in the crowd was a skinny, brown-haired girl.
A young man, maybe in his early twenties, though he seemed to be only about three feet tall, came up to me and in a panic cried, "I'm going to do it! I'm going to do this to myself!"
I recognized the young man from somewhere, possibly as one of the people who had been milling around after the movie earlier on. I knew that I had known the man (from wherever) as a self-centered boy who generally requited no attention, although he felt like he always had it, and that that produced an uneasy sensation in people, so that, he felt, people generally stayed away from him.
The young man had been engrossed in some mechanical science project. But now everybody was watching this pilot go off, and the young man had to accept that nobody was paying attention to him. This fact put the young man in a suicidal frenzy, apparently. The young man came to me with a screwdriver and a chain like the thin chain of a cheap, backyard swingset. The chain was black. The screwdriver, Phillips-head, had a clear handle with red markings in the grip ridges.
The young man made it clear he was going to kill himself, and that he would try with the second instrument he held if he didn't succeed with the first. (The screwdriver may have been the first instrument.) The young man may have been trying to run into the launch area to do this to himself.
I grabbed the young man and yelled, "Don't you know you have no right to do this right now? Everybody is here to give this man support! He is going somewhere and leaving everything he knows behind for a very long time! For years! And we are all trying to support him in a moment that is probably very scary and sad for him!"
The young man lost his frenzied look about halfway through my speech. He then took on an aghast look, which broke into a lost look of regret, like the young man couldn't believe he'd acted so selfishly. Then he broke down crying, in sympathy with the man for the scariness and loneliness of the journey he would be going on. The man might at this time have had a face like that of a classic grey alien.
Dream #1
I sat outside a house (in the woods?) with my co-worker ES. ES told me that a woman who had just been by had really impressed her, but that ES felt like she must not have been impressive to the woman. I listened as I sat on a four-foot-long log. There were a few other logs lying around. The day was calm and grey.
ES walked behind me and off to my right, where there may have been a couple vehicles like old Ford Broncos. ES continued speaking about the beautiful girl (whom I saw in my mind's eye as tall and blonde). ES said, "She just has everything: she's beautiful, she's smart, she's nice. I hope she knows how much I appreciate that." It suddenly dawned on me that ES was in love with this woman.
I stood at a lawn in front of a building like a long house or like my old high school. The day was still grey, though now it was a little windier. There were a lot of people outside with me. Most were men. It was like people were coming out of a movie.
A little verbal conflict started and finished quickly between two short, Mexican men and a tall, white man. Now everybody was gone. I stood by myself thinking, Those two kids are going to come by to find that man and make him pay for fighting with them. I couldn't remember now whether I was the white man. It felt eerie outside all alone in the grey breeze waiting, presumably, for some carload of kids to come by and shoot me.
I stood inside an almost empty house. The house was like the house I lived from about my sixth grade to ninth grade years of school. I was in the living room. Off to my back and right the room seemed to have opened into a hallway for a larger building like a community building or a large church which could also serve as a community building. In front of the front window of the living room stood a table with a lot of food on it.
I milled around the room, possibly waiting for a woman to get finished at a presentation or a movie. I was still afraid of the two kids and their friends coming after me. But I was also disappointed that I had "pulled" myself out of the range of their fire (apparently by shifting scenes).
I looked a little through the food on the table. Some cups on the windowsill caught my attention. I felt like there was a sweet, warm liquid in them. That was what I wanted. But as I grabbed the cup I felt like maybe I shouldn't take it, that maybe people were watching me and my taking food would only confirm to them what a "waster" or "grubber" I was.
I took the cup anyway, but when I looked inside I saw that all there was was some thin layer of grimy, pale-brown, translucent, sludgy material dotted with little, white, goopy chunks. It smelled almost too sweet. I thought, This isn't what I was looking for.
I thought I had picked up something diseased. I worried whether touching the cup would also make me diseased. But now I looked back in the cup. The material inside was just dry, powdered hot chocolate with tiny, dry marshmallows. I thought, Oh, it was just hot chocolate mix after all. Still, it wasn't the drink I'd wanted.
I sat in a room with my friend R, his fiancee L, and a couple other people. The room was large, and the table we sat at took up most of it. It was low to the ground, circular, and made of dark, dark wood. We sat on various items, but not regular chairs, which would have been too tall for the table. We all spoke about something that made me ashamed. It may have been about work or about me leaving work.
I stood on the deck (?) of an aircraft carrier. I stood before two men, both of high rank (for the Navy?). One stood directly in front of me; the other before me and to my right. To my left was a grey aircraft which, as I looked at it, I tried to identify by sorting through aircraft images in my mind. Finally my mind locked on something like an SR-71.
The man in front of me waved his right arm toward the craft and told me that everybody felt I should be the one to make the last flight of this craft. I felt honored in a very relaxed, understated way.
The jet was now in a small space that seemed to have been formed to fit only this craft. The space matched the contours of the jet and extended out only a few feet on all sides. The surrounding material seemed to be thick stucco or concrete, round, like the walls of a Spanish building or catacombs (?), not like the inside of an aircraft carrier (?).
The two high-ranking Navy men and I stood before the jet. The two men were joking about some movie, which I didn't figure out until later was Top Gun. I now knelt, as the men kept joking about the "unreality" of the movie, by the left underside of the craft, near the wing.
I stuck my head into the small gap between the undercarriage of the jet and the wall of the space. I turned my head in a strange way and, trying to pull my head back out of the gap, found I couldn't. I was panicked for a moment. But then I turned my head and came back out of the gap with no trouble. As I was doing this the two men were joking about some place name, something that started with a "B" but was always mistaken "in the movie" to start with a "G."
I could see the glass (?) dome of the cockpit, which had tan pieces of tape holding white, washer-shaped, paper circles to the window.
I may have tapped (somehow -- I wasn't in the cockpit) on the glass and remembered the flip-off scene from the beginning of Top Gun.
Now the jet pilot was getting ready to fly. I heard some people talking to the pilot as I (disembodied?) looked out over brightly rolling waves underneath a hot, blue sky. The waves would surge in a white blaze of sun reflections and then trough in fading, brilliant, deep blue.
One man told the pilot, "I never thought anything yo did was ridiculous. I was just a little jealous. But now that you're making this flight," (which was now going to keep the pilot away from home for a long, long time) "I want you to know how you important I think it is and how good it is that you are doing it."
I could see that the jet was going to launch from a hole in the front and midsection of the aircraft carrier.
I may have been flying with another person. We flew through a bunch of clutter floating on the water. We were near a tall wall of concrete, like at the edge of a river.
As we flew past one piece of clutter, a yellow, metal, rectangular "box," maybe fifty feet long, probably lying on a waterlogged, wooden barge, the person I flew with said something like, "Perhaps while you're there, they'll even let you open the research box." I knew the research box was this yellow box. It was stuffed with a grimy, smelly, sludgy matter. It was like decomposed garbage, I thought. I thought, Why would I want to open something like that?
I stood on a ledge of the tall wall. The front of the aircraft carrier faced an end of the ledge. The pilot and other people could load into the carrier from the ledge. A lot of other people were on the ledge, which may have been about twenty feet wide. The people were having a sort of "bon voyage party" for the pilot. The only person I could pick out in the crowd was a skinny, brown-haired girl.
A young man, maybe in his early twenties, though he seemed to be only about three feet tall, came up to me and in a panic cried, "I'm going to do it! I'm going to do this to myself!"
I recognized the young man from somewhere, possibly as one of the people who had been milling around after the movie earlier on. I knew that I had known the man (from wherever) as a self-centered boy who generally requited no attention, although he felt like he always had it, and that that produced an uneasy sensation in people, so that, he felt, people generally stayed away from him.
The young man had been engrossed in some mechanical science project. But now everybody was watching this pilot go off, and the young man had to accept that nobody was paying attention to him. This fact put the young man in a suicidal frenzy, apparently. The young man came to me with a screwdriver and a chain like the thin chain of a cheap, backyard swingset. The chain was black. The screwdriver, Phillips-head, had a clear handle with red markings in the grip ridges.
The young man made it clear he was going to kill himself, and that he would try with the second instrument he held if he didn't succeed with the first. (The screwdriver may have been the first instrument.) The young man may have been trying to run into the launch area to do this to himself.
I grabbed the young man and yelled, "Don't you know you have no right to do this right now? Everybody is here to give this man support! He is going somewhere and leaving everything he knows behind for a very long time! For years! And we are all trying to support him in a moment that is probably very scary and sad for him!"
The young man lost his frenzied look about halfway through my speech. He then took on an aghast look, which broke into a lost look of regret, like the young man couldn't believe he'd acted so selfishly. Then he broke down crying, in sympathy with the man for the scariness and loneliness of the journey he would be going on. The man might at this time have had a face like that of a classic grey alien.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
(9/11/07) my dad the murderer; gnear thalk; we really want to talk
(Entered in paper journal at 6:30 AM on B-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
My dad may have been accused of a murder. He was now coming to take me, my brother, and my sister to dinner. I lived in my own house, so they would pick me up. I sat in a room of my house, which was empty except a little clutter, a box of which I sat on.
I spoke on the cell phone with my mom. I told my mom, "I can't sit in a restaurant with that guy! Everybody'll be staring at us and asking us questions the whole time!" I imagined big, fat faces crowding all around my dad, my brother, my sister, and I at the restaurant. The faces all looked like obese versions of a mid-twentieth-century, cruel stereotype of Chinese faces.
I pulled the phone away from my left ear. The display was so colorful and bright. The main colors were blue.
My mom (or sister?) asked through the phone, "Your phone hasn't worked in all this time. Why is it working now that you need to tell us you don't want to see your dad?"
I thought to myself, Wow. They're right. How did my phone start working again?
Dream #2
A woman had gone missing, and two men had found that she had killed herself. They found her in a vacant lot of pale tan soil on a clear, blue day. She was a black girl, tall, thin, with brown skin and shortish, spiky, dark-blonde hair. she had slit her throat and lay in a big pool of blood. She lay in a fetal position on her right side.
The men now stood before a camera (still in the lot, still on a blue day) talking about how it was to find the body. The men were both oldish, a little dumpy, white, with big, round eyes.
The scene of discovery happened again, like for the first time. This time the woman was completely decapitated, her head lying three or four feet from her body. The view panned back up to the two men, who said, "Imagine our shock. Even if she had survived, what kind of life would that have been? Her arms were chopped to the elbows, her legs were gone..."
I now crouched in a library, in between a shelf and a wall. The space was narrow, about three feet wide at most. I had a big book held directly in front of my face. I crouched, relaxed, with my knees against my chest. My sister sat to my left, leaning against my legs.
My oldest nephew came walking from right to left along the aisle and stomped on my sister's legs. It hurt my sister.
I felt helpless to retaliate on behalf of my sister. But I didn't want it to happen to her again. So I told her to sit a special way. She sat pretty much the same way as before, but now she was naked.
I heard a weird story narrated now, by my sister -- not voiced from her physical body, but from a narration in my head. My sister said, "I wouldn't let anybody kiss my boobs before him. But this was very important to him." I had a feeling that the "him" was me. I thought, How could that be? Why would I do something like that to my sister?
My view floated all around the library, slowly, as if some disembodied I were walking around the library.
I heard myself and a friend, like my old friend R, speaking in my head. We were trying to decipher a phrase: "gnear talk." It was in a series of new phrases young kids were using nowadays. I saw the list of new colloquialisms before my mind's eye for a moment.
I thought, Well, "thalk" is a hot walk -- so hot it thaws you. And "gnear" is what you say when a girl is so close you can feel her loveliness. It's as if you were saying, "Gee, she's near," or "g-near," to make "gnear" (except that the "g" was pronounced hard, not soft).
Dream #3
I had a dinner or a breakfast at a place that was supposed to be the apartment of my old friend R and his fiancee L. We sat at a huge table that was littered with items like vases. Everything seemed very disordered. I was surprised to have been here. I thought, These guys aren't mad at me anymore! I felt relieved.
L said, "Come back soon. We really want to talk with you again."
I couldn't tell whether that were true. I looked at R. He looked unpleasantly surprised to see me here. I could tell he was already trying to find a way to keep me from coming back.
Dream #1
My dad may have been accused of a murder. He was now coming to take me, my brother, and my sister to dinner. I lived in my own house, so they would pick me up. I sat in a room of my house, which was empty except a little clutter, a box of which I sat on.
I spoke on the cell phone with my mom. I told my mom, "I can't sit in a restaurant with that guy! Everybody'll be staring at us and asking us questions the whole time!" I imagined big, fat faces crowding all around my dad, my brother, my sister, and I at the restaurant. The faces all looked like obese versions of a mid-twentieth-century, cruel stereotype of Chinese faces.
I pulled the phone away from my left ear. The display was so colorful and bright. The main colors were blue.
My mom (or sister?) asked through the phone, "Your phone hasn't worked in all this time. Why is it working now that you need to tell us you don't want to see your dad?"
I thought to myself, Wow. They're right. How did my phone start working again?
Dream #2
A woman had gone missing, and two men had found that she had killed herself. They found her in a vacant lot of pale tan soil on a clear, blue day. She was a black girl, tall, thin, with brown skin and shortish, spiky, dark-blonde hair. she had slit her throat and lay in a big pool of blood. She lay in a fetal position on her right side.
The men now stood before a camera (still in the lot, still on a blue day) talking about how it was to find the body. The men were both oldish, a little dumpy, white, with big, round eyes.
The scene of discovery happened again, like for the first time. This time the woman was completely decapitated, her head lying three or four feet from her body. The view panned back up to the two men, who said, "Imagine our shock. Even if she had survived, what kind of life would that have been? Her arms were chopped to the elbows, her legs were gone..."
I now crouched in a library, in between a shelf and a wall. The space was narrow, about three feet wide at most. I had a big book held directly in front of my face. I crouched, relaxed, with my knees against my chest. My sister sat to my left, leaning against my legs.
My oldest nephew came walking from right to left along the aisle and stomped on my sister's legs. It hurt my sister.
I felt helpless to retaliate on behalf of my sister. But I didn't want it to happen to her again. So I told her to sit a special way. She sat pretty much the same way as before, but now she was naked.
I heard a weird story narrated now, by my sister -- not voiced from her physical body, but from a narration in my head. My sister said, "I wouldn't let anybody kiss my boobs before him. But this was very important to him." I had a feeling that the "him" was me. I thought, How could that be? Why would I do something like that to my sister?
My view floated all around the library, slowly, as if some disembodied I were walking around the library.
I heard myself and a friend, like my old friend R, speaking in my head. We were trying to decipher a phrase: "gnear talk." It was in a series of new phrases young kids were using nowadays. I saw the list of new colloquialisms before my mind's eye for a moment.
I thought, Well, "thalk" is a hot walk -- so hot it thaws you. And "gnear" is what you say when a girl is so close you can feel her loveliness. It's as if you were saying, "Gee, she's near," or "g-near," to make "gnear" (except that the "g" was pronounced hard, not soft).
Dream #3
I had a dinner or a breakfast at a place that was supposed to be the apartment of my old friend R and his fiancee L. We sat at a huge table that was littered with items like vases. Everything seemed very disordered. I was surprised to have been here. I thought, These guys aren't mad at me anymore! I felt relieved.
L said, "Come back soon. We really want to talk with you again."
I couldn't tell whether that were true. I looked at R. He looked unpleasantly surprised to see me here. I could tell he was already trying to find a way to keep me from coming back.
Monday, February 11, 2013
(9/22/07) phantom and suicide; lesbians exiled in space; annoyed into improvement
(Entered in paper journal at 8 AM at Ozzie's Cafe on Seventh Avenue and Lincoln Place in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I sat in a car like a limo with an Indian man. I sat in a seat the back of which was to the back of the front seat. I faced the Indian man as he sat in the normal back seat. We both sat on the passenger's side. I was exploring something business related to the man. I spoke in a mildly (not overtly) condescending way which I found annoying but which I couldn't control. At some point I finally managed to break off my annoying speech.
