(Entered in paper journal at 10 AM at the Tea Lounge on Union Street and 7th Avenue in Brooklyn.)
Dream 1
I was in a large, dark sanctuary area full of kids partying like at a rock concert. On stage was a band with a singer who looked like Scott Weiland.
I must not have been able to "get" the songs, though I was singing them, because at some point I realized this was all a Christian event. I felt ill at ease, like I couldn't possibly sing these songs because I truly had no idea what they were about or what their words were. I knew I could never be a rock star.
The band left the stage and then came back in. this time they sang "Sour Girl" by Stone Temple Pilots. I turned to some male friend of mine, possibly my cousin and best friend PS, and excitedly grabbed his arms or gave him five.
But when I tried singing the song I realized I didn't know the words to this song, either. I didn't even know the title. And I sang way out of tune, in an awful, pinched voice.
Dream 2
I stood outside on some street corner and possibly at the foot of stairs leading to an elevated train platform. The place looks slightly like Harlem. It was a sunny, clear day.
Two black women, like a mother and daughter, stood by me. The mother told me something like, "Don't worry. You're in the right place. This train goes straight to town."
We were now on the train. I lost track of them. The train ran along high enough to seem to run along the tops of the buildings. Some white woman spoke to someone on a cell phone, saying, "I don't remember New York being like this. The arrangement of buildings surprises me."
We were now pulling into Port Authority, like we were pulling directly into the second floor balcony area, right next to the post office. It still felt like buildings were somewhere inside the building. I thought, I don't remember the trains being this way, but how convenient.
I could sense my mom and Grandma Pat waiting for me at the top of an escalator at the end of the train. I stood up and walked toward the door. I turned around when I realized I'd left my backpack. I went back but couldn't remember exactly where I had been sitting. I think the train was back outside.
Dream 3
No vision. I spoke to my grandfather on the phone. I told him I was planning to come to Denver for Christmas, but that I had to make some money first. He said, "If you can't afford a ticket, we'll send you one."
I said, "Okay. That may need to happen."
I then realized he and I were communicating telepathically. I didn't want him to read any of my angrier thoughts. So I told him I had to go. He said okay.
The vision became slightly purplish and textured like a rough, splayed-open organ with a mound and a hole at the top of the mural. A cord like an umbilical cord sucked back down into the hole with a grainy, muddy slurp.
Dream 4
I stood in something like a belt-rope line at the edge of some carpeted area that was supposed to be a soccer field inside something like an arcade place for kids. A bunch of kids played soccer.
I was looking for my oldest nephew. I looked among all the players. They all wore these cardboard, squarish costumes with very fine and flashy graphics to make them look like anime robots. They may even have been on wheels: small, Tonka-truck-like wheels. The kids even had their hair spiked out or gelled down like anime and manga characters. I thought, Anime has made more things than just anime popular. It's also made sports like soccer and basketball popular.
Not finding my nephew I turned away from the field. I looked down the empty line to a mom and a kid in a stroller. The kid was doing something cute. I laughed at first. But then I stopped laughing when I saw that the mother thought I was some kind of pervert. I now looked up the line and saw my mother, my grandmother, and my nephew all waiting for me.
Showing posts with label harlem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label harlem. Show all posts
Monday, March 20, 2017
Wednesday, March 15, 2017
(1/1/05) hand meat sandwich
(Entered in paper journal at 10:30 AM at Starbucks on 43rd Street and 3rd Avenue in Manhattan.)
Dream 1
I was in a black, dark forest that must have been illumined by something like flashes of grey-white light revealing gnarled, ragged-textured trees. Something here happened that I don't remember.
Now I was in a busy street that looked like a residential area near the edge of Harlem. The whole place was packed. I was near a grocery store. It was night.
I walked with AI, who used to work with my NYC Americorps program. She had a grocery cart. She was talking about having no job and no money. I could hear or remember one of my friends or coworkers saying, "Don't lend her any money. She'll attach to you and suck you dry."
I was in a deli, which I think was supposed to have been the grocery store. The place was slightly full of people. I think I sat at a stainless steel counter near the front register. I believe my friend R was behind the counter.
He (whoever -- it may even have been some nondescript black man) offered me a "hand meat" sandwich. Everybody behind the counter tittered and giggled when I turned the sandwich down. It just sounded gross. I couldn't think what animal's hand would be used.
