(Entered in paper journal at 6:30 PM on Q-train from Manhattan to Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I stood on the opposite end of a heap of junk from a man about my age. The heap of junk was right next to a scraggly chain link fence and was mostly scrapped material like rusted sheet metal, bed frames, springs, and pieces of scrap wood.
I made a smart-alecky comment about the pile of scrap material, like "Well, I guess we shouldn't be surprised, knowing how people are." I sneered as if I thought I was being funny, but I was hollowly disappointed in my snobby demeanor.
Dream #2
It was the dark of night. I had gone to the backyard of "my house." The backyard was like the backyard of the house where my family lived during my final years of high school.
I might have been looking for my landlady, who may have been my mother at first. I had been talking with my mother/"landlady" (the landlady being my landlady D from the place I'd lived in from May of 2006 through January of 2007) about some troubles my neighbors had been giving me.
My landlady gave me a light push backwards and told me she would take care of things. She opened the door to a separate apartment (like a mini-house) that was where my mom's garage would have been at my family's old house. My landlady opened the door just a crack and walked in, leaving me behind.
At first I thought this was a new place my landlady was allowing me to have. But when I looked inside I saw a poster on the wall, either of an island in the ocean or of a pretty pop singer. By this I understood the place was already taken. It couldn't, therefore, be meant for me. The room was very dark: I'm not sure, actually, how I even managed to see inside. I stayed outside. I thought, What's my landlady doing going in there? It's somebody else's place.
A short, very thin, black man, maybe a little younger than I, walked in front of me and into the apartment. The man wore a deep, vivid blue polo shirt. He may have had a cast or some white bandages on his left arm. Something about the man seemed very feminine. I was surprised by how gentle he had been walking in front of me: I had expected him to be a lot meaner.
Dream #3
I lay on a bed or couch. I was naked. My co-worker EB stood in front of me, fully clothed. I lay on my side, facing EB. My body felt soft, almost feminine. I may have had a shaved crotch.
Showing posts with label garage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label garage. Show all posts
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Sunday, January 6, 2013
(9/4/08) getting home from the met
(Entered in paper journal at 6:11 AM on B-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I was out on an open field with my mom and sister and possibly my sister's children (though all the children may have been girls). I was looking down at a hole in the ground that looked like a stairwell made of sand. I may have been digging this hole out even more, and possibly with a big slab of slate that was large and smooth enough to be a headstone.
One of my family members, maybe my sister, asked, "What if we come to sleep with you here?"
I didn't think there was enough space for my family here. And I didn't think the sandy be would be flat enough for them. But now I dug the slate into the ground so it stood upright, like a headstone, in the bed of this stairwell. Suddenly the ground looked flat enough. Now the slate was gone.
I looked before me. The sandy wall was sculpted to look just like a stone wall, just like, I thought, a wall in an underground hallway of a pyramid.
I told my family, "Well, I could do something like this. Come down and see."
We were now in a place that looked like a cinder-walled basement of a house. Nobody seemed to be impressed. I myself wasn't exactly sure what this place was, but I tried to explain to my family (which was now more like a group of Mexican women and girls) that this was a replica of an Egyptian tomb. But I explained that even though it was a replica, there were actual authentic artifacts.
I tried to point out one (or two) of the authentic artifacts in a roundabout way. Between the back of a couch and a wall, two (?) white statues, about ten feet long, lay on their sides, on on top of the other. The statues were of a Pharaoh and his bride. The Pharaoh lay on top. A cloth blanket may have been covering their legs.
But I couldn't quite get anybody focused enough to pay attention to this view. Everybody ran around the space, which was now like a warm-colored version of the scholar's garden at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. There weren't any big sculptures anywhere, possibly just framed paintings on the walls. But I still thought of this space as an exhibition of Egyptian artifacts.
I managed to get a small group of folks together to go into a small side room, which I thought would lead to the Egyptian tomb hallway. But the wall where I thought the entrance to the hallway would be was blocked off by a curtain of blue and white patterned material.
We headed back to the main room. Somewhere I saw the ten-foot-long sculptures again. I wasn't sure anymore that they were genuine.
Now it was like we were being too rowdy and we had to leave.
We were up in some gutted-out structure that resembled a Greek ruin mixed with something like a garage. The ground was very greasy. The ruin looked out over an open, maybe desert-like, area.
There was some blocked-off space like for a large sculpture at a corner of the ruin. We walked up to it. There was some big, rusty machine that looked like a construction or heavy-duty cooking machine, but which we called a fire truck.