Outside, over a deserty sprawl of short building roofs along a wide road sped three smallish, sleek jets painted white with blue and red stripes. I called out to the Indian man to look. The man missed them, having barely looked for them. But now three more sped by. This time the man saw them. But he didn't seem impressed. He said something like, "Yeah, I've seen that before. Interesting."
But I was still excited. I said, "They have an Air Force base down there!" I pointed back over my left (?) shoulder. I might have called the base Kirtland.
The man might have said something like, "Yeah, I know. They fly the XXXXX there." I imagined the top half of a silvery craft. I tried to determine what it was. I settled on an F-4 Phantom.
I might now have been driving the car. I was on a high stretch of highway that curved around to the right, probably as it went over the ocean. could see the ocean sky, but none of the ocean.
I was a man who was going to kill himself. I had been through some ordeal which I may have visualized as I drove. Everybody thought I had put myself through the ordeal expressly so I could kill myself at some point during it. But I hadn't killed myself. Now everybody, even I, thought I wasn't going to kill myself.
But I now sped off the road, which simply ran straight forward and out into the ocean. The car hit and sank into the water, but my view stayed just above the water. The white title "FINE" might have come up before my view of the water.
Dream #2
There was a preview for some black and white movie on TV. The view was just of one set. The set was like a miniature model of a mountain range. I'd suppose it was supposed to be the landscape of a foreign planet. People in Lost in Space style outfits hid behind the mini-mountains and would pop out as the narrator mentioned them or parts of the story related to them. Most of them also held "laser-guns," the barrels of which ended with two wholes which faced away from one another.
The holes had lights coming out of them as if a shiny, reflective, metal disc were in each hole. Even though the preview was black and white, I knew one light was green and one was red.
The narrator said the movie was about a young boy who was killing everybody on this island (?). The people had to find out who the boy was before he killed everybody. Even though they all knew him, and likely knew he was killing everybody, they didn't know who he was. The narrator said, "But imagine their surprise as they slowly discover that everyone in the group... is an exile!"
Even though I had been watching this preview on TV, I now felt the boy pointing his gun at me. One color was good, and one color was bad. I felt the light of a color on me, but I couldn't tell which color it was. I hoped it wasn't the bad color.
I was now outside a house with a group of people. The land before the house (and possibly as far as the eye could see) was barren, turned soil, probably a deepish red. The sky was misty white. We were all something like shipwreck survivors washed up on this island.
We were doing well, obviously well enough to have built regular houses. We were now working on a wall-sized grid of shelves, like bookshelves. Something facing the shelves allowed me to climb up and watch people as they sat on shelves, somehow working on those shelves.
At or near the top of the shelves were two women. One was a black-haired woman with tan skin. She wore a black leotard and grey sweatpants. She was known for being in excellent shape, but I thought she was a little heavy. I looked closer at her body and though, Well, maybe she's just muscly. The woman sat with her legs together and straight out in front of her. She had her head down to her knees.
The other woman, middle-aged, fattish, blonde, stood over the brunette, behind her, massaging the woman's back. I thought at first that the women were lovers. But the brunette kept talking about some man she wanted to be with. The blonde woman would say slightly encouraging things to the brunette but not mean any of it. I could tell that the blonde woman was in love with the brunette and was trying to keep the brunette from ever finding love -- unless the brunette found love with the blonde woman.
I descended before the shelves. I saw how some of the shelves were of fake wood, while others were of glass, like coffee table glass. I stood behind the shelves, before the house, looking through the shelves and out at the land. There were other people working nearby. Somewhere out in the distance was the grey sea.
I thought more "exiles" were coming. I thought, It seems pretty obvious we're all exiles. That's how each new person is introduced to the group. He can't help it. Why did the narrator say it would come as such a shock? It may have occurred to me then that the shock would be, not to us, but to a group of city dwellers who lived, we would soon find, on another part of this island.
Dream #3
My old friend R and I had gotten in a fight. He placed himself in a situation where I woudn't be able to find him. I didn't care. I was leaving.I walked out of some building. I was then walking out of a forest and onto a highway on a flat, wide, open field. The lanes into and out of the forest were divided by a grassy median.
I was eagerly heading out of the forest when, somehow, R, on the lanes heading into the forest, caught my attention. R sat on a big, wide motorcycle parked on the left side of the road.
I was annoyed that just as I was getting away, R ad come back. I knew I couldn't leave R out here alone, and obviously his motorcycle was broken. He needed help. I crossed to the other lanes on some connecting path paved with asphalt.
I was now down in an underground passageway like a subway. Some passages were regular sized. Other passages were so narrow I had to crawl through them. Eventually I got to a stairway which appeared to go up above ground.
All this time I heard R and me having a conversation. I asked R why his fiancee L had to pick on me all the time. R said, "Well, didn't it inspire you to do better things?"
Dream #1
I sat in a car like a limo with an Indian man. I sat in a seat the back of which was to the back of the front seat. I faced the Indian man as he sat in the normal back seat. We both sat on the passenger's side. I was exploring something business related to the man. I spoke in a mildly (not overtly) condescending way which I found annoying but which I couldn't control. At some point I finally managed to break off my annoying speech.
Outside, over a deserty sprawl of short building roofs along a wide road sped three smallish, sleek jets painted white with blue and red stripes. I called out to the Indian man to look. The man missed them, having barely looked for them. But now three more sped by. This time the man saw them. But he didn't seem impressed. He said something like, "Yeah, I've seen that before. Interesting."
But I was still excited. I said, "They have an Air Force base down there!" I pointed back over my left (?) shoulder. I might have called the base Kirtland.
The man might have said something like, "Yeah, I know. They fly the XXXXX there." I imagined the top half of a silvery craft. I tried to determine what it was. I settled on an F-4 Phantom.
I might now have been driving the car. I was on a high stretch of highway that curved around to the right, probably as it went over the ocean. could see the ocean sky, but none of the ocean.
I was a man who was going to kill himself. I had been through some ordeal which I may have visualized as I drove. Everybody thought I had put myself through the ordeal expressly so I could kill myself at some point during it. But I hadn't killed myself. Now everybody, even I, thought I wasn't going to kill myself.
But I now sped off the road, which simply ran straight forward and out into the ocean. The car hit and sank into the water, but my view stayed just above the water. The white title "FINE" might have come up before my view of the water.
Dream #2
There was a preview for some black and white movie on TV. The view was just of one set. The set was like a miniature model of a mountain range. I'd suppose it was supposed to be the landscape of a foreign planet. People in Lost in Space style outfits hid behind the mini-mountains and would pop out as the narrator mentioned them or parts of the story related to them. Most of them also held "laser-guns," the barrels of which ended with two wholes which faced away from one another.
The holes had lights coming out of them as if a shiny, reflective, metal disc were in each hole. Even though the preview was black and white, I knew one light was green and one was red.
The narrator said the movie was about a young boy who was killing everybody on this island (?). The people had to find out who the boy was before he killed everybody. Even though they all knew him, and likely knew he was killing everybody, they didn't know who he was. The narrator said, "But imagine their surprise as they slowly discover that everyone in the group... is an exile!"
Even though I had been watching this preview on TV, I now felt the boy pointing his gun at me. One color was good, and one color was bad. I felt the light of a color on me, but I couldn't tell which color it was. I hoped it wasn't the bad color.
I was now outside a house with a group of people. The land before the house (and possibly as far as the eye could see) was barren, turned soil, probably a deepish red. The sky was misty white. We were all something like shipwreck survivors washed up on this island.
We were doing well, obviously well enough to have built regular houses. We were now working on a wall-sized grid of shelves, like bookshelves. Something facing the shelves allowed me to climb up and watch people as they sat on shelves, somehow working on those shelves.
At or near the top of the shelves were two women. One was a black-haired woman with tan skin. She wore a black leotard and grey sweatpants. She was known for being in excellent shape, but I thought she was a little heavy. I looked closer at her body and though, Well, maybe she's just muscly. The woman sat with her legs together and straight out in front of her. She had her head down to her knees.
The other woman, middle-aged, fattish, blonde, stood over the brunette, behind her, massaging the woman's back. I thought at first that the women were lovers. But the brunette kept talking about some man she wanted to be with. The blonde woman would say slightly encouraging things to the brunette but not mean any of it. I could tell that the blonde woman was in love with the brunette and was trying to keep the brunette from ever finding love -- unless the brunette found love with the blonde woman.
I descended before the shelves. I saw how some of the shelves were of fake wood, while others were of glass, like coffee table glass. I stood behind the shelves, before the house, looking through the shelves and out at the land. There were other people working nearby. Somewhere out in the distance was the grey sea.
I thought more "exiles" were coming. I thought, It seems pretty obvious we're all exiles. That's how each new person is introduced to the group. He can't help it. Why did the narrator say it would come as such a shock? It may have occurred to me then that the shock would be, not to us, but to a group of city dwellers who lived, we would soon find, on another part of this island.
Dream #3
My old friend R and I had gotten in a fight. He placed himself in a situation where I woudn't be able to find him. I didn't care. I was leaving.I walked out of some building. I was then walking out of a forest and onto a highway on a flat, wide, open field. The lanes into and out of the forest were divided by a grassy median.
I was eagerly heading out of the forest when, somehow, R, on the lanes heading into the forest, caught my attention. R sat on a big, wide motorcycle parked on the left side of the road.
I was annoyed that just as I was getting away, R ad come back. I knew I couldn't leave R out here alone, and obviously his motorcycle was broken. He needed help. I crossed to the other lanes on some connecting path paved with asphalt.
I was now down in an underground passageway like a subway. Some passages were regular sized. Other passages were so narrow I had to crawl through them. Eventually I got to a stairway which appeared to go up above ground.
All this time I heard R and me having a conversation. I asked R why his fiancee L had to pick on me all the time. R said, "Well, didn't it inspire you to do better things?"
Saturday, February 2, 2013
(11/30/07) a dirty movie; there for a friend; satanic pariah
(Entered in paper journal at 5:20 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I was in a bedroom with a friend. The friend (R?) was making a movie. There were two or three pool tables with white sheets over them. They were "beds." My friend wanted me to lay down on one of them and wrap myself in the sheets. But I looked at the "beds." They were all covered in dead insects and residue.
I yelled at my friend, "You just want me to lay down in all this filth!" My friend said that wasn't what he wanted. I said, "Well, why don't you lay down on the beds."
He said, "Oh, no. I'm not doing that." (I think the story of the film was to be of a guy who lifts himself from this bed as if it were his death bed, although he is still going to die.)
I was now out in a living room. There were a few people milling around, as if getting ready to shoot a scene in a movie. One guy sat in a corner by the window. He was kind of big, wearing winter clothes. He held a flyer for some rock band or big party -- an 8 1/2" by 11" black and white page. I knew that in the scene this man would give another man this flyer. This would set off a weird chain of events.
Suddenly I remembered another movie I had seen or been a part of. It was very similar. I was disappointed that there was so little originality nowadays that almost the exact same plot could be used twice. I muttered, "It's the exact same thing!" A few people were offended. I walked out of the house. I was on a big city street.
Dream #2
I walked through a series of alleyways or quiet streets in a big city. The roads and sidewalks were cobblestone. The buildings were redbrick. I was on the phone (right ear) with my friend R's fiancee L.
L was telling me how she was working to help kids take tests. She had had to take the SAT as a qualification. She passed and had done very well. I was happy for her. I was happy she had called to tell me how she had done. I thought, How could I have gone so long without being there to care for L when good things happen?
Dream #3
I sat with a bunch of people from the volunteer organization New York Cares in a yellow-walled room that was filled with natural light. We sat at a long, wood table. We were at our volunteer event, but were talking about the event or an event as if it had occurred a couple days ago.
I mentioned a girl who was a little too goody-two-shoes for my tastes. I sneeringly mentioned how she had pulled a Bible out of her backpack on a number of occasions. The other people had been laughing as we spoke, having a good time. But when I sneered about the woman's Bible, everybody stopped laughing. They said, "Here at New York Cares, we aren't supposed to care about how other people express their religious beliefs."
I said, "You're right. After all, I've brought the Satanic Bible to work occasionally." Now people were really upset. I knew I would be asked not to come back to New York Cares.
I looked at a card in an envelope. It was like mock-parchment, maybe 3" by 5". It had fancy writing on it. It was from my mom or one of my grandmothers. It was a message about how well I had been doing in my life.
Dream #1
I was in a bedroom with a friend. The friend (R?) was making a movie. There were two or three pool tables with white sheets over them. They were "beds." My friend wanted me to lay down on one of them and wrap myself in the sheets. But I looked at the "beds." They were all covered in dead insects and residue.
I yelled at my friend, "You just want me to lay down in all this filth!" My friend said that wasn't what he wanted. I said, "Well, why don't you lay down on the beds."
He said, "Oh, no. I'm not doing that." (I think the story of the film was to be of a guy who lifts himself from this bed as if it were his death bed, although he is still going to die.)
I was now out in a living room. There were a few people milling around, as if getting ready to shoot a scene in a movie. One guy sat in a corner by the window. He was kind of big, wearing winter clothes. He held a flyer for some rock band or big party -- an 8 1/2" by 11" black and white page. I knew that in the scene this man would give another man this flyer. This would set off a weird chain of events.
Suddenly I remembered another movie I had seen or been a part of. It was very similar. I was disappointed that there was so little originality nowadays that almost the exact same plot could be used twice. I muttered, "It's the exact same thing!" A few people were offended. I walked out of the house. I was on a big city street.
Dream #2
I walked through a series of alleyways or quiet streets in a big city. The roads and sidewalks were cobblestone. The buildings were redbrick. I was on the phone (right ear) with my friend R's fiancee L.
L was telling me how she was working to help kids take tests. She had had to take the SAT as a qualification. She passed and had done very well. I was happy for her. I was happy she had called to tell me how she had done. I thought, How could I have gone so long without being there to care for L when good things happen?
Dream #3
I sat with a bunch of people from the volunteer organization New York Cares in a yellow-walled room that was filled with natural light. We sat at a long, wood table. We were at our volunteer event, but were talking about the event or an event as if it had occurred a couple days ago.
I mentioned a girl who was a little too goody-two-shoes for my tastes. I sneeringly mentioned how she had pulled a Bible out of her backpack on a number of occasions. The other people had been laughing as we spoke, having a good time. But when I sneered about the woman's Bible, everybody stopped laughing. They said, "Here at New York Cares, we aren't supposed to care about how other people express their religious beliefs."
I said, "You're right. After all, I've brought the Satanic Bible to work occasionally." Now people were really upset. I knew I would be asked not to come back to New York Cares.
I looked at a card in an envelope. It was like mock-parchment, maybe 3" by 5". It had fancy writing on it. It was from my mom or one of my grandmothers. It was a message about how well I had been doing in my life.
Friday, February 1, 2013
(12/9/07) deadly friends; las vegas descent
(Entered in paper journal at 9:25 AM at Connecticut Muffin in Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I stood on a subway platform with my old friend R and his fiancee L. The platform was very busy, but it was wide, with tall ceilings. I was waiting for a Q-train. As one train pulled up, R started talking about how he and L did something really cool that I could have been a part of if I hadn't stopped being friends with him.
The train that pulled up was an N-train. It was heading in my direction. But I needed a Q-train. Through the windows of the train I saw that my train was coming, but on the other platform. I ran off from R and L, kind of happy not to have to listen to R's talking anymore.
I didn't know if I could make my train. The stairwell up, which I would need to take to cross and get down to the other platform, was full, mostly of Hispanic people, mainly Mexican. Somehow, though I managed to jump about three-quarters of the way up the stairways side and grab the handrails.
I waited until a group of people made an opening for me. Then I flipped myself onto the stairs. The handrails were a softish-feeling aluminum.