The main guy (R?) gave me a slice of hand meat. It looked like bacon. I put it in my mouth. It was really salty. it wasn't rubbery, but I couldn't chew it down. I kept loosening bits of what felt like fat from the meat. But the piece of meat never really broke down.
Finally I got freaked out, not by the consistency of the food, but by telling myself over and over, There's no animal you eat that has hands.
Dream 1
I was in a black, dark forest that must have been illumined by something like flashes of grey-white light revealing gnarled, ragged-textured trees. Something here happened that I don't remember.
Now I was in a busy street that looked like a residential area near the edge of Harlem. The whole place was packed. I was near a grocery store. It was night.
I walked with AI, who used to work with my NYC Americorps program. She had a grocery cart. She was talking about having no job and no money. I could hear or remember one of my friends or coworkers saying, "Don't lend her any money. She'll attach to you and suck you dry."
I was in a deli, which I think was supposed to have been the grocery store. The place was slightly full of people. I think I sat at a stainless steel counter near the front register. I believe my friend R was behind the counter.
He (whoever -- it may even have been some nondescript black man) offered me a "hand meat" sandwich. Everybody behind the counter tittered and giggled when I turned the sandwich down. It just sounded gross. I couldn't think what animal's hand would be used.
The main guy (R?) gave me a slice of hand meat. It looked like bacon. I put it in my mouth. It was really salty. it wasn't rubbery, but I couldn't chew it down. I kept loosening bits of what felt like fat from the meat. But the piece of meat never really broke down.
Finally I got freaked out, not by the consistency of the food, but by telling myself over and over, There's no animal you eat that has hands.
Sunday, March 5, 2017
(5/12/05) the cheap goodbye; cosmopolitan nation
(Entered in paper journal at 5:52 AM at home in Harlem.)
Dream 1
I was "watching" a movie that I think probably stood for That Obscure Object of Desire. I was also "in" the movie. The scene was some Spanish-style cafe, with the lights dimmed and a woman under a spotlight in a smoky corner of the seating area (not the
corner of the room) doing some Flamenco-style dance in a shimmery, green or elegant, white dress.
I thought, When she's finished, then comes the part where all the girls in peach and pink and red dresses come out and do the much more sexualized dance that makes XXXXX angry and breaks his heart. I can't bear that part. I'd rather keep watching this scene.
But the dance finished. The woman stood in a pose as a thin, shimmery, golden strip of curtain cheaply rolled down from the low ceiling in spurts and interrupted rolls, concealing blocks of the dancer's body one body at a time.
Dream 2
I walked through a Walgreen's. I don't remember why I was there, but I was waiting for someone to leave or stop paying attention to me so I could do whatever I was there for without being watched.
I grabbed a small jar of peanuts that was priced at $1.89. I thought that was a little expensive, but not too expensive for a once in a while thing.
I saw two workers, both black women. I slipped between aisles to be inconspicuous. But they noticed me and talked pretty loudly about me, basically to me, even though it was in the third person, about how I'd never escape their notice.
I walked up an aisle, thinking I'd turn right and go to the beauty section (?) to read surreptitiously the new copy of Cosmopolitan. But when I saw some man at the magazine stand at the end of this aisle I knew there was also a man by the magazine rack at the beauty section. So I stood here to wait for them to leave.
I saw a copy of The Nation. It actually looked like a glossy fashion mag. But on the cover was an old, classy photo of Bob Hope, all surrounded by white background, the title and blurbs in soft, baby blue lettering.
One of the blurbs said, "Harlem, Herbal Center of the United States." I didn't know how that could be. I grabbed the magazine to read it. But I felt two people looking at me again.
Dream 1
I was "watching" a movie that I think probably stood for That Obscure Object of Desire. I was also "in" the movie. The scene was some Spanish-style cafe, with the lights dimmed and a woman under a spotlight in a smoky corner of the seating area (not the
corner of the room) doing some Flamenco-style dance in a shimmery, green or elegant, white dress.
I thought, When she's finished, then comes the part where all the girls in peach and pink and red dresses come out and do the much more sexualized dance that makes XXXXX angry and breaks his heart. I can't bear that part. I'd rather keep watching this scene.
But the dance finished. The woman stood in a pose as a thin, shimmery, golden strip of curtain cheaply rolled down from the low ceiling in spurts and interrupted rolls, concealing blocks of the dancer's body one body at a time.