A group of rough-looking, white men gathered around the machine. Some of the men may have been using flame throwers. Others were breathing fire. The whole thing smelled awful, like my stomach feels when I get indigestion. The explanation of it all was that these men were putting out a fire. But the fire wasn't exactly here.
We stood around for a while, wondering if the fire truck would ever be through, so it could give us a ride home. Eventually we figured that the firemen simply didn't want to give us a ride home.
We walked to an old, rusty, gutted-out vehicle like a bus at the other end of the ruin. The driver inside waved an instrument like a megaphone at us, gesturing that he didn't want us on his bus. Eventually the megaphone began spouting fire.
The other people in my group were now gone. It was night. I stood with the bus driver and a man who worked with him. This other man and I walked away from the small-building city street. The man was big, fattish, with glasses and shoulder-length hair. He wore jean shorts, a white t-shirt, and a jean vest. He was talking to me about comic books. At first I was interested. But then I started to feel uneasy, like maybe I shouldn't be hanging out with such a weird person.
Dream #1
I was out on an open field with my mom and sister and possibly my sister's children (though all the children may have been girls). I was looking down at a hole in the ground that looked like a stairwell made of sand. I may have been digging this hole out even more, and possibly with a big slab of slate that was large and smooth enough to be a headstone.
One of my family members, maybe my sister, asked, "What if we come to sleep with you here?"
I didn't think there was enough space for my family here. And I didn't think the sandy be would be flat enough for them. But now I dug the slate into the ground so it stood upright, like a headstone, in the bed of this stairwell. Suddenly the ground looked flat enough. Now the slate was gone.
I looked before me. The sandy wall was sculpted to look just like a stone wall, just like, I thought, a wall in an underground hallway of a pyramid.
I told my family, "Well, I could do something like this. Come down and see."
We were now in a place that looked like a cinder-walled basement of a house. Nobody seemed to be impressed. I myself wasn't exactly sure what this place was, but I tried to explain to my family (which was now more like a group of Mexican women and girls) that this was a replica of an Egyptian tomb. But I explained that even though it was a replica, there were actual authentic artifacts.
I tried to point out one (or two) of the authentic artifacts in a roundabout way. Between the back of a couch and a wall, two (?) white statues, about ten feet long, lay on their sides, on on top of the other. The statues were of a Pharaoh and his bride. The Pharaoh lay on top. A cloth blanket may have been covering their legs.
But I couldn't quite get anybody focused enough to pay attention to this view. Everybody ran around the space, which was now like a warm-colored version of the scholar's garden at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. There weren't any big sculptures anywhere, possibly just framed paintings on the walls. But I still thought of this space as an exhibition of Egyptian artifacts.
I managed to get a small group of folks together to go into a small side room, which I thought would lead to the Egyptian tomb hallway. But the wall where I thought the entrance to the hallway would be was blocked off by a curtain of blue and white patterned material.
We headed back to the main room. Somewhere I saw the ten-foot-long sculptures again. I wasn't sure anymore that they were genuine.
Now it was like we were being too rowdy and we had to leave.
We were up in some gutted-out structure that resembled a Greek ruin mixed with something like a garage. The ground was very greasy. The ruin looked out over an open, maybe desert-like, area.
There was some blocked-off space like for a large sculpture at a corner of the ruin. We walked up to it. There was some big, rusty machine that looked like a construction or heavy-duty cooking machine, but which we called a fire truck.
A group of rough-looking, white men gathered around the machine. Some of the men may have been using flame throwers. Others were breathing fire. The whole thing smelled awful, like my stomach feels when I get indigestion. The explanation of it all was that these men were putting out a fire. But the fire wasn't exactly here.
We stood around for a while, wondering if the fire truck would ever be through, so it could give us a ride home. Eventually we figured that the firemen simply didn't want to give us a ride home.
We walked to an old, rusty, gutted-out vehicle like a bus at the other end of the ruin. The driver inside waved an instrument like a megaphone at us, gesturing that he didn't want us on his bus. Eventually the megaphone began spouting fire.
The other people in my group were now gone. It was night. I stood with the bus driver and a man who worked with him. This other man and I walked away from the small-building city street. The man was big, fattish, with glasses and shoulder-length hair. He wore jean shorts, a white t-shirt, and a jean vest. He was talking to me about comic books. At first I was interested. But then I started to feel uneasy, like maybe I shouldn't be hanging out with such a weird person.
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