I quickly ran to the other stairway and jumped down over its side. I got into the train (which appeared to be packed with people) right as the doors were closing.
I walked through the car. It was almost completely empty. It was filthy, and it had a weird smell, as if a homeless person were in it.
Three little Hispanic kids ran around in the train. I thought they were chasing around me, trying to taunt me in the guise of playing an innocent game with one another.
The kids' mother lay on one of the long benches (grey benches). She was covered entirely by a (pink?) blanket. Somewhere near her was a dried patch of blood. I probably stepped in the blood. It was sticky. I headed quickly into the next car, more out of a sense of indignant disgust than fear.
I was in a very dark room. My mom was somewhere, possibly even just talking to me by cell phone. I may have stood by a desk, kicking little cubes of safety glass out of the ridges of a green car-floor-mat.
My mom told me about the last time she'd seen my brother. My brother's friends had done something bad to him. My mom told my brother something like he shouldn't be surprised that these things happen if he keeps making friends with people like that. My mom said that my brother agreed and didn't seem too violently upset.
But my brother ended up found (?) in some place like an area by the side of a road or in a field. His mouth had been taped, my mom said. I could "see"/"feel" my brother's mouth and eyes taped over with silver duct tape.
My mom said it had later been determined that my brother had conspired to have himself killed by a friend. He had gone to a friend's house and had a drug mixture called a "coke XXXXX" ("coke set"?). He passed out. He then had his mouth taped by his friend so that he couldn't breathe -- as if the drug mixture impaired my brother's ability to breathe through his nose. His friend then took him and dumped him somewhere (roadside or field) to die.
Dream #2
I was in a commercial airplane. We seemed to be landing. I could see a lot, as if the windows on the plane were enormous. Suddenly we pulled up steeply. We ascended quickly, to a level where the blue sky became dark indigo. Big chunks of snow flew all around us. I laughed with glee. It was like I could feel the snow.
We now descended in Las Vegas. Somehow we landed on the road heading to the toll booth for cars. We pulled into the toll booth as far as we could.
A van in the toll booth pulled backwards and crashed into us. Its whole back end was smashed. I worried that the driver would sue us. But I realized he couldn't: he couldn't blame us for such a stupid action of his own. He must have realized that. He drove off to our side and away from us without even going into the airport.
I was at my dad's house. My stepmother was there and was somehow also my mom. I was trying to get out of the house and go somewhere. But my mom/stepmother kept threatening me, saying that if I left, she would make me very sorry. She also tried to convince me that, for now, this was where I wanted to be.
Dream #1
I stood on a subway platform with my old friend R and his fiancee L. The platform was very busy, but it was wide, with tall ceilings. I was waiting for a Q-train. As one train pulled up, R started talking about how he and L did something really cool that I could have been a part of if I hadn't stopped being friends with him.
The train that pulled up was an N-train. It was heading in my direction. But I needed a Q-train. Through the windows of the train I saw that my train was coming, but on the other platform. I ran off from R and L, kind of happy not to have to listen to R's talking anymore.
I didn't know if I could make my train. The stairwell up, which I would need to take to cross and get down to the other platform, was full, mostly of Hispanic people, mainly Mexican. Somehow, though I managed to jump about three-quarters of the way up the stairways side and grab the handrails.
I waited until a group of people made an opening for me. Then I flipped myself onto the stairs. The handrails were a softish-feeling aluminum.
I quickly ran to the other stairway and jumped down over its side. I got into the train (which appeared to be packed with people) right as the doors were closing.
I walked through the car. It was almost completely empty. It was filthy, and it had a weird smell, as if a homeless person were in it.
Three little Hispanic kids ran around in the train. I thought they were chasing around me, trying to taunt me in the guise of playing an innocent game with one another.
The kids' mother lay on one of the long benches (grey benches). She was covered entirely by a (pink?) blanket. Somewhere near her was a dried patch of blood. I probably stepped in the blood. It was sticky. I headed quickly into the next car, more out of a sense of indignant disgust than fear.
I was in a very dark room. My mom was somewhere, possibly even just talking to me by cell phone. I may have stood by a desk, kicking little cubes of safety glass out of the ridges of a green car-floor-mat.
My mom told me about the last time she'd seen my brother. My brother's friends had done something bad to him. My mom told my brother something like he shouldn't be surprised that these things happen if he keeps making friends with people like that. My mom said that my brother agreed and didn't seem too violently upset.
But my brother ended up found (?) in some place like an area by the side of a road or in a field. His mouth had been taped, my mom said. I could "see"/"feel" my brother's mouth and eyes taped over with silver duct tape.
My mom said it had later been determined that my brother had conspired to have himself killed by a friend. He had gone to a friend's house and had a drug mixture called a "coke XXXXX" ("coke set"?). He passed out. He then had his mouth taped by his friend so that he couldn't breathe -- as if the drug mixture impaired my brother's ability to breathe through his nose. His friend then took him and dumped him somewhere (roadside or field) to die.
Dream #2
I was in a commercial airplane. We seemed to be landing. I could see a lot, as if the windows on the plane were enormous. Suddenly we pulled up steeply. We ascended quickly, to a level where the blue sky became dark indigo. Big chunks of snow flew all around us. I laughed with glee. It was like I could feel the snow.
We now descended in Las Vegas. Somehow we landed on the road heading to the toll booth for cars. We pulled into the toll booth as far as we could.
A van in the toll booth pulled backwards and crashed into us. Its whole back end was smashed. I worried that the driver would sue us. But I realized he couldn't: he couldn't blame us for such a stupid action of his own. He must have realized that. He drove off to our side and away from us without even going into the airport.
I was at my dad's house. My stepmother was there and was somehow also my mom. I was trying to get out of the house and go somewhere. But my mom/stepmother kept threatening me, saying that if I left, she would make me very sorry. She also tried to convince me that, for now, this was where I wanted to be.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
(1/12/08) lesbian doll sex; seduced by old friends; steamhippie
(Entered in paper journal at 8:45 AM at Flying Saucer cafe in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I was in a helicopter or watching a man in a helicopter. He was talking about how he was flying a plane. The helicopter was very small, maybe the size of a VW Beetle. When the man got to a certain height he said he would now make his descent.
I now saw from the man's point of view. I had wondered how something was filming (or taping) him from the air. Now I "saw" (where?) a jet of some sort, which I assumed was the vehicle on which the camera was positioned.
I now saw as if I were piloting the helicopter. I was descending much more quickly than I thought a helicopter should descend. I descended over a green field which seemed also to have some construction activity on it. I knew I was going to crash. The helicopter crashed.
I stood before a bus bench on a gritty city sidewalk. The helicopter was crashed, lodged between the bench and a small tree. The helicopter was like an oversize toy, maybe a couple feet wide and a few feet long. Its blades were stubby. They were still spinning around, stutteringly. The helicopter, which had been white, was now charcoaled over with smoke and burns.
My family stood behind me, talking. It was my grandfather, my mother, my great grandmother, and a couple other people. I knelt before a reddish-pink, velvety armchair that stood out on the sidewalk.
There were two dolls. They were crudely made, like third-rate Barbie dolls with almost Raggedy-Ann type heads.They had no clothes on. The doll on the left had no limbs.
I wanted to imagine the dolls as lesbians. I wanted to see them having a lesbian relationship. Bu I didn't want to move them with my own hands -- it seemed like that would make them "not really lesbians."
But then I noticed that the doll with limbs was geared. It could make simple movements if switched on or wound up. I may possibly have wound the doll up by spinning a white, toothed wheel which stuck out of its back, saw-wheel-style. It now rolled its head right and forward, as well as possibly shifting its whole body onto its right side and then back onto its back.
I sat the limbed doll right next to the limbless doll and propped the limbless doll on its left side. In this way, it looked like the limbed doll was purposely kissing the limbless doll and then moving its body up against the limbless doll's body. I was turned on by this.
My family was all heading into a building just off from the sidewalk. They got my attention so I could leave, too. My nephews were there, too. I realized these toys might have belonged to one of my nephews. I felt bad for having played such an obscene game with the toys.
As my grandfather walked past me he saw the toys in their movement. He suspected I had made the toys make these movements, but he wasn't sure. He looked at me with a slight disgust. I felt even worse than I had before. I tried to think how I could cover my act.
I walked toward the doorway. It was like a doorless entry, very small, like for a bedroom doorway. It was set in a kind of rundown building. The inside was, by my view from the outside, very dark. I could hardly see my family members once they entered.
Dream #2
I was in a large, dim bedroom with my old friend R and his fiancee L. We might have finished watching a movie on TV. I lay on one bed and R and L lay on another.
We were now getting ready for bed. I felt very tired and grainy-eyed. R got out of bed to turn something (the TV?) off at the other end of the room.
L sat up, kneeling in a way so her knees faced me. She wore a red, shimmery camisole or dress that looked too dressy for being pajamas. She had it pulled up enough on her legs so I could see the crotch of her panties, which were lavender and satiny. She looked at me to let me know she had let me see her panties on purpose.
When that didn't turn me on enough to make me go for her, L lay stomach-down on the bed, facing away from me and toward R. She pulled her "dress" up so that her whole bottom was exposed to me.
I knew L was trying to seduce me, and I was turned on. But I didn't really want to be with L. I also knew that if I was with L, I'd have to be with R, too. I didn't want that.
It was now like we all lay on the same bed. This is the way it had to be when I spent the night. The lights were probably all off. I lay on the left side of the bed, my head to the head of the bed. R and L lay with their heads to the foot of the bed, to my right. R lay next to me, and L to R.
I could tell that R was trying to seduce me. R thought that if I lay in the same bed as he, he still had a chance at seducing me. But I did my best to stay laying opposite R and L and to avoid touching them as much as possible.
Now I lay with my body entirely against the headboard. Something seemed very strange about the bed. It was like R and L were coiled around each other in an elliptical hollow on the bottom half of the bed. (The image in my head now reminds me texturally of the "Thou affrightest me with dreams" drawing in Blake's Job series.)
Dream #3
I sat near a booth-like shop on a small chunk of sidewalk (like Astor Place) in a downtown-like area. It was a sunny, but possibly cold, day. I sat on a bunch of blankets. I may possibly also have been covered in blankets. I was very bleary-eyed.
The shop-booth, to my right, was hung with random (motley) fabrics, which gave it a rundown, but very warm, look. There might have been steam coming from outside the shop, which made sitting outside it very pleasant in the cold weather.
I was, or was suspected of being, either a crackhead bum or an undercover cop posing as a crackhead bum. I may alternately have been myself and a young, black man. To my left, in the sunny street, was a big van, which might have been a police van. I tried not to appear to be associated with the van. I looked back behind my head. There was a tall building of green, reflective glass.
At first there was some shady activity going on between two black people in front of the motley shop. I tried not to pay attention to it. Now a black man, kind of strange-looking, like a hippie wearing a biker jacket, was asking something to the people in the shop, who were Chinese. The man produced a camera from his pocket. I understood the man just wanted someone to take a photo of him in front of this shop.
The man turned first to hand his camera to an Asian man or woman, who sat, like me, in front of the shop, covered in blankets. The Asian person was fattish, slightly worn out, with thickly scraggly hair. He/she wore a black biker jacket. But he/she could hardly hold the camera, let alone snap a photo: his/her fingernails were long and curled so that his/her hands were pretty much useless.
The man handed the camera to someone else, maybe to me. The person took a digital photo of the man bending over some kind of product, behind strips of curtain-fabric hung with globes. Steam might have been coming up around his face. The man wore a bandanna which I thought was mystical. He posed as if he were smelling and enjoying the steam.
The picture had been taken. I saw the image on the camera-back's screen. Seeing the photos, and how the man obviously took this experience to be so mystical and important, I really liked the man. I didn't want to get too close to the man, still, because I was pretty sure if I showed too much of my personality. I maintained a servile attitude toward the man.
I now saw one of my nephews, possibly my oldest nephew, but maybe from when he was five years old. He sat on the blanket by me. I thought, I need to act stronger in front of my nephew. I need to make him feel secure. So I did my best to act as cheerful and confident as possible.
Dream #1
I was in a helicopter or watching a man in a helicopter. He was talking about how he was flying a plane. The helicopter was very small, maybe the size of a VW Beetle. When the man got to a certain height he said he would now make his descent.
I now saw from the man's point of view. I had wondered how something was filming (or taping) him from the air. Now I "saw" (where?) a jet of some sort, which I assumed was the vehicle on which the camera was positioned.
I now saw as if I were piloting the helicopter. I was descending much more quickly than I thought a helicopter should descend. I descended over a green field which seemed also to have some construction activity on it. I knew I was going to crash. The helicopter crashed.
I stood before a bus bench on a gritty city sidewalk. The helicopter was crashed, lodged between the bench and a small tree. The helicopter was like an oversize toy, maybe a couple feet wide and a few feet long. Its blades were stubby. They were still spinning around, stutteringly. The helicopter, which had been white, was now charcoaled over with smoke and burns.
My family stood behind me, talking. It was my grandfather, my mother, my great grandmother, and a couple other people. I knelt before a reddish-pink, velvety armchair that stood out on the sidewalk.
There were two dolls. They were crudely made, like third-rate Barbie dolls with almost Raggedy-Ann type heads.They had no clothes on. The doll on the left had no limbs.
I wanted to imagine the dolls as lesbians. I wanted to see them having a lesbian relationship. Bu I didn't want to move them with my own hands -- it seemed like that would make them "not really lesbians."
But then I noticed that the doll with limbs was geared. It could make simple movements if switched on or wound up. I may possibly have wound the doll up by spinning a white, toothed wheel which stuck out of its back, saw-wheel-style. It now rolled its head right and forward, as well as possibly shifting its whole body onto its right side and then back onto its back.
I sat the limbed doll right next to the limbless doll and propped the limbless doll on its left side. In this way, it looked like the limbed doll was purposely kissing the limbless doll and then moving its body up against the limbless doll's body. I was turned on by this.
My family was all heading into a building just off from the sidewalk. They got my attention so I could leave, too. My nephews were there, too. I realized these toys might have belonged to one of my nephews. I felt bad for having played such an obscene game with the toys.
As my grandfather walked past me he saw the toys in their movement. He suspected I had made the toys make these movements, but he wasn't sure. He looked at me with a slight disgust. I felt even worse than I had before. I tried to think how I could cover my act.
I walked toward the doorway. It was like a doorless entry, very small, like for a bedroom doorway. It was set in a kind of rundown building. The inside was, by my view from the outside, very dark. I could hardly see my family members once they entered.
Dream #2
I was in a large, dim bedroom with my old friend R and his fiancee L. We might have finished watching a movie on TV. I lay on one bed and R and L lay on another.
We were now getting ready for bed. I felt very tired and grainy-eyed. R got out of bed to turn something (the TV?) off at the other end of the room.
L sat up, kneeling in a way so her knees faced me. She wore a red, shimmery camisole or dress that looked too dressy for being pajamas. She had it pulled up enough on her legs so I could see the crotch of her panties, which were lavender and satiny. She looked at me to let me know she had let me see her panties on purpose.
When that didn't turn me on enough to make me go for her, L lay stomach-down on the bed, facing away from me and toward R. She pulled her "dress" up so that her whole bottom was exposed to me.
I knew L was trying to seduce me, and I was turned on. But I didn't really want to be with L. I also knew that if I was with L, I'd have to be with R, too. I didn't want that.
It was now like we all lay on the same bed. This is the way it had to be when I spent the night. The lights were probably all off. I lay on the left side of the bed, my head to the head of the bed. R and L lay with their heads to the foot of the bed, to my right. R lay next to me, and L to R.
I could tell that R was trying to seduce me. R thought that if I lay in the same bed as he, he still had a chance at seducing me. But I did my best to stay laying opposite R and L and to avoid touching them as much as possible.