Dream 2
I walked through a Walgreen's. I don't remember why I was there, but I was waiting for someone to leave or stop paying attention to me so I could do whatever I was there for without being watched.
I grabbed a small jar of peanuts that was priced at $1.89. I thought that was a little expensive, but not too expensive for a once in a while thing.
I saw two workers, both black women. I slipped between aisles to be inconspicuous. But they noticed me and talked pretty loudly about me, basically to me, even though it was in the third person, about how I'd never escape their notice.
I walked up an aisle, thinking I'd turn right and go to the beauty section (?) to read surreptitiously the new copy of Cosmopolitan. But when I saw some man at the magazine stand at the end of this aisle I knew there was also a man by the magazine rack at the beauty section. So I stood here to wait for them to leave.
I saw a copy of The Nation. It actually looked like a glossy fashion mag. But on the cover was an old, classy photo of Bob Hope, all surrounded by white background, the title and blurbs in soft, baby blue lettering.
One of the blurbs said, "Harlem, Herbal Center of the United States." I didn't know how that could be. I grabbed the magazine to read it. But I felt two people looking at me again.
Saturday, March 4, 2017
(8/10/05) bad-looking shoes; phone bully; rematerialize at random; "weird al" bloomberg
(Entered in paper journal at 6 PM on Brooklyn-bound Q-train from 57th Street and 7th Avenue in Manhattan.)
Dream 1
It was a nice, sunny day. I was riding in a van possibly driven by mother or my NYC Americorps coworker VT. We may have been in "Harlem." I saw a building at the end of a plaza or a circle lined with buildings. The building at the end was tall and wide, like a fancy hotel, but flat and featureless, red brick with a patching wearing away of tan plaster from the bottom and counter upward and outward.
I was in the van with a few other people, probably "coworkers." Someone mentioned the event we were attending and how it would last into the night. I think I saw the surroundings now like it was late at night. I asked about how we would get to certain subways. Apparently I had to backtrack and go a little out of the way to get to my subway, but it wouldn't be so bad to do.
It was day. I sat on the floor of the van. There were no seats. I think I was the only one back there. I had my old boots on. They looked bad. I was putting my new shoes on, but I noticed they looked bad, too.
Dream 2
I walked into something like a bodega with my friend and NYC Americorps coworker KA. The place had one main area, then a dark hall, then a door with a window into a room where a group of old, Mediterranean-looking men sat, smoking.
KA walked to a payphone in the small, dark hall. She put in twenty-five cents and made a call. She spoke a while before one of the men came out and asked me if I could please get her to get off the phone. He seemed really apologetic, but I wasn't going to ask KA to get off the phone. I didn't want her to think I had let the man bully me into compromising her space.
Instead, I walked up to KA and told her, "Don't get off the phone. This guy wants you to, and I feel like you should, but don't. Don't be bullied."
But KA got off the phone, both as if she were disappointed that I had let myself be bullied, and as if she were disgusted that I should be so stubborn about the request of such a nice man. The man came up to KA and thanked and thanked her for getting off the phone. He kept pouring all kinds of change onto the counter (where the payphone had been, but on which now was a regular phone).
Dream 3
I was outside, leading a group of kids. Some or all of the kids had magical powers. They could (maybe I could, too) dematerialize at will. But they rematerialized at random. I thought how dangerous it was to walk through objects when you were dematerialized because if you rematerialized unexpectedly you'd be smashed by the matter.
As I thought this, the lead (?) child, who looked like a cartoon version of an anthropomorphic elephant, dematerialized. He walked through a large pin oak tree and rematerialized right as he reached the center of the trunk. The only things sticking out were his elephant trunk and his arms.
I panicked and ran into a (library?) where a woman, maybe my friend and coworker KB, sat near the doors at a table, studying. I asked her to come help me. She said, "Oh, not another problem with one of those meaningless children. If it's somebody famous I'll help you. Who's in trouble?"
I looked at what KB was studying -- three DVD boxes of the work of Nam June Paik. So I said, "Nam June Paik is in trouble." KB stood up and walked out.
Now the tree, wherever it was, was in an area of wood beam frames hung with black wires. The woman walked up and began clipping away all the wires. Some of the wires made some sparks, but they all died as soon as she clipped them.