Now I lay with my body entirely against the headboard. Something seemed very strange about the bed. It was like R and L were coiled around each other in an elliptical hollow on the bottom half of the bed. (The image in my head now reminds me texturally of the "Thou affrightest me with dreams" drawing in Blake's Job series.)
Dream #3
I sat near a booth-like shop on a small chunk of sidewalk (like Astor Place) in a downtown-like area. It was a sunny, but possibly cold, day. I sat on a bunch of blankets. I may possibly also have been covered in blankets. I was very bleary-eyed.
The shop-booth, to my right, was hung with random (motley) fabrics, which gave it a rundown, but very warm, look. There might have been steam coming from outside the shop, which made sitting outside it very pleasant in the cold weather.
I was, or was suspected of being, either a crackhead bum or an undercover cop posing as a crackhead bum. I may alternately have been myself and a young, black man. To my left, in the sunny street, was a big van, which might have been a police van. I tried not to appear to be associated with the van. I looked back behind my head. There was a tall building of green, reflective glass.
At first there was some shady activity going on between two black people in front of the motley shop. I tried not to pay attention to it. Now a black man, kind of strange-looking, like a hippie wearing a biker jacket, was asking something to the people in the shop, who were Chinese. The man produced a camera from his pocket. I understood the man just wanted someone to take a photo of him in front of this shop.
The man turned first to hand his camera to an Asian man or woman, who sat, like me, in front of the shop, covered in blankets. The Asian person was fattish, slightly worn out, with thickly scraggly hair. He/she wore a black biker jacket. But he/she could hardly hold the camera, let alone snap a photo: his/her fingernails were long and curled so that his/her hands were pretty much useless.
The man handed the camera to someone else, maybe to me. The person took a digital photo of the man bending over some kind of product, behind strips of curtain-fabric hung with globes. Steam might have been coming up around his face. The man wore a bandanna which I thought was mystical. He posed as if he were smelling and enjoying the steam.
The picture had been taken. I saw the image on the camera-back's screen. Seeing the photos, and how the man obviously took this experience to be so mystical and important, I really liked the man. I didn't want to get too close to the man, still, because I was pretty sure if I showed too much of my personality. I maintained a servile attitude toward the man.
I now saw one of my nephews, possibly my oldest nephew, but maybe from when he was five years old. He sat on the blanket by me. I thought, I need to act stronger in front of my nephew. I need to make him feel secure. So I did my best to act as cheerful and confident as possible.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
(3/23/08) machine gun trampoline; suicidal woman; seeing old friends; zombie city fair
(Entered in paper journal at 9:08 AM at Starbucks on 43rd Street and Third Avenue in Manhattan.)
Dream #1
Possibly a vision of a man in a car. The man may have had no hands. Then a man on a ship, possibly talking on the phone about making a shipment of gold. The scene switched to the man on the other end of the line. He made some comment like, "You better make this shipment snatchy."
The man looked like a white crook from the 1970s. He wore a multicolored, striped suit. He was in some kind of crowded area, like a small warehouse. Behind him was a thin man at a desk, facing the wall, his back facing the man. The man at the desk wore an outfit like a policeman's uniform. He had close-cut, black hair. He may have been "played by" Tom Hanks. The first man and the Tom Hanks man were both cops on an undercover mission.
The first man hung up the phone and walked over to the Tom Hanks man, who said something in a gruff voice. I was impressed that Tom Hanks was using a voice so different from his natural voice.
The scene switched. The Tom Hanks man was now (also?) the man with the missing hand. The man was now only missing one hand, not two. A crocodile had bitten off the missing hand. The man was in a room which had water up to about knee-depth. The crocodile was swimming around in this room.
The man had a machine gun. He found the crocodile and fought it, yelling things like, "You want to try and take my other hand? Take this!" The man shoved the machine gun into the crocodile's mouth and began shooting.
There was now a scene like at a circus. There were two large trampolines. A clown was jumping on the left trampoline. He was doing "difficult tricks," which were mainly just jumping and twirling, no flips or anything.
The Tom Hanks man said, "Now they" (the people who funded the circus?) "want to make the trampoline fabric even thinner. But it's barely wide enough to prevent accidents even now!"
I looked at the trampolines. Instead of the fabric being the entire circle, there was just a thin stretch of fabric in the center. The rest of the circle was just a frame of springs.
The jumping clown landed just off the mat and fell in the springs. He untangled himself from the springs and stood on the ground. I knew that the clowns were already learning how to jump on fabric this thin and could actually learn how to jump on even thinner fabric.
Dream #2
It was the late 1800s or early 1900s. I stood before a woman like the main woman from the Francis Ford Coppola film Youth Without Youth. I held the woman's hands in mine. The woman's eyes seemed enormous somehow. The woman told me she wanted to kill herself.
Dream #3
I was at the house of my friend R and his wife L. We stood with something between us, something like a model of a spacecraft from a science fiction movie or even a long ship like a Viking vessel. I hadn't wanted to come to R and L's house, and I especially hadn't wanted to meet with R and L, but I'd had to retrieve something I'd left at their place.
I was speaking with R and L and acting cheerful. But I was upset that I'd even had to start speaking to them. I was leaving now. I walked down a straight, long flight of steps that got dimmer and dimmer, lit only by the light of R and L's apartment. Either R or L told me they hoped I would come back soon. I knew my feelings of obligation would probably make me come back.
Dream #4
I was traveling with a group of people. There were a few carloads of us. Zombies had overtaken America, presumably. We were driving from town to town, avoiding zombies as well as we could.
It was dark night. we were in an abandoned town. We were running low on supplies, but apparently we would take new supplies from each town. And even though we were running low on supplies, our cars were full of things we needed.
Some of us found the setup of a city fair. Some people in the group managed to turn on a lot of the rides. I stood outside the whole thing with a couple other people, watching the people ride the rides. The place was full of warmth and color. I thought, Let them have their fun. Things have been fun. They'll probably just get tougher. Let these people have fun while they can.
Suddenly jets flew at us from he horizon. The military spotted all our lights and thought we were zombies trying to lay some kind of strange trap. they dropped bombs on us. I didn't see the bombs. Instead I saw as if I were facing two people watching the bombs drop. I could tell the bombs had hit one or two of our cars. I felt a wave of despair. Not only did we just lose some of the things we needed; we also lost one or two of our only transportation sources.
Another series of bombs dropped. They hit the city fair. A final series of bombs destroyed a house from which we had hoped to gather supplies.
It was now daytime. We were driving through an abandoned (?) large city. We drove through an office park, past a long lawn-island, and through a multiple intersection of roads and building parking lots. We approached a building which may possibly have had an old courthouse look to it, though it may also have partly been a modern office building.
I thought about a police officer we had been dealing with -- a "Mr. (?) Simms." He might have been a zombie. But somehow we were also working with him to prevent ourselves from being thought of as zombies. I knew there would actually be trouble if we kept dealing with him.
I thought back to the last time we'd seen the officer. We'd dropped him off at a building like the courthouse. He'd been in a very weird state, almost like drunkenness. I was sure now that he had in fact then been becoming a zombie.
Dream #1
Possibly a vision of a man in a car. The man may have had no hands. Then a man on a ship, possibly talking on the phone about making a shipment of gold. The scene switched to the man on the other end of the line. He made some comment like, "You better make this shipment snatchy."
The man looked like a white crook from the 1970s. He wore a multicolored, striped suit. He was in some kind of crowded area, like a small warehouse. Behind him was a thin man at a desk, facing the wall, his back facing the man. The man at the desk wore an outfit like a policeman's uniform. He had close-cut, black hair. He may have been "played by" Tom Hanks. The first man and the Tom Hanks man were both cops on an undercover mission.
The first man hung up the phone and walked over to the Tom Hanks man, who said something in a gruff voice. I was impressed that Tom Hanks was using a voice so different from his natural voice.
The scene switched. The Tom Hanks man was now (also?) the man with the missing hand. The man was now only missing one hand, not two. A crocodile had bitten off the missing hand. The man was in a room which had water up to about knee-depth. The crocodile was swimming around in this room.
The man had a machine gun. He found the crocodile and fought it, yelling things like, "You want to try and take my other hand? Take this!" The man shoved the machine gun into the crocodile's mouth and began shooting.
There was now a scene like at a circus. There were two large trampolines. A clown was jumping on the left trampoline. He was doing "difficult tricks," which were mainly just jumping and twirling, no flips or anything.
The Tom Hanks man said, "Now they" (the people who funded the circus?) "want to make the trampoline fabric even thinner. But it's barely wide enough to prevent accidents even now!"
I looked at the trampolines. Instead of the fabric being the entire circle, there was just a thin stretch of fabric in the center. The rest of the circle was just a frame of springs.
The jumping clown landed just off the mat and fell in the springs. He untangled himself from the springs and stood on the ground. I knew that the clowns were already learning how to jump on fabric this thin and could actually learn how to jump on even thinner fabric.
Dream #2
It was the late 1800s or early 1900s. I stood before a woman like the main woman from the Francis Ford Coppola film Youth Without Youth. I held the woman's hands in mine. The woman's eyes seemed enormous somehow. The woman told me she wanted to kill herself.
Dream #3
I was at the house of my friend R and his wife L. We stood with something between us, something like a model of a spacecraft from a science fiction movie or even a long ship like a Viking vessel. I hadn't wanted to come to R and L's house, and I especially hadn't wanted to meet with R and L, but I'd had to retrieve something I'd left at their place.
I was speaking with R and L and acting cheerful. But I was upset that I'd even had to start speaking to them. I was leaving now. I walked down a straight, long flight of steps that got dimmer and dimmer, lit only by the light of R and L's apartment. Either R or L told me they hoped I would come back soon. I knew my feelings of obligation would probably make me come back.
Dream #4
I was traveling with a group of people. There were a few carloads of us. Zombies had overtaken America, presumably. We were driving from town to town, avoiding zombies as well as we could.
It was dark night. we were in an abandoned town. We were running low on supplies, but apparently we would take new supplies from each town. And even though we were running low on supplies, our cars were full of things we needed.
Some of us found the setup of a city fair. Some people in the group managed to turn on a lot of the rides. I stood outside the whole thing with a couple other people, watching the people ride the rides. The place was full of warmth and color. I thought, Let them have their fun. Things have been fun. They'll probably just get tougher. Let these people have fun while they can.
Suddenly jets flew at us from he horizon. The military spotted all our lights and thought we were zombies trying to lay some kind of strange trap. they dropped bombs on us. I didn't see the bombs. Instead I saw as if I were facing two people watching the bombs drop. I could tell the bombs had hit one or two of our cars. I felt a wave of despair. Not only did we just lose some of the things we needed; we also lost one or two of our only transportation sources.
Another series of bombs dropped. They hit the city fair. A final series of bombs destroyed a house from which we had hoped to gather supplies.
It was now daytime. We were driving through an abandoned (?) large city. We drove through an office park, past a long lawn-island, and through a multiple intersection of roads and building parking lots. We approached a building which may possibly have had an old courthouse look to it, though it may also have partly been a modern office building.
I thought about a police officer we had been dealing with -- a "Mr. (?) Simms." He might have been a zombie. But somehow we were also working with him to prevent ourselves from being thought of as zombies. I knew there would actually be trouble if we kept dealing with him.
I thought back to the last time we'd seen the officer. We'd dropped him off at a building like the courthouse. He'd been in a very weird state, almost like drunkenness. I was sure now that he had in fact then been becoming a zombie.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
(5/7/08) tarot drones; the pathetic cat; "no clothes! no clothes!"
Dream #1
I was on a gigantic stairway with a group of people. The steps were wide and shallow, probably carpeted in red. The light was warm and incandescent. We were all using some kind of joystick or remote to control either a character in a video game or a machine in an area like the one we were in. A teacher was telling us how to use the machine.
I got up to a point where the stairs turned left. The steps continued up to a nice hallway with chandeliers. I turned around, to look back down the steps. The teacher told me not to turn my head too quickly, as that would make the thing I was controlling lose its balance.
I could now see as if I were looking at a screen through the video game character's/machine's eyes. The machine looked like a machine from Star Wars, with two log legs and a box-like cabin on top. It was silvery grey, maybe as tall as a person. Its purpose was to wander through this space in search of some kind of secret or special material.
The machine got to the foot of the steps. It turned right, possibly around the corner of a stone wall, and faced a bridge (still inside this building) which was wide and made of flat, yellowish stones. All along the entrance to the bridge were yellow and blue poker chips. I knew they were the secret material and they stood for money.
I bent down (as if I were in the game and was now a person and not a machine) and put my hands on top of the chips. As I did, they disappeared. I told myself not to pick up all the chips, because I couldn't slow myself down. There would be plenty of other opportunities to get more chips during my travels.
I now saw a thinnish, Asian man walk around a corner to a quiet area with cobbled floors and a brick wall. The cobbles were reddish and uneven. The man had grey and black hair and wore a flannel shirt and a tan vest. He sat down on the ground and started playing with something, possibly cards.
Now I was where the man had been, and I was playing with the cards. I had laid the cards face-down, some on the ground, and some on a box. I was now turning them face-up. After having turned up one or two cards, I began trying to guess what each next card would be before I turned it up. But I kept guessing incorrectly.
The cards were like playing cards, but the patterns of their pips were very strange. For instance, one card had a very thin rectangle in its center and in the rectangle were three red shapes, like spades (?) or diamonds. This was either an ace or a three -- I didn't really know which!
A couple men walked out through a door behind me and to my left, then past me on my right. One of them might have been my boss BS. One of them commented, "You're trying to tell your future?"
I felt ashamed because it did look like that was what I was doing. I looked down to the cards. They now looked like tarot cards, except the images were very vague, as if they were showing pink clouds or green sea.
I said something like, "Well, if I am, it isn't working! I haven't gotten anything right!" This was supposed to show that I didn't believe anything like tarot cards could be real.
I stood up to follow the men. We walked out to a place that looked like the outdoors, with cobbled sidewalks and maybe some building fronts, possibly on a muggy, sunny day. There was only one man now. He looked like JH, one of my bosses from an Americorps project I did in 2002. The man kept drifting farther and farther away from me.
The man said some weird quote that sounded vaguely, but not quite, like a common quote, like "Trust the enemy; he's your boss." This quote was apparently pretty widely employed as a cap to conversations made regarding things not going smoothly at work or in the government, etc.
I thought the man's statement was cheesy, but I said something sarcastic to sound like I cynically agreed, like, "Well, that always gets us by pretty good, doesn't it?"
The man chuckled as he disappeared into the distance.
I stood in a suburban neighborhood on a summer day. I was at the top of a slightly sloped road. I walked down the slope as I "recalled" a group of people talking about an organization that claimed to have been against the Vietnam War but that did things which on further investigation actually supported the war.
I got to the bottom of the slope, the corner of the block, and turned right. There was a house just down the way and on my right. I could see the people inside, as if they were sitting in a playhouse.
I "recalled" how the people called the organization in question a word which was a derogatory combination of two words which would mean "to support" and "to denounce." The word began with either "gr" or "ga."
I turned the possible ways of combining the two words as I walked into a small, plastic playhouse. The walls of the playhouse were yellow. There might have been a plastic jack-o-lantern sitting on a brown, plastic table in front of me and to my left, right by the front door. I could see a dense curtain of leafs outside a small window to my left.
One or two people stood outside the house and closed me in. I was pretty sure the people had locked me in. But I hadn't been able to stop them: I'd been too preoccupied with getting the combinations of the two words in my head in the funniest and most derogatory way.
Dream #2
I was in the bedroom of what seemed to be a modern apartment in a city like New York. The carpet was grey, and the walls were white. There was one window stretching along the wall to my left. I sat on a wide and disheveled bed.
A weird animal caught my attention. At first it seemed like a little mouse. Then it was more like a fake (but living) animal made out of cotton balls or big tufts of polyester padding coated in patches of brownish paint. It was about as big as a rabbit and had black eyes.
The animal ran backward when it saw I was looking at it. It sood by a heating vent by the window-sill/wall. I patted on the bed, beckoning the animal to come near me. I didn't think the animal was cute, by any means, but I felt like it was intelligent. So I felt like I should treat the animal as if it were a cute domestic animal, so it would feel good about itself.
The animal jumped up on the bed with me. It became black-grey. It was telling me some kind of story about why it preferred not to be free to run around the house.
I now stood over a roughly four-foot-tall, gold-barred, domed birdcage in which the animal sat, as if crouched and defensively opposed to me. The floor of the cage was messy with paper and cloth.
I now stood on the other side of the room. I was on the right side of the bed. The cage had probably been on the left side. A woman, like my friend R's wife L (?) looked out a small window and was telling the story of how she and my friend R had picked up a cat that they really liked. As L told this story, an orange cat bit my right index finger harder and harder.
L said they had picked up one cat before, but that it had been no good. Then one night, in the pouring rain, as L and R were driving along, there was a black cat wearing white satin gloves on its forelegs. The cat looked like it was barely alive. It was emaciated and heaved long breaths, like it was having trouble breathing. As L told the story, I imagined a cat as tall as a human.
L said, "The cat looked so pathetic, almost like a pathetic human being. So we just had to take it home."
I noticed the orange cat, still biting my finger, was laughing at the story. L started laughing. too, about how pathetic the black cat had looked. At first I thought the cat was just laughing to mimic L's actions. But I was astounded to find that the cat could understand what L was saying.
The cat was laughing silently, in little, sneeze-like chuckles, and had loosened its grip on my finger. Then the cat stopped laughing. It had teary eyes, as if it had been laughing at a good memory of a dear, departed friend.
The cat then said, "I do love L's sense of humor, and I used to love being around her because of it. But then her dark side started showing. It really overtook her. It became too much for me to stay around her and watch her hurting herself all the time like this."
I looked for what the cat meant. I pulled the blanket off from the head of the bed. There was a tangle of clear, plastic tubes and brightly colored, plastic clips. I knew all this was a kind of drugging and torture system R used on L. At first L had just taken part in the drugging and torture game to please R. But now she was addicted to it. And now she wanted to get me addicted to it, too.
Dream #3
I stood naked in a house, before a curtained, sliding-glass door. The thin, white curtain billowed gently in the breeze, as if the door were open. I walked toward the curtain. A shortish, Hispanic or Asian woman pulled the curtain back to come into the house. It was dark outside.
I was ashamed of my nakedness. I hid myself behind the curtain. I tried to get the woman to go back outside so she wouldn't be offended by my nakedness and so I could go put on some clothes. I shouted something stupid like, "No! No! Go! No clothes! No clothes!" as if this woman could only understand very simple, halting English.
The woman just giggled and said something like, "No, no, come, come." She took my hands and pulled me toward a bedroom. As we got to the threshold, the woman, walking backward into the room, turned to her left (my right) so I couldn't see her. She kept hold of my hands. I might have thought that the woman was going to dress me herself.
I was on a gigantic stairway with a group of people. The steps were wide and shallow, probably carpeted in red. The light was warm and incandescent. We were all using some kind of joystick or remote to control either a character in a video game or a machine in an area like the one we were in. A teacher was telling us how to use the machine.
I got up to a point where the stairs turned left. The steps continued up to a nice hallway with chandeliers. I turned around, to look back down the steps. The teacher told me not to turn my head too quickly, as that would make the thing I was controlling lose its balance.
I could now see as if I were looking at a screen through the video game character's/machine's eyes. The machine looked like a machine from Star Wars, with two log legs and a box-like cabin on top. It was silvery grey, maybe as tall as a person. Its purpose was to wander through this space in search of some kind of secret or special material.
The machine got to the foot of the steps. It turned right, possibly around the corner of a stone wall, and faced a bridge (still inside this building) which was wide and made of flat, yellowish stones. All along the entrance to the bridge were yellow and blue poker chips. I knew they were the secret material and they stood for money.
I bent down (as if I were in the game and was now a person and not a machine) and put my hands on top of the chips. As I did, they disappeared. I told myself not to pick up all the chips, because I couldn't slow myself down. There would be plenty of other opportunities to get more chips during my travels.
I now saw a thinnish, Asian man walk around a corner to a quiet area with cobbled floors and a brick wall. The cobbles were reddish and uneven. The man had grey and black hair and wore a flannel shirt and a tan vest. He sat down on the ground and started playing with something, possibly cards.
Now I was where the man had been, and I was playing with the cards. I had laid the cards face-down, some on the ground, and some on a box. I was now turning them face-up. After having turned up one or two cards, I began trying to guess what each next card would be before I turned it up. But I kept guessing incorrectly.
The cards were like playing cards, but the patterns of their pips were very strange. For instance, one card had a very thin rectangle in its center and in the rectangle were three red shapes, like spades (?) or diamonds. This was either an ace or a three -- I didn't really know which!
A couple men walked out through a door behind me and to my left, then past me on my right. One of them might have been my boss BS. One of them commented, "You're trying to tell your future?"
I felt ashamed because it did look like that was what I was doing. I looked down to the cards. They now looked like tarot cards, except the images were very vague, as if they were showing pink clouds or green sea.
I said something like, "Well, if I am, it isn't working! I haven't gotten anything right!" This was supposed to show that I didn't believe anything like tarot cards could be real.
I stood up to follow the men. We walked out to a place that looked like the outdoors, with cobbled sidewalks and maybe some building fronts, possibly on a muggy, sunny day. There was only one man now. He looked like JH, one of my bosses from an Americorps project I did in 2002. The man kept drifting farther and farther away from me.
The man said some weird quote that sounded vaguely, but not quite, like a common quote, like "Trust the enemy; he's your boss." This quote was apparently pretty widely employed as a cap to conversations made regarding things not going smoothly at work or in the government, etc.
I thought the man's statement was cheesy, but I said something sarcastic to sound like I cynically agreed, like, "Well, that always gets us by pretty good, doesn't it?"
The man chuckled as he disappeared into the distance.
I stood in a suburban neighborhood on a summer day. I was at the top of a slightly sloped road. I walked down the slope as I "recalled" a group of people talking about an organization that claimed to have been against the Vietnam War but that did things which on further investigation actually supported the war.
I got to the bottom of the slope, the corner of the block, and turned right. There was a house just down the way and on my right. I could see the people inside, as if they were sitting in a playhouse.
I "recalled" how the people called the organization in question a word which was a derogatory combination of two words which would mean "to support" and "to denounce." The word began with either "gr" or "ga."
I turned the possible ways of combining the two words as I walked into a small, plastic playhouse. The walls of the playhouse were yellow. There might have been a plastic jack-o-lantern sitting on a brown, plastic table in front of me and to my left, right by the front door. I could see a dense curtain of leafs outside a small window to my left.
One or two people stood outside the house and closed me in. I was pretty sure the people had locked me in. But I hadn't been able to stop them: I'd been too preoccupied with getting the combinations of the two words in my head in the funniest and most derogatory way.
Dream #2
I was in the bedroom of what seemed to be a modern apartment in a city like New York. The carpet was grey, and the walls were white. There was one window stretching along the wall to my left. I sat on a wide and disheveled bed.
A weird animal caught my attention. At first it seemed like a little mouse. Then it was more like a fake (but living) animal made out of cotton balls or big tufts of polyester padding coated in patches of brownish paint. It was about as big as a rabbit and had black eyes.
The animal ran backward when it saw I was looking at it. It sood by a heating vent by the window-sill/wall. I patted on the bed, beckoning the animal to come near me. I didn't think the animal was cute, by any means, but I felt like it was intelligent. So I felt like I should treat the animal as if it were a cute domestic animal, so it would feel good about itself.
The animal jumped up on the bed with me. It became black-grey. It was telling me some kind of story about why it preferred not to be free to run around the house.
I now stood over a roughly four-foot-tall, gold-barred, domed birdcage in which the animal sat, as if crouched and defensively opposed to me. The floor of the cage was messy with paper and cloth.
I now stood on the other side of the room. I was on the right side of the bed. The cage had probably been on the left side. A woman, like my friend R's wife L (?) looked out a small window and was telling the story of how she and my friend R had picked up a cat that they really liked. As L told this story, an orange cat bit my right index finger harder and harder.
L said they had picked up one cat before, but that it had been no good. Then one night, in the pouring rain, as L and R were driving along, there was a black cat wearing white satin gloves on its forelegs. The cat looked like it was barely alive. It was emaciated and heaved long breaths, like it was having trouble breathing. As L told the story, I imagined a cat as tall as a human.
L said, "The cat looked so pathetic, almost like a pathetic human being. So we just had to take it home."
I noticed the orange cat, still biting my finger, was laughing at the story. L started laughing. too, about how pathetic the black cat had looked. At first I thought the cat was just laughing to mimic L's actions. But I was astounded to find that the cat could understand what L was saying.
The cat was laughing silently, in little, sneeze-like chuckles, and had loosened its grip on my finger. Then the cat stopped laughing. It had teary eyes, as if it had been laughing at a good memory of a dear, departed friend.
The cat then said, "I do love L's sense of humor, and I used to love being around her because of it. But then her dark side started showing. It really overtook her. It became too much for me to stay around her and watch her hurting herself all the time like this."
I looked for what the cat meant. I pulled the blanket off from the head of the bed. There was a tangle of clear, plastic tubes and brightly colored, plastic clips. I knew all this was a kind of drugging and torture system R used on L. At first L had just taken part in the drugging and torture game to please R. But now she was addicted to it. And now she wanted to get me addicted to it, too.
Dream #3
I stood naked in a house, before a curtained, sliding-glass door. The thin, white curtain billowed gently in the breeze, as if the door were open. I walked toward the curtain. A shortish, Hispanic or Asian woman pulled the curtain back to come into the house. It was dark outside.
I was ashamed of my nakedness. I hid myself behind the curtain. I tried to get the woman to go back outside so she wouldn't be offended by my nakedness and so I could go put on some clothes. I shouted something stupid like, "No! No! Go! No clothes! No clothes!" as if this woman could only understand very simple, halting English.
The woman just giggled and said something like, "No, no, come, come." She took my hands and pulled me toward a bedroom. As we got to the threshold, the woman, walking backward into the room, turned to her left (my right) so I couldn't see her. She kept hold of my hands. I might have thought that the woman was going to dress me herself.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
(12/21/08) L's sick mother; the land of mutated children
(Entered in paper journal at 12:08 PM at girlfriend H's apartment.)
Dream #1
I was inside an apartment. It was smallish, with grey carpet and pale lighting. It might have been early morning or late afternoon. I might have been all alone in the apartment.
My friend R's wife L walked in. Apparently the apartment belonged to R and L. I might have been in there, trying to get something while neither of them were there. But now L saw me. She went in and sat on her bed, which was (apparently) in the living room. The bed was all messy.
I asked L how she was doing. She seemed very mellow, almost depressed. She said she was fine. I asked her how her mom and dad were doing. She said, "Oh, my mom..."
I saw a picture in my head of a cartoon dad and mom at the very top of a greyish-green screen.
The mom popped out of the picture. I understood that this meant that L's mom was having health problems, or maybe that she had cancer.
I had to leave. L didn't want me to go, but, as bad as I felt for L's mom, I didn't want to have or start anymore contact with L or R.
I walked out the door. I wore both my shoes, but my right foot was also wrapped in a brown, plastic bag. I walked down a long, grey-painted, wooden stairway to a small parking lot/road that was bordered by a slightly wooded area. I knew R would be coming around soon. I wanted to be gone before he got here so I wouldn't have to see him. I may have walked another road.
Dream #2
I got onto a small airplane. The seats of the plane were arranged like a bus. The pilots got in. They sat in a seating area like bus drivers might sit in.
The plane began speeding up. The light outside was greyish like on a cloudy day. We coated past a landscape of full, green trees.
As the plane began taking off, I looked to my right, i.e. toward the front of the plane. The light outside was deep blue, like late afternoon, almost night. I saw through the pilots' windows. I thought, I've never been in a plane where you could actually see through the pilots' windows like this!
We passed through two sets of trees, which were arranged on either side of us like gates. We would scrape against the trees as we passed them. The trees may have been half-barren, not full. The horizon was a band of pale purple.
It was now daytime. The pilot was talking to some passengers in the front row as if he were a bus driver. I looked around. We were flying barely above street level, above a highway, following the highway's source. Then the plane was actually driving along on the highway. Finally, the plane had transformed into a regular bus, driving along the highway.
I thought, Well, maybe this is just for the first leg of our trip. I remembered having taken a bus once from Newark Airport to Allentown, Pennsylvania. I thought, Well, once we get to our next place we can take an actual airplane.
I was now skateboarding down the highway. The highway had a weird appearance, like it was smaller or cleaner than usual. The day was warm and bright. There was also a feeling along the highway like it was passing under bridges or just within range of barriers or enclosures, though there were grass slopes on either side of the road all the time. There were no cars. Instead there were kids, maybe teenagers, playing all through the street.
I tried to keep off to the left shoulder of the road. The shoulder was lined with tan bricks. My skateboard kept moving without any effort from me: I was going down a slope the whole way.
I was trying to avoid the kids because I didn't want to interrupt their fun, but also because I didn't want them to think I was a kid, too, and have them start bothering me. But eventually some kids did start to notice me. I skated over to the right shoulder of the road in hopes of avoiding them. But they followed me.
I got off my skateboard. I walked up onto the grass slope. Here, too, were kids in small groups, like picnic groups, playing here and there under the wide shade of the sparse trees.
I reached the top of the slope. The space was empty of trees, completely open to the clear, blue sky. All around me I saw rolling hills of grass, with small groups of kids playing everywhere.
I was being followed again by a group of kids who walked with a zombie-like slowness and will-lessness. I tried to avoid the kids. I walked to my right, toward a rocky cliff. Three zombie children cornered me at the cliff. They all looked like average, slightly troublemaking, white teenage boys. One wore a brown t-shirt.
I knew if I jumped off the cliff I'd die. I hadn't been afraid of the kids before: I just didn't want to be bothered by them. So I figured there was no use being afraid now. I might as well just see what they were planning to do.
But the kids didn't reach me. They may have stopped. The head of one of the zombie kids suddenly re-shaped. It puffed out into a grotesque circle, like out of a Garbage Pail Kids card. The kid seemed to be doing this in order to make me afraid. But I still wasn't afraid. Another kid expanded his head so that it grew a leg and an arm, both of which had a gross, rubbery appearance. I was trying to figure out what kind of disease these children had that was making their bodies do this.
I was now in a house or an apartment. This place may have been underground. The place was only half-lit, as if a few random lights in unseen rooms were throwing into the main room the only light the room had. The place was sparsely furnished but seemed cluttered nonetheless. There was a lot of activity, maybe from a lot of children running around. The place seemed more like a mental hospital than an apartment or house or even a school building.
At first I was floating, as if I were coming down a stairway and into the main room. I tried not to attract anybody's attention. I thought if anybody saw me and tried to connect with me, they'd give me whatever disease they had.
I floated through the main room (over an air-hockey table?) and into a very small, lit hallway. A couple kids ran out of a doorway to my left. As they ran past me they mutated themselves. One added limbs to his head the way the other had done. Another added bubbling lumps, two or three times the size of his actual head, to the back of his skull. A little girl came out and mutated her head so that it looked like a short body attached to a tall body at the neck, with the tall body in a pink dress and the short body in a blue dress.
Finally a woman came out of the room. She looked like Daryl Hannah's Pris character in the movie Blade Runner. She was very sexy and sleek. She wore a black and white striped tights costume and had spiky, pale blonde, almost white, hair. She herself was a mutation. But she was known as the "mother" of all these children. She had hypnotized them to be mischievous. But she was like a role model to them, so even if they weren't hypnotized, they probably would still be mischievous, if that was how she told them to be.