She now involved me somehow. I apologized. I said, "It wasn't Nam June Paik that was in trouble. It was a kid." The woman didn't hear me much, or possibly, she split into two people, one of whom walked away from me, while the other led me to an "archaeological site." It was a square, maybe ten feet by ten feet, of sandy ground, like in a dirt parking lot, fenced off by a wood beam fence.
The woman was down on the ground, dusting off what now looks like eyeglass lenses. She started telling me about some boy who got lost here a long time ago.
Dream 4
I was in "my great grandmother A's guest bedroom," which was empty except for a radio, which played some news story about how Michael Bloomberg came up with a new education funding event. Bloomberg had "Weird Al" Yankovic play at the event. I thought that was funny.
I walked out to the living room, which was also empty except a couch, and maybe told two male friends how maybe Bloomberg wasn't such a bad guy if he was cool enough to make "Weird Al" a guest at this fundraiser.
My older friend (?) told me, "Just remember that you have a liberal grandmother and a conservative friend. And if your grandmother doesn't like Bloomberg -- I mean, she's old and she doesn't like him! -- that ought to tell you something."
I hit my forehead and said, "Oh, of course Bloomberg is no good. Man, imagine if we were in Harlem."
My older friend said, "We are in Harlem."
I felt disoriented. I tried to remember if I was in Harlem and how I could have lost so much mental composure as to forget such a thing.
Dream 1
It was a nice, sunny day. I was riding in a van possibly driven by mother or my NYC Americorps coworker VT. We may have been in "Harlem." I saw a building at the end of a plaza or a circle lined with buildings. The building at the end was tall and wide, like a fancy hotel, but flat and featureless, red brick with a patching wearing away of tan plaster from the bottom and counter upward and outward.
I was in the van with a few other people, probably "coworkers." Someone mentioned the event we were attending and how it would last into the night. I think I saw the surroundings now like it was late at night. I asked about how we would get to certain subways. Apparently I had to backtrack and go a little out of the way to get to my subway, but it wouldn't be so bad to do.
It was day. I sat on the floor of the van. There were no seats. I think I was the only one back there. I had my old boots on. They looked bad. I was putting my new shoes on, but I noticed they looked bad, too.
Dream 2
I walked into something like a bodega with my friend and NYC Americorps coworker KA. The place had one main area, then a dark hall, then a door with a window into a room where a group of old, Mediterranean-looking men sat, smoking.
KA walked to a payphone in the small, dark hall. She put in twenty-five cents and made a call. She spoke a while before one of the men came out and asked me if I could please get her to get off the phone. He seemed really apologetic, but I wasn't going to ask KA to get off the phone. I didn't want her to think I had let the man bully me into compromising her space.
Instead, I walked up to KA and told her, "Don't get off the phone. This guy wants you to, and I feel like you should, but don't. Don't be bullied."
But KA got off the phone, both as if she were disappointed that I had let myself be bullied, and as if she were disgusted that I should be so stubborn about the request of such a nice man. The man came up to KA and thanked and thanked her for getting off the phone. He kept pouring all kinds of change onto the counter (where the payphone had been, but on which now was a regular phone).
I was outside, leading a group of kids. Some or all of the kids had magical powers. They could (maybe I could, too) dematerialize at will. But they rematerialized at random. I thought how dangerous it was to walk through objects when you were dematerialized because if you rematerialized unexpectedly you'd be smashed by the matter.
As I thought this, the lead (?) child, who looked like a cartoon version of an anthropomorphic elephant, dematerialized. He walked through a large pin oak tree and rematerialized right as he reached the center of the trunk. The only things sticking out were his elephant trunk and his arms.
I panicked and ran into a (library?) where a woman, maybe my friend and coworker KB, sat near the doors at a table, studying. I asked her to come help me. She said, "Oh, not another problem with one of those meaningless children. If it's somebody famous I'll help you. Who's in trouble?"
I looked at what KB was studying -- three DVD boxes of the work of Nam June Paik. So I said, "Nam June Paik is in trouble." KB stood up and walked out.
Now the tree, wherever it was, was in an area of wood beam frames hung with black wires. The woman walked up and began clipping away all the wires. Some of the wires made some sparks, but they all died as soon as she clipped them.