The woman touched me. I knew that since she touched me, I, too, would probably also start acting mischievously.
Dream #1
I was inside an apartment. It was smallish, with grey carpet and pale lighting. It might have been early morning or late afternoon. I might have been all alone in the apartment.
My friend R's wife L walked in. Apparently the apartment belonged to R and L. I might have been in there, trying to get something while neither of them were there. But now L saw me. She went in and sat on her bed, which was (apparently) in the living room. The bed was all messy.
I asked L how she was doing. She seemed very mellow, almost depressed. She said she was fine. I asked her how her mom and dad were doing. She said, "Oh, my mom..."
I saw a picture in my head of a cartoon dad and mom at the very top of a greyish-green screen.
The mom popped out of the picture. I understood that this meant that L's mom was having health problems, or maybe that she had cancer.
I had to leave. L didn't want me to go, but, as bad as I felt for L's mom, I didn't want to have or start anymore contact with L or R.
I walked out the door. I wore both my shoes, but my right foot was also wrapped in a brown, plastic bag. I walked down a long, grey-painted, wooden stairway to a small parking lot/road that was bordered by a slightly wooded area. I knew R would be coming around soon. I wanted to be gone before he got here so I wouldn't have to see him. I may have walked another road.
Dream #2
I got onto a small airplane. The seats of the plane were arranged like a bus. The pilots got in. They sat in a seating area like bus drivers might sit in.
The plane began speeding up. The light outside was greyish like on a cloudy day. We coated past a landscape of full, green trees.
As the plane began taking off, I looked to my right, i.e. toward the front of the plane. The light outside was deep blue, like late afternoon, almost night. I saw through the pilots' windows. I thought, I've never been in a plane where you could actually see through the pilots' windows like this!
We passed through two sets of trees, which were arranged on either side of us like gates. We would scrape against the trees as we passed them. The trees may have been half-barren, not full. The horizon was a band of pale purple.
It was now daytime. The pilot was talking to some passengers in the front row as if he were a bus driver. I looked around. We were flying barely above street level, above a highway, following the highway's source. Then the plane was actually driving along on the highway. Finally, the plane had transformed into a regular bus, driving along the highway.
I thought, Well, maybe this is just for the first leg of our trip. I remembered having taken a bus once from Newark Airport to Allentown, Pennsylvania. I thought, Well, once we get to our next place we can take an actual airplane.
I was now skateboarding down the highway. The highway had a weird appearance, like it was smaller or cleaner than usual. The day was warm and bright. There was also a feeling along the highway like it was passing under bridges or just within range of barriers or enclosures, though there were grass slopes on either side of the road all the time. There were no cars. Instead there were kids, maybe teenagers, playing all through the street.
I tried to keep off to the left shoulder of the road. The shoulder was lined with tan bricks. My skateboard kept moving without any effort from me: I was going down a slope the whole way.
I was trying to avoid the kids because I didn't want to interrupt their fun, but also because I didn't want them to think I was a kid, too, and have them start bothering me. But eventually some kids did start to notice me. I skated over to the right shoulder of the road in hopes of avoiding them. But they followed me.
I got off my skateboard. I walked up onto the grass slope. Here, too, were kids in small groups, like picnic groups, playing here and there under the wide shade of the sparse trees.
I reached the top of the slope. The space was empty of trees, completely open to the clear, blue sky. All around me I saw rolling hills of grass, with small groups of kids playing everywhere.
I was being followed again by a group of kids who walked with a zombie-like slowness and will-lessness. I tried to avoid the kids. I walked to my right, toward a rocky cliff. Three zombie children cornered me at the cliff. They all looked like average, slightly troublemaking, white teenage boys. One wore a brown t-shirt.
I knew if I jumped off the cliff I'd die. I hadn't been afraid of the kids before: I just didn't want to be bothered by them. So I figured there was no use being afraid now. I might as well just see what they were planning to do.
But the kids didn't reach me. They may have stopped. The head of one of the zombie kids suddenly re-shaped. It puffed out into a grotesque circle, like out of a Garbage Pail Kids card. The kid seemed to be doing this in order to make me afraid. But I still wasn't afraid. Another kid expanded his head so that it grew a leg and an arm, both of which had a gross, rubbery appearance. I was trying to figure out what kind of disease these children had that was making their bodies do this.
I was now in a house or an apartment. This place may have been underground. The place was only half-lit, as if a few random lights in unseen rooms were throwing into the main room the only light the room had. The place was sparsely furnished but seemed cluttered nonetheless. There was a lot of activity, maybe from a lot of children running around. The place seemed more like a mental hospital than an apartment or house or even a school building.
At first I was floating, as if I were coming down a stairway and into the main room. I tried not to attract anybody's attention. I thought if anybody saw me and tried to connect with me, they'd give me whatever disease they had.
I floated through the main room (over an air-hockey table?) and into a very small, lit hallway. A couple kids ran out of a doorway to my left. As they ran past me they mutated themselves. One added limbs to his head the way the other had done. Another added bubbling lumps, two or three times the size of his actual head, to the back of his skull. A little girl came out and mutated her head so that it looked like a short body attached to a tall body at the neck, with the tall body in a pink dress and the short body in a blue dress.
Finally a woman came out of the room. She looked like Daryl Hannah's Pris character in the movie Blade Runner. She was very sexy and sleek. She wore a black and white striped tights costume and had spiky, pale blonde, almost white, hair. She herself was a mutation. But she was known as the "mother" of all these children. She had hypnotized them to be mischievous. But she was like a role model to them, so even if they weren't hypnotized, they probably would still be mischievous, if that was how she told them to be.
The woman touched me. I knew that since she touched me, I, too, would probably also start acting mischievously.
Monday, December 31, 2012
(1/31/09) blind ticker
(Entered in paper journal at 7:20 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn into Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I was walking with my old friend R, who may have looked like my co-worker CL, in the lobby of a big and modern, but old-looking, movie theater. R was talking about some cartoon, like a Don Bluth cartoon, that he was going to use as a part of some community meeting he was going to attend later this afternoon.
R asked me if I was going to come along with him. I said I didn't think so. He said he thought I had told him yes before. I felt bad, and I tried to remember if I had told him yes.
We were in the theater now. The theater was dark. Even the movie screen seemed to be dim. The place was full. R had been walking with me, but now he was gone. I turned and saw he had headed into one of the rows quickly, to throw me off guard. The row was far back from the screen, where I wouldn't be able to see. I knew that R had also done this on purpose. I walked into the row. There were three seats open. R took the one in the center. I knew he took it so I couldn't sit by his wife L. I took the seat to R's left.
There was either a preview or a fake preview playing (or possibly just the beginning of the film). A big, muscly man with oiled skin, long, rocker-style hair, and wrestling shorts, was sliding down some kind of ice-passage on a snowy mountainside, like the luge. He may have pulled himself up onto the edge of this thing. He grabbed a man who was now in the slide with him. He threw him out. The man fell to the snowy ground, ten or fifteen feet below.
I started laughing. It was like I wasn't even in my chair now, bu kneeling on the floor by R. I said, "This is just like the fake preview they had in that other movie! This is a serious movie, but it's just like the fake preview in..." I couldn't remember the name of the movie. I said, "In... not Tropic Thunder. What was that movie?"
R said, "Blind Ticker."
I said, "Yes!" and started laughing again.
We were now sitting at a table like in a pizza restaurant. The lighting in the area was very red-pink, and there were mirrors on the wall. I sat on the edge seat. R sat to my right. A man, who looked like an oldish military man but who may have been wearing only a diaper, came up and spoke to R in a friendly, relaxed tone about some business the two of them had to take care of together. The man now stood in his military outfit, which was of a pale sea-green color, and shook R's hand.
I had been picking wax out of my ear with my right hand. The man, saying goodbye to me, offered me a high five. He apparently hadn't noticed that I had been picking my ear. I tried to wipe off my hand quickly and without the man noticing.
But when the high five was done, the man wiped his hand and looked at me with a little polite disgust. He told me something like I should wash my hands carefully before getting into social situations with people. I bashfully agreed.
Another man came up and shook hands with me. Again, I was afraid that the man would be put of by my hands. But he didn't seem to notice. This man was younger, with a greyish military suit, wavy, black hair, and an olive complexion.
I now sat as if by myself at a table full of people. A group of kids came in and sat at the row of tables across from us. At first the kids were teenagers. They were all slightly rowdy. It was obvious they had just come from some kind of educational event.
The group of kids in the table to the right started making fun of one of the people they saw. They called him a "transsexual, transgender, cross-gender, or whatever." I now noticed one of the boys, who was maybe twelve or thirteen years old, and was small but very beautiful. He had straightish, flowing, black hair, and smooth, olive skin. He wore a nice, grey pea coat.
The children all seemed now to be six or seven years old. I sat at the far left end of a booth/bench now, instead of a table. A group of people my age sat to my right. We were like a volunteer group. The kids still sat at the table, like we were at the pizza place. But the red-pink light was gone, replaced with white fluorescent, and the atmosphere was like a Mexican food restaurant in the East Village.
The kids all seemed to be having some kind of mental problem or some weird manner of speaking to each other. Or perhaps they were playing a game. Many of them held overshirts or knit jackets over their heads like shawls. They were all mumbling to each other, almost whispering. But then they would point out a couple people in particular and say they were whispering, as if that was a point of their character showing they should be either pitied or treasured. The volunteers all looked on in a cherishing, pitying way.
The girl currently pointed out was a Mexican girl with dark skin and long hair. She wore a green shirt with black stripes and black jeans. Somehow I caught the girl's attention. She was singing and somehow crawled across her table, onto the bench, then onto my lap.
It was now like a lot of the volunteers and students were gone. I asked the girl how to sing a song in Spanish. I hummed and thought I was humming a Gloria Estefan song. But I was actually humming the Norah Jones song "Don't Know Why." The girl sang the song in Spanish.
We had a blanket pulled over our heads. I rocked the girl back and forth. I thought of the girl as autistic, and I thought, I'm really making a breakthrough with her!
Now some skinny, but bully-like, Mexican man with very short hair and a bushy mustache, wearing tan clothes or a military outfit, was sitting to my right, right next to me. He smiled and said, "Beautiful song. Gloria Estefan, isn't it?" By the way the man was smiling I could see that he was trying to take the girl's attention from me.
I saw a very pretty woman off to the left, at the front of the store, behind a cash register. I thought, Is this man sticking close to me because he wants to take this girl's attention away from me or because he doesn't want to seduce the cash register girl while I'm not looking? I wished that if the latter were true, the man would just go talk to the woman and leave me alone. I didn't care about that stuff -- I was trying to heal somebody! But the man did get up and walk over to the woman.
The girl lay down to my left, on some weird structure. Her head was on a wooden box, like a cigar box or a small food box. She was singing a different song in English now. She had a different look, like an Hispanic girl in Victorian costume. She looked like she was going to die. But her song was very powerful. It may have ended in Spanish.
The girl may now have been the first girl again, in the green shirt and black jeans. She may have gotten up to stand with the Mexican man and woman. I stood up, probably to leave. I saw a small newspaper stand to my let, just beside a small cooler for drinks. The stand held the New York Times.
There was a cartoon on the front page. It was in an Orozco-esque style, with very drab colors. There were two priests, probably from two different Christian denominations. One of them held a big, white cross between them. Both priests had scars and stitch-marks on their necks, like they had been decapitated and had their heads sewn back on. Behind the men and to the right was a gigantic white cross that lay down, almost completely smashing a house. The ground was barren and brown. The sky was black.
The newspaper article below the cartoon was accusing Wall Street of a ton of awful things. The article claimed that the crimes everybody on Wall Street had committed were tantamount to murder, and had, in fact, led to many people's deaths. The article also accused people on Wall Street of being some kind of cultic priests.
I felt ashamed, like I didn't want anybody to know I had worked on Wall Street. But I also thought the article was ridiculous. I thought, Nobody's as bad as this. This is obviously written by somebody on the outside, who immediately thinks everything that happens on the inside is strange and evil.
Dream #1
I was walking with my old friend R, who may have looked like my co-worker CL, in the lobby of a big and modern, but old-looking, movie theater. R was talking about some cartoon, like a Don Bluth cartoon, that he was going to use as a part of some community meeting he was going to attend later this afternoon.
R asked me if I was going to come along with him. I said I didn't think so. He said he thought I had told him yes before. I felt bad, and I tried to remember if I had told him yes.
We were in the theater now. The theater was dark. Even the movie screen seemed to be dim. The place was full. R had been walking with me, but now he was gone. I turned and saw he had headed into one of the rows quickly, to throw me off guard. The row was far back from the screen, where I wouldn't be able to see. I knew that R had also done this on purpose. I walked into the row. There were three seats open. R took the one in the center. I knew he took it so I couldn't sit by his wife L. I took the seat to R's left.
There was either a preview or a fake preview playing (or possibly just the beginning of the film). A big, muscly man with oiled skin, long, rocker-style hair, and wrestling shorts, was sliding down some kind of ice-passage on a snowy mountainside, like the luge. He may have pulled himself up onto the edge of this thing. He grabbed a man who was now in the slide with him. He threw him out. The man fell to the snowy ground, ten or fifteen feet below.
I started laughing. It was like I wasn't even in my chair now, bu kneeling on the floor by R. I said, "This is just like the fake preview they had in that other movie! This is a serious movie, but it's just like the fake preview in..." I couldn't remember the name of the movie. I said, "In... not Tropic Thunder. What was that movie?"
R said, "Blind Ticker."
I said, "Yes!" and started laughing again.
We were now sitting at a table like in a pizza restaurant. The lighting in the area was very red-pink, and there were mirrors on the wall. I sat on the edge seat. R sat to my right. A man, who looked like an oldish military man but who may have been wearing only a diaper, came up and spoke to R in a friendly, relaxed tone about some business the two of them had to take care of together. The man now stood in his military outfit, which was of a pale sea-green color, and shook R's hand.
I had been picking wax out of my ear with my right hand. The man, saying goodbye to me, offered me a high five. He apparently hadn't noticed that I had been picking my ear. I tried to wipe off my hand quickly and without the man noticing.
But when the high five was done, the man wiped his hand and looked at me with a little polite disgust. He told me something like I should wash my hands carefully before getting into social situations with people. I bashfully agreed.
Another man came up and shook hands with me. Again, I was afraid that the man would be put of by my hands. But he didn't seem to notice. This man was younger, with a greyish military suit, wavy, black hair, and an olive complexion.
I now sat as if by myself at a table full of people. A group of kids came in and sat at the row of tables across from us. At first the kids were teenagers. They were all slightly rowdy. It was obvious they had just come from some kind of educational event.
The group of kids in the table to the right started making fun of one of the people they saw. They called him a "transsexual, transgender, cross-gender, or whatever." I now noticed one of the boys, who was maybe twelve or thirteen years old, and was small but very beautiful. He had straightish, flowing, black hair, and smooth, olive skin. He wore a nice, grey pea coat.
The children all seemed now to be six or seven years old. I sat at the far left end of a booth/bench now, instead of a table. A group of people my age sat to my right. We were like a volunteer group. The kids still sat at the table, like we were at the pizza place. But the red-pink light was gone, replaced with white fluorescent, and the atmosphere was like a Mexican food restaurant in the East Village.
The kids all seemed to be having some kind of mental problem or some weird manner of speaking to each other. Or perhaps they were playing a game. Many of them held overshirts or knit jackets over their heads like shawls. They were all mumbling to each other, almost whispering. But then they would point out a couple people in particular and say they were whispering, as if that was a point of their character showing they should be either pitied or treasured. The volunteers all looked on in a cherishing, pitying way.
The girl currently pointed out was a Mexican girl with dark skin and long hair. She wore a green shirt with black stripes and black jeans. Somehow I caught the girl's attention. She was singing and somehow crawled across her table, onto the bench, then onto my lap.
It was now like a lot of the volunteers and students were gone. I asked the girl how to sing a song in Spanish. I hummed and thought I was humming a Gloria Estefan song. But I was actually humming the Norah Jones song "Don't Know Why." The girl sang the song in Spanish.
We had a blanket pulled over our heads. I rocked the girl back and forth. I thought of the girl as autistic, and I thought, I'm really making a breakthrough with her!
Now some skinny, but bully-like, Mexican man with very short hair and a bushy mustache, wearing tan clothes or a military outfit, was sitting to my right, right next to me. He smiled and said, "Beautiful song. Gloria Estefan, isn't it?" By the way the man was smiling I could see that he was trying to take the girl's attention from me.
I saw a very pretty woman off to the left, at the front of the store, behind a cash register. I thought, Is this man sticking close to me because he wants to take this girl's attention away from me or because he doesn't want to seduce the cash register girl while I'm not looking? I wished that if the latter were true, the man would just go talk to the woman and leave me alone. I didn't care about that stuff -- I was trying to heal somebody! But the man did get up and walk over to the woman.
The girl lay down to my left, on some weird structure. Her head was on a wooden box, like a cigar box or a small food box. She was singing a different song in English now. She had a different look, like an Hispanic girl in Victorian costume. She looked like she was going to die. But her song was very powerful. It may have ended in Spanish.
The girl may now have been the first girl again, in the green shirt and black jeans. She may have gotten up to stand with the Mexican man and woman. I stood up, probably to leave. I saw a small newspaper stand to my let, just beside a small cooler for drinks. The stand held the New York Times.
There was a cartoon on the front page. It was in an Orozco-esque style, with very drab colors. There were two priests, probably from two different Christian denominations. One of them held a big, white cross between them. Both priests had scars and stitch-marks on their necks, like they had been decapitated and had their heads sewn back on. Behind the men and to the right was a gigantic white cross that lay down, almost completely smashing a house. The ground was barren and brown. The sky was black.
The newspaper article below the cartoon was accusing Wall Street of a ton of awful things. The article claimed that the crimes everybody on Wall Street had committed were tantamount to murder, and had, in fact, led to many people's deaths. The article also accused people on Wall Street of being some kind of cultic priests.
I felt ashamed, like I didn't want anybody to know I had worked on Wall Street. But I also thought the article was ridiculous. I thought, Nobody's as bad as this. This is obviously written by somebody on the outside, who immediately thinks everything that happens on the inside is strange and evil.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
(5/12/09) goodhearted envious pervert
(Entered in paper journal at 6:50 AM at home.)
Dream #1
I was at R and L's apartment. It was night, and all the lights except a dim night light were shut off. The apartment was a long, railroad-style apartment. It felt a little cluttered, possibly like clothes or some kind of fabric, or even wads of cotton-like material, lay all over.
I was here to watch R's dog. I hadn't been asked to feed the dog; I just wanted to, because I liked the dog, and I liked to do things for it. But I didn't want to feed the dog while R and L were around. I didn't want them to see me and think I wanted them back in my life.
I walked out of the apartment before feeding the dog. I felt like I was getting too close to the time when R and L would be coming back home. I thought it would be better to leave instead of being caught feeding the dog.
I stood out in the corridor, which was like a wide balcony from which came down a few stairways, or even ramps. The balcony turned at a right angle to my right and ran in front of a couple other apartment entrances. The whole area was wide and airy, with white walls but a somewhat plain and unkempt feeling.
But now I thought it would be better to be brave and risk being caught if it meant I could do something nice for the dog, like feed it, one more time. I went back inside. I don't think I even physically fed the dog. Instead I walked back through the darkness and found myself at the end of the apartment, in a lit kitchen. The kitchen was very plain and was lit either with a colorless incandescent bulb or a fluorescent bulb.
I found a door, which I opened. This door led to the back exit of the apartment. I looked down a drab, fluorescent-lit stairwell that looked like a fire-exit stairwell. I thought, Now I could escape this way, so that even if I leave right when R and L come home, they'll never come across me.
But I again thought, Why be so timid? If R and L are going to see you, they're going to see you. Why try to find all these ways around it?
I exited through the front. I thought, Well, nobody's going to see me after all. But then I heard L walking up the stairs. I started walking down the stairs. I met L. I told her what I'd been doing. L told me something about a party she and R were having, as if to scold me for having come too early for the party.
We were now downstairs, in some lobby area set up for gatherings. The floor was sunk in in a pentagonal (?) shape, stepping down to make a wide, couch-like pit. Around us was an odd-shaped room with white (stucco-paint-style, really bumpy?) walls and a pale incandescent light. The place felt very much like a living room from the 1970s.
We were among a few friends. There were a couple random things to eat and drink. Nobody sat or stood very comfortably, though everybody seemed to be relaxed. I sat on the floor. R sat near me somewhere. L sat behind me on a couch.
Now R and L were bragging, to annoy everybody, about their child, a boy, who did incredible things and for whom R and L did incredible things.
I saw R and L's boy, though he was slightly obscured from my view by a person sitting to my right. The boy lay on his back on an animal-skin rug, with his legs crossed. The boy was about seven or eight years old, fair-skinned, but slightly tanned, with blue eyes and sandy blonde hair in a loose bowl-cut style.
The boy had a long cylinder pressed to his lips. He blew on it and fingered it like a flute. (This whole image struck me, upon waking, as being like an image of Kokopelli.) I tried to see what the boy's instrument really was.
I stood and got a closer view of the boy as L continued bragging, now bragging about how she (or she and R?) made the instrument themselves. I was struck with a twinge of jealousy because the instrument was so well-made.
The instrument was a very long cylinder, soft, so its walls didn't hold up, woven of a soft, leather-like material. The instrument was blue. But as time went on it became yellow. It may have been fringed at the edges, like a Southwestern-style beaded change purse or pair of moccasins. It was remarkably large and well-woven.
L spoke about how she and R made the thing so they could pipe it out a window on one floor and into a window on the floor below. I knew that even now this instrument was piped out a window. I also knew that a music lesson for this instrument was apparently the most fashionable kind of music lesson a child could receive these days.
I stood on my head on the couch L sat on. I was facing L. I was wearing, under my jeans, a pair of yellow, cotton (?) panties. I had ejaculated in the panties. I could feel the wet semen on my lower abdomen. I thought I should stand or sit regularly before all the semen dribbled up my stomach, above the waistline of my pants. If everybody saw the semen leaking out of my pants they'd surely think I was a pervert.
I saw L's older sister. I may have been sistting upright now. I asked L's sister how she'd been. She answered that she'd been doing fine.
Dream #1
I was at R and L's apartment. It was night, and all the lights except a dim night light were shut off. The apartment was a long, railroad-style apartment. It felt a little cluttered, possibly like clothes or some kind of fabric, or even wads of cotton-like material, lay all over.
I was here to watch R's dog. I hadn't been asked to feed the dog; I just wanted to, because I liked the dog, and I liked to do things for it. But I didn't want to feed the dog while R and L were around. I didn't want them to see me and think I wanted them back in my life.
I walked out of the apartment before feeding the dog. I felt like I was getting too close to the time when R and L would be coming back home. I thought it would be better to leave instead of being caught feeding the dog.
I stood out in the corridor, which was like a wide balcony from which came down a few stairways, or even ramps. The balcony turned at a right angle to my right and ran in front of a couple other apartment entrances. The whole area was wide and airy, with white walls but a somewhat plain and unkempt feeling.
But now I thought it would be better to be brave and risk being caught if it meant I could do something nice for the dog, like feed it, one more time. I went back inside. I don't think I even physically fed the dog. Instead I walked back through the darkness and found myself at the end of the apartment, in a lit kitchen. The kitchen was very plain and was lit either with a colorless incandescent bulb or a fluorescent bulb.
I found a door, which I opened. This door led to the back exit of the apartment. I looked down a drab, fluorescent-lit stairwell that looked like a fire-exit stairwell. I thought, Now I could escape this way, so that even if I leave right when R and L come home, they'll never come across me.
But I again thought, Why be so timid? If R and L are going to see you, they're going to see you. Why try to find all these ways around it?
I exited through the front. I thought, Well, nobody's going to see me after all. But then I heard L walking up the stairs. I started walking down the stairs. I met L. I told her what I'd been doing. L told me something about a party she and R were having, as if to scold me for having come too early for the party.
We were now downstairs, in some lobby area set up for gatherings. The floor was sunk in in a pentagonal (?) shape, stepping down to make a wide, couch-like pit. Around us was an odd-shaped room with white (stucco-paint-style, really bumpy?) walls and a pale incandescent light. The place felt very much like a living room from the 1970s.
We were among a few friends. There were a couple random things to eat and drink. Nobody sat or stood very comfortably, though everybody seemed to be relaxed. I sat on the floor. R sat near me somewhere. L sat behind me on a couch.
Now R and L were bragging, to annoy everybody, about their child, a boy, who did incredible things and for whom R and L did incredible things.
I saw R and L's boy, though he was slightly obscured from my view by a person sitting to my right. The boy lay on his back on an animal-skin rug, with his legs crossed. The boy was about seven or eight years old, fair-skinned, but slightly tanned, with blue eyes and sandy blonde hair in a loose bowl-cut style.
The boy had a long cylinder pressed to his lips. He blew on it and fingered it like a flute. (This whole image struck me, upon waking, as being like an image of Kokopelli.) I tried to see what the boy's instrument really was.
I stood and got a closer view of the boy as L continued bragging, now bragging about how she (or she and R?) made the instrument themselves. I was struck with a twinge of jealousy because the instrument was so well-made.
The instrument was a very long cylinder, soft, so its walls didn't hold up, woven of a soft, leather-like material. The instrument was blue. But as time went on it became yellow. It may have been fringed at the edges, like a Southwestern-style beaded change purse or pair of moccasins. It was remarkably large and well-woven.
L spoke about how she and R made the thing so they could pipe it out a window on one floor and into a window on the floor below. I knew that even now this instrument was piped out a window. I also knew that a music lesson for this instrument was apparently the most fashionable kind of music lesson a child could receive these days.
I stood on my head on the couch L sat on. I was facing L. I was wearing, under my jeans, a pair of yellow, cotton (?) panties. I had ejaculated in the panties. I could feel the wet semen on my lower abdomen. I thought I should stand or sit regularly before all the semen dribbled up my stomach, above the waistline of my pants. If everybody saw the semen leaking out of my pants they'd surely think I was a pervert.
I saw L's older sister. I may have been sistting upright now. I asked L's sister how she'd been. She answered that she'd been doing fine.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
(9/16/09) old friends and sex; college girls' lingerie
(Entered in dream journal at 7:54 AM at Sit & Wonder cafe in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I walked down a sidewalk of brownstone buildings in the daytime. I was going to meet my old friend R and his wife L. I saw them sitting on a staircase in front of a brownstone. I may have been looking at my BlackBerry as I walked up to R and L. I put my BlackBerry down and then looked up at R and L.
We were now in a large restaurant, somewhat fancy, with tall walls. The walls and fixtures were all made of wood and brass. Natural daylight probably came in through windows. We walked up to a table that had booth seats on one side and chairs on the other, with the booth seats' back serving as booth seats' backs on the other side as well.
I may have been standing there by myself, looking at my BlackBerry. I walked over to a much larger booth table, where a lot of people were sitting. These people were all my friends. R and L may have been among them. Behind the people were two tall windows, letting in a dim view of a tallish, brick row building and a deep, clear, blue sky.
I watched a group of women walk out of the row building. The women were all young adults, with short, pale blonde hair and bronzed skin. They wore tight, sleeveless or tank-top shirts and carried boxes or plastic crates with them, as if they were moving out.
Among the women was my old friend PD, who looked odd with short, pale blonde hair. PD seemed to be looking in through the window and into the restaurant. I waved to PD, trying to get her attention. But she didn't seem to notice. She continued with the girls down to a vehicle, maybe a van.
I told everybody at the table (I was still standing), "That was PD! I tried to get her attention!" I wondered whether PD and the other girls were all lesbians. For some reason their hairstyles seemed lesbian to me. PD was now among the people at the table. The people at the table were all conversing casually.
I walked away, reading my BlackBerry. I was now in a room, which was still in the restaurant. The room was about twelve feet by twelve feet, with gentle, yellowish, natural light coming into the room. But the room felt run-down, like the paint on the walls was chipping and the wood floors were unpolished. Three chairs of tall, old wood stood side by side.
Behind the chairs stood a young, Japanese man. The man held a cloth bag and a black, cardboard box like a shoebox. The box had dimmish, silver-grey writing on it. The bag had a Takashi Murakami flower and logo on it. I realized, from the bag, that I knew the man.
As the man and I conversed laughingly about how we knew each other (by speaking about how we knew Murakami), either R or R and L walked into the room. I thought, If R knows I'm friends with this man, he'll try to destroy the friendship. I walked out of the room.
I was back in the main area of the restaurant. I sat down at a booth seat in a half-booth table, behind which was dimness and a bar up at the top of a roughly seven-foot-tall tier.
A woman sat next to me. She was pretty, maybe ten years older than I, with long, blonde hair and a red dress. We spoke for a while and then were home at the woman's apartment. We were in bed. I was on top of her, moving against her. The woman looked like Cindy Crawford: thin, with dark-tanned skin and brown-blonde hair. She wore black panties and a black bra. As I rubbed against the woman, she opened her mouth in a wide "O" of pleasure.
I was now walking out of a large apartment complex with my old co-worker BK. It was probably early morning, the clear sky a dim silver-blue. BK and I walked under some scaffolding near some tall buildings.
BK told me, "When I was first looking for jobs, I used DO" (an old boss of mine) "as a reference. But I then realized that was a mistake. DO always gives the most restrained, least positive opinion about anybody he has to give a reference for."
BK may then have asked whether I used DO as a reference. I felt bad for telling BK yes. So I went into some long speech about how at first DO had promised me he would give me a good reference.
We were now walking through a wide, vacant lot of asphalt which was worn and cracked, with patches of grass growing through in places. We crossed a street, probably to a large, clean parking lot at the end of which was a clean, tan and pink shopping mall lit in watery, white light. We then crossed the street, back to the asphalt lot. Across the lot was a tall, wide apartment complex atop a tall, torn-looking hill. BK And I walked down the vacant lot, to another set of buildings and scaffolding.
BK started jumping around with excitement, all fluttery, like a girl. He started talking about how excited he was about some party he was throwing. He asked me if I was coming. I may have wondered whether BK was gay. I then began whether I had had sex with the blonde woman or with BK.
Dream #2
It was black night. I walked (counter-clockwise?) around a square of dwellings like very small rooms separated from one another by thin walls. The rooms had ceilings like thatch or wicker. This square of dwellings was in the center of a lawny field.
The rooms were all dimly lit, some with fires, some, probably, with electric light. The rooms were all filled with colorful objects, mainly swatches of fabric for clothing. The rooms were all for college aged people. I didn't see a lot of people (maybe none, at first), although there was an atmosphere of people being around, a feeling of liveliness.
I started looking into each of the room-units. I occasionally saw women's clothes lying on the beds. I took looks through all the clothing, seeing what I might like to come back to and try on. I now came to a room, brighter than the others, lit by electric light, with a few people all lounging around, mostly on the bed. The people may have been members of my college comedy performance group, although I think they may all have been women.
The people told me they knew I'd been looking through all the women's clothing. They told me I'd be welcome to try on anything I liked. I may have spoken with them a little, partly trying to justify my habit, about how I chose the clothing I would try on. I may have seen myself trying on a classical pair of thick, satin panties by the light of a fire.
Dream #1
I walked down a sidewalk of brownstone buildings in the daytime. I was going to meet my old friend R and his wife L. I saw them sitting on a staircase in front of a brownstone. I may have been looking at my BlackBerry as I walked up to R and L. I put my BlackBerry down and then looked up at R and L.