She now involved me somehow. I apologized. I said, "It wasn't Nam June Paik that was in trouble. It was a kid." The woman didn't hear me much, or possibly, she split into two people, one of whom walked away from me, while the other led me to an "archaeological site." It was a square, maybe ten feet by ten feet, of sandy ground, like in a dirt parking lot, fenced off by a wood beam fence.
The woman was down on the ground, dusting off what now looks like eyeglass lenses. She started telling me about some boy who got lost here a long time ago.
Dream 4
I was in "my great grandmother A's guest bedroom," which was empty except for a radio, which played some news story about how Michael Bloomberg came up with a new education funding event. Bloomberg had "Weird Al" Yankovic play at the event. I thought that was funny.
I walked out to the living room, which was also empty except a couch, and maybe told two male friends how maybe Bloomberg wasn't such a bad guy if he was cool enough to make "Weird Al" a guest at this fundraiser.
My older friend (?) told me, "Just remember that you have a liberal grandmother and a conservative friend. And if your grandmother doesn't like Bloomberg -- I mean, she's old and she doesn't like him! -- that ought to tell you something."
I hit my forehead and said, "Oh, of course Bloomberg is no good. Man, imagine if we were in Harlem."
My older friend said, "We are in Harlem."
I felt disoriented. I tried to remember if I was in Harlem and how I could have lost so much mental composure as to forget such a thing.
Wednesday, March 1, 2017
(9/30/05) not a crackhead; black saint christopher
(Entered in paper journal at 8:55 AM at Starbucks on 43rd Street and 3rd Avenue in Manhattan.)
Dream 1
I was in a big bedroom with IS, one of my roommates from my old rented room in Harlem. IS heard that I had called him a crackhead. He was sad, and he tried to show me that he was really intelligent and that he'd actually never have anything to do with crack.
He impressed me somehow from the very beginning so that I was ashamed to have thought he was an idiot and a drug addict. Now I was trying to be like him, trying to be as knowledgeable and skillful as he. But I felt like I had to do so much to apologize to him.
IS had a case full of thick, thick picture books. They were mainly on world and architectural history. I wanted to look, but I felt like I wasn't entitled.
The sun coming into the room was bright, almost video-buzz-white. IS got a guitar, acoustic-electric, hollow-body, stained cherry red. He began playing, As he sang I could tell that even though he had the upper hand on me and he could make me feel so inferior to him, he always felt like I never thought of him as good enough to be my equal. I felt bad about this, but I was more interested in learning from him how to play guitar.
At some point the guitar strings changed into bass strings. Then IS was on TV, on a music video. I saw IS's guitar first. Then I saw IS. The music played pretty loud. I began singing and playing along, trying to learn the lesson.
Now I walked into the hallway. The hallway was full of unhinged doors, like a maze of flats. A tall, tough, white guy walked out and asked me to stop playing my music. I now realized that I had confided in this guy and that he had told IS my opinion of him.
I was mad. But I was also just trying to find out how to get away from this guy, as if getting away from this white man would reverse events and take away the hurt I had caused IS.
Dream 2
People were crossing a river and into an interior blended half with construction material and half with the actual banks of a river. A couple people crossing (everybody crossed one at a time) were black men, tall and strong. They were all violently angry at me.
Everybody, including me (wherever I was), carried a try-like object over the river. It was thick, couch-shaped, and of solid material.
The material varied -- wood, metal, crystal, etc., from "tray" to "tray." People used these "trays" to carry people across the river, like Saint Christopher would carry the infant Jesus on his shoulder.
The black people were first angry at me because they thought I didn't want them to cross. and then they were angry because apparently I had given them "trays" with the edges cut off, so they could only bring one person across each time. And they thought I did that so that they'd have to take a white person across each time. I looked at one of the cut trays, made of clear crystal, and wondered whether two people couldn't actually fit on there.
Dream 1
I was in a big bedroom with IS, one of my roommates from my old rented room in Harlem. IS heard that I had called him a crackhead. He was sad, and he tried to show me that he was really intelligent and that he'd actually never have anything to do with crack.
He impressed me somehow from the very beginning so that I was ashamed to have thought he was an idiot and a drug addict. Now I was trying to be like him, trying to be as knowledgeable and skillful as he. But I felt like I had to do so much to apologize to him.
IS had a case full of thick, thick picture books. They were mainly on world and architectural history. I wanted to look, but I felt like I wasn't entitled.