We were now in a large restaurant, somewhat fancy, with tall walls. The walls and fixtures were all made of wood and brass. Natural daylight probably came in through windows. We walked up to a table that had booth seats on one side and chairs on the other, with the booth seats' back serving as booth seats' backs on the other side as well.
I may have been standing there by myself, looking at my BlackBerry. I walked over to a much larger booth table, where a lot of people were sitting. These people were all my friends. R and L may have been among them. Behind the people were two tall windows, letting in a dim view of a tallish, brick row building and a deep, clear, blue sky.
I watched a group of women walk out of the row building. The women were all young adults, with short, pale blonde hair and bronzed skin. They wore tight, sleeveless or tank-top shirts and carried boxes or plastic crates with them, as if they were moving out.
Among the women was my old friend PD, who looked odd with short, pale blonde hair. PD seemed to be looking in through the window and into the restaurant. I waved to PD, trying to get her attention. But she didn't seem to notice. She continued with the girls down to a vehicle, maybe a van.
I told everybody at the table (I was still standing), "That was PD! I tried to get her attention!" I wondered whether PD and the other girls were all lesbians. For some reason their hairstyles seemed lesbian to me. PD was now among the people at the table. The people at the table were all conversing casually.
I walked away, reading my BlackBerry. I was now in a room, which was still in the restaurant. The room was about twelve feet by twelve feet, with gentle, yellowish, natural light coming into the room. But the room felt run-down, like the paint on the walls was chipping and the wood floors were unpolished. Three chairs of tall, old wood stood side by side.
Behind the chairs stood a young, Japanese man. The man held a cloth bag and a black, cardboard box like a shoebox. The box had dimmish, silver-grey writing on it. The bag had a Takashi Murakami flower and logo on it. I realized, from the bag, that I knew the man.
As the man and I conversed laughingly about how we knew each other (by speaking about how we knew Murakami), either R or R and L walked into the room. I thought, If R knows I'm friends with this man, he'll try to destroy the friendship. I walked out of the room.
I was back in the main area of the restaurant. I sat down at a booth seat in a half-booth table, behind which was dimness and a bar up at the top of a roughly seven-foot-tall tier.
A woman sat next to me. She was pretty, maybe ten years older than I, with long, blonde hair and a red dress. We spoke for a while and then were home at the woman's apartment. We were in bed. I was on top of her, moving against her. The woman looked like Cindy Crawford: thin, with dark-tanned skin and brown-blonde hair. She wore black panties and a black bra. As I rubbed against the woman, she opened her mouth in a wide "O" of pleasure.
I was now walking out of a large apartment complex with my old co-worker BK. It was probably early morning, the clear sky a dim silver-blue. BK and I walked under some scaffolding near some tall buildings.
BK told me, "When I was first looking for jobs, I used DO" (an old boss of mine) "as a reference. But I then realized that was a mistake. DO always gives the most restrained, least positive opinion about anybody he has to give a reference for."
BK may then have asked whether I used DO as a reference. I felt bad for telling BK yes. So I went into some long speech about how at first DO had promised me he would give me a good reference.
We were now walking through a wide, vacant lot of asphalt which was worn and cracked, with patches of grass growing through in places. We crossed a street, probably to a large, clean parking lot at the end of which was a clean, tan and pink shopping mall lit in watery, white light. We then crossed the street, back to the asphalt lot. Across the lot was a tall, wide apartment complex atop a tall, torn-looking hill. BK And I walked down the vacant lot, to another set of buildings and scaffolding.
BK started jumping around with excitement, all fluttery, like a girl. He started talking about how excited he was about some party he was throwing. He asked me if I was coming. I may have wondered whether BK was gay. I then began whether I had had sex with the blonde woman or with BK.
Dream #2
It was black night. I walked (counter-clockwise?) around a square of dwellings like very small rooms separated from one another by thin walls. The rooms had ceilings like thatch or wicker. This square of dwellings was in the center of a lawny field.
The rooms were all dimly lit, some with fires, some, probably, with electric light. The rooms were all filled with colorful objects, mainly swatches of fabric for clothing. The rooms were all for college aged people. I didn't see a lot of people (maybe none, at first), although there was an atmosphere of people being around, a feeling of liveliness.
I started looking into each of the room-units. I occasionally saw women's clothes lying on the beds. I took looks through all the clothing, seeing what I might like to come back to and try on. I now came to a room, brighter than the others, lit by electric light, with a few people all lounging around, mostly on the bed. The people may have been members of my college comedy performance group, although I think they may all have been women.
The people told me they knew I'd been looking through all the women's clothing. They told me I'd be welcome to try on anything I liked. I may have spoken with them a little, partly trying to justify my habit, about how I chose the clothing I would try on. I may have seen myself trying on a classical pair of thick, satin panties by the light of a fire.
Monday, November 12, 2012
(10/11/09) inconvenient dinner; temple of respect
(Entered in paper journal at 8:19 AM at Sit & Wonder cafe in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I was at the house of my old friends R and L. It looked like a small version of their previous place. The lights were off, except in a room off to the side. I stood with R, who had, apparently, invited me to dinner.
L showed up from one of the dark rooms. She said she hadn't expected me for dinner. She hadn't made anything yet, but she could go out and buy something.
It was getting late. I thought it would be really inconvenient to wait while she or we went out to get something and then cook it. It also seemed like L didn't really want me here to begin with. So I didn't feel like accepting the offer. But I accepted.
Dream #2
I was with a group of students touring through something like a giant mansion. We had gone through a number of rooms and were finally on something like the top floor. The room we were in was small and tiled, something like a small, run-down kitchen. To my right and before me were two doorways. From the doorway to my right came a golden beam of sunlight. The doorway before me led to something like a dining room, furnished in an older style, with a big, wooden table in the center.
Everybody walked around the kitchen, talking casually. I looked above the doorway to the dining room. The space between the doorway's top and the ceiling was only a couple inches. There were half-rotted, white tiles in the space. The tiles had words printed on them in blue. One of the last words printed was "respect." Some of the tiles were so rotted that I couldn't read them.
I was suddenly inspired. I tried to take a photo of the word "respect." I now knew that I was involved in some film project. At some point in the film's narrative, the character (that I played?) looks at the front of some temple, and sees a statement written on it about respect. I thought that if I could film the word "respect" on this tile closely enough, I could make it look like it was actually on the front of the temple of the film. This temple probably stood in one of the rooms downstairs.
I had a camera, but not a film camera. I walked into the dining room and sat at the table to think about how I was going to get back downstairs in order to get my film camera. A lot of the others sat down at the table with me. I sat either at the head or on the right side of the table.
It must have been cold in the room: we were all wearing big coats. I kept having to blow my nose, using brown paper towels. I kept on using and using and wadding up paper towels until I had a big, shaggy, mostly dry ball of paper towels before me.
From another doorway on the wall opposite the wall to the kitchen, a woman walked into the dining room. The woman was tallish, with a large, matronly figure. She wore warmly colored, knit wool clothes. She had tan-red skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair. Her voice was flattish and no-nonsense, but nice and motherly.
The woman told us, as if we were all high school students (and I felt like everybody except for me was), that our lunch break still wasn't for another twenty or thirty minutes, so we shouldn't sit down and take a break yet. She then became gentle and told us that she understood. It was cold, we were bored, and, besides, could high school students really be expected to take all this stuff in?
I suddenly remembered that I should be taking care of filming the word "respect." I really needed to be thinking seriously about that. I then realized that I had left my camera in the kitchen. I stood up quickly and went into the kitchen. I may have been looking for my camera when everybody else began walking into the kitchen.
Dream #1
I was at the house of my old friends R and L. It looked like a small version of their previous place. The lights were off, except in a room off to the side. I stood with R, who had, apparently, invited me to dinner.
L showed up from one of the dark rooms. She said she hadn't expected me for dinner. She hadn't made anything yet, but she could go out and buy something.
It was getting late. I thought it would be really inconvenient to wait while she or we went out to get something and then cook it. It also seemed like L didn't really want me here to begin with. So I didn't feel like accepting the offer. But I accepted.
Dream #2
I was with a group of students touring through something like a giant mansion. We had gone through a number of rooms and were finally on something like the top floor. The room we were in was small and tiled, something like a small, run-down kitchen. To my right and before me were two doorways. From the doorway to my right came a golden beam of sunlight. The doorway before me led to something like a dining room, furnished in an older style, with a big, wooden table in the center.
Everybody walked around the kitchen, talking casually. I looked above the doorway to the dining room. The space between the doorway's top and the ceiling was only a couple inches. There were half-rotted, white tiles in the space. The tiles had words printed on them in blue. One of the last words printed was "respect." Some of the tiles were so rotted that I couldn't read them.
I was suddenly inspired. I tried to take a photo of the word "respect." I now knew that I was involved in some film project. At some point in the film's narrative, the character (that I played?) looks at the front of some temple, and sees a statement written on it about respect. I thought that if I could film the word "respect" on this tile closely enough, I could make it look like it was actually on the front of the temple of the film. This temple probably stood in one of the rooms downstairs.
I had a camera, but not a film camera. I walked into the dining room and sat at the table to think about how I was going to get back downstairs in order to get my film camera. A lot of the others sat down at the table with me. I sat either at the head or on the right side of the table.
It must have been cold in the room: we were all wearing big coats. I kept having to blow my nose, using brown paper towels. I kept on using and using and wadding up paper towels until I had a big, shaggy, mostly dry ball of paper towels before me.
From another doorway on the wall opposite the wall to the kitchen, a woman walked into the dining room. The woman was tallish, with a large, matronly figure. She wore warmly colored, knit wool clothes. She had tan-red skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair. Her voice was flattish and no-nonsense, but nice and motherly.
The woman told us, as if we were all high school students (and I felt like everybody except for me was), that our lunch break still wasn't for another twenty or thirty minutes, so we shouldn't sit down and take a break yet. She then became gentle and told us that she understood. It was cold, we were bored, and, besides, could high school students really be expected to take all this stuff in?
I suddenly remembered that I should be taking care of filming the word "respect." I really needed to be thinking seriously about that. I then realized that I had left my camera in the kitchen. I stood up quickly and went into the kitchen. I may have been looking for my camera when everybody else began walking into the kitchen.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
(11/11/09) dinner crashers
(Entered in paper journal at 7:58 AM at Red Horse cafe in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I walked through a place like the road in Prospect Park heading up from Center Drive to Prospect Park West. I may have been walking with someone like my old friend V, or talking with him in my head.
I told V how I had been invited to dinner by my old friend R, and how R had made the dinner sound a lot like it would just be he and I, as if in apology for the way he'd acted toward me. Then, as the days passed, I found out that R's wife L's older sister had cancer.
I may now have been walking through a city area, like an old business area in a small city, still speaking with V. I told V how I found out that L's sister had been cured or that she was going to be cured. But she now needed money. So, I learned, R was having a dinner thrown for L's sister at R's house, a kind of split between a congratulations party and a fundraiser. The fundraiser dinner was going to be on the night R had invited me to dinner.
As I thought about this I may have seen, in my mind's eye, L's sister dressed in a purple shirt with a line-drawing in white of a diaper, and some slogan, written in white cursive, about being an adult baby mommy. (In waking life, I had seen a woman wearing this on an internet photo.)
V and I now sat in some big cafe that was full of people. We sat next to a window through which poured a lot of bright sunlight. I tried to explain that R had planned to spring this whole thing on me as a surprise, and he would have, had I not found out about the whole thing on my own.
I knew the conflict R would try to create. He'd try to make it so I was mad as soon as I saw so many people. Then, when I was out of earshot, and with nobody having explained anything to me, he'd make some speech to everybody to make himself look like a really conciliatory person, but also making me look bad, selfish, like I knew what this thing was all about, but that I'd just decided to be nasty about all the people here anyway.
I told V, "Now that I know what's going on, I'll be cheerful, happy to see everybody. But it really upsets me that R would try to play this game on me in the first place. He always tries these underhanded things for starting conflict."
V said he had to go to the bathroom. He got up and walked away. I looked out the window, possibly to a scene like a wide parking lot or road and a small building like a fast food restaurant or auto repair shop in the distance, under the white-yellow haze of sunlight.
Suddenly a man and woman sat down beside me in my and V's booth. The woman was maybe around my age, worn-out looking, but attractive. The man was perhaps in his forties, smallish but muscly, with dark-copper skin that almost looked like he wore makeup, tightly curled, short hair that was light red-brown, and a square, muscly, sour-looking face. He wore a white polo shirt that looked square and ill-fitting on him. The woman sat next to me. The man sat across from the woman.
The man and woman both had menus in front of them, and they'd probably brought stuff to the booth with them, like backpacks or duffel bags. The man had said, to annoy me, "Let's sit here. Man, I'm hungry. Aren't you, honey? Let's sit right here and eat our breakfast."
I looked around the cafe, which was very busy and full, trying to see if there wasn't some empty place for this couple to sit. I couldn't see anything.
I told the man, "We're sitting here. You have to find your own space."
The man said, "No we don't. I can do this if I want. It's allowed."
Dream #1
I walked through a place like the road in Prospect Park heading up from Center Drive to Prospect Park West. I may have been walking with someone like my old friend V, or talking with him in my head.
I told V how I had been invited to dinner by my old friend R, and how R had made the dinner sound a lot like it would just be he and I, as if in apology for the way he'd acted toward me. Then, as the days passed, I found out that R's wife L's older sister had cancer.
I may now have been walking through a city area, like an old business area in a small city, still speaking with V. I told V how I found out that L's sister had been cured or that she was going to be cured. But she now needed money. So, I learned, R was having a dinner thrown for L's sister at R's house, a kind of split between a congratulations party and a fundraiser. The fundraiser dinner was going to be on the night R had invited me to dinner.
As I thought about this I may have seen, in my mind's eye, L's sister dressed in a purple shirt with a line-drawing in white of a diaper, and some slogan, written in white cursive, about being an adult baby mommy. (In waking life, I had seen a woman wearing this on an internet photo.)
V and I now sat in some big cafe that was full of people. We sat next to a window through which poured a lot of bright sunlight. I tried to explain that R had planned to spring this whole thing on me as a surprise, and he would have, had I not found out about the whole thing on my own.
I knew the conflict R would try to create. He'd try to make it so I was mad as soon as I saw so many people. Then, when I was out of earshot, and with nobody having explained anything to me, he'd make some speech to everybody to make himself look like a really conciliatory person, but also making me look bad, selfish, like I knew what this thing was all about, but that I'd just decided to be nasty about all the people here anyway.
I told V, "Now that I know what's going on, I'll be cheerful, happy to see everybody. But it really upsets me that R would try to play this game on me in the first place. He always tries these underhanded things for starting conflict."
V said he had to go to the bathroom. He got up and walked away. I looked out the window, possibly to a scene like a wide parking lot or road and a small building like a fast food restaurant or auto repair shop in the distance, under the white-yellow haze of sunlight.
Suddenly a man and woman sat down beside me in my and V's booth. The woman was maybe around my age, worn-out looking, but attractive. The man was perhaps in his forties, smallish but muscly, with dark-copper skin that almost looked like he wore makeup, tightly curled, short hair that was light red-brown, and a square, muscly, sour-looking face. He wore a white polo shirt that looked square and ill-fitting on him. The woman sat next to me. The man sat across from the woman.
The man and woman both had menus in front of them, and they'd probably brought stuff to the booth with them, like backpacks or duffel bags. The man had said, to annoy me, "Let's sit here. Man, I'm hungry. Aren't you, honey? Let's sit right here and eat our breakfast."
I looked around the cafe, which was very busy and full, trying to see if there wasn't some empty place for this couple to sit. I couldn't see anything.
I told the man, "We're sitting here. You have to find your own space."
The man said, "No we don't. I can do this if I want. It's allowed."
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