The sun coming into the room was bright, almost video-buzz-white. IS got a guitar, acoustic-electric, hollow-body, stained cherry red. He began playing, As he sang I could tell that even though he had the upper hand on me and he could make me feel so inferior to him, he always felt like I never thought of him as good enough to be my equal. I felt bad about this, but I was more interested in learning from him how to play guitar.
At some point the guitar strings changed into bass strings. Then IS was on TV, on a music video. I saw IS's guitar first. Then I saw IS. The music played pretty loud. I began singing and playing along, trying to learn the lesson.
Now I walked into the hallway. The hallway was full of unhinged doors, like a maze of flats. A tall, tough, white guy walked out and asked me to stop playing my music. I now realized that I had confided in this guy and that he had told IS my opinion of him.
I was mad. But I was also just trying to find out how to get away from this guy, as if getting away from this white man would reverse events and take away the hurt I had caused IS.
Dream 2
People were crossing a river and into an interior blended half with construction material and half with the actual banks of a river. A couple people crossing (everybody crossed one at a time) were black men, tall and strong. They were all violently angry at me.
Everybody, including me (wherever I was), carried a try-like object over the river. It was thick, couch-shaped, and of solid material.
The material varied -- wood, metal, crystal, etc., from "tray" to "tray." People used these "trays" to carry people across the river, like Saint Christopher would carry the infant Jesus on his shoulder.
The black people were first angry at me because they thought I didn't want them to cross. and then they were angry because apparently I had given them "trays" with the edges cut off, so they could only bring one person across each time. And they thought I did that so that they'd have to take a white person across each time. I looked at one of the cut trays, made of clear crystal, and wondered whether two people couldn't actually fit on there.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
(1/8/10) jumping in the hay: a novel
(Entered in paper journal at 6:30 AM on B-train into work from Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I was walking down a street in a city which was probably supposed to be New York. The streets were clean and calm, though there were a moderate amount of people walking along them. The whole area had a small town feel. It was afternoon, and the sky was a placid silver-blue.
I had been walking from a place far uptown -- possibly 125th Street -- and possibly even across a bridge. I was now down on what was supposed to have been 86th Street. I was looking for a place to have coffee. I was going to have coffee and write or read for a little while, then head back uptown. It was like I had gotten some kind of break time from a large training event or conference.
I found a coffee shop in a building hat looked very small-town like. I walked inside. There was a lot of space. The floors and tables were of pale wood. The tables were as wide as dining tables. The place had two areas. The "back" area, to my left, was set slightly lower than the "front" area.
I thought I would sit in the cafe and read for a while. But for some reason I felt pressed for time. I worried either that I would have to get out of here before sunset or that I would have to get out of here in time to get back to the event uptown. I thought to myself that it would be much smarter for me, in the future, to walk down somewhere, have coffee there, and then walk back uptown (as if that were different from what I had just done!). That way I could avoid getting out of here after sunset.
The place was empty except for two old, heavyish ladies with square, grey haircuts. The ladies sat across from each other at a table near a divider-screen which set apart the back area from the front area. The ladies wore slightly oversized t-shirts, probably blue and red, and pale jeans. They spoke like two grandmothers, with a deadpan, but patient and cheerful tone of voice.
I had to squeeze past the two ladies to get into the back area, where I thought I'd sit because it had so much space. I may have seen two more people enter the shop: a man and woman about my age. This may have made me a little anxious.
I wanted to buy some coffee or tea, but I hadn't seen a cashier yet. I saw a stairway that went down to a basement. It was narrow, with clean walls and pale wood steps. It looked newly built. I knew the cashier was actually in the basement.
I went down into the basement. It was huge, like three or four living rooms put together. The place itself seemed to be set up like three or four different living rooms. The whole place was cast in a bluish light, which I think came from the ground-level windows, high up on the walls. The floor was covered in thick, white shag carpet or rugs of the same material. There were couches everywhere. There were square pillars of dark wood near the center of the room. There were other household items, like bicycles, etc., scattered about.
Bookshelves lined most of the walls. All the books on the shelves looked like popular novels. What mostly caught my attention as I gazed at the bookshelves from the center of the room were books whose spines looked like those of the old V.C. Andrews books.
I saw the cash register, but nobody was there. I knew the cashier was in the restroom. I tried to be quiet, almost invisible as well. I was afraid that if I was too "forward" about my presence, I would cause the cashier to dislike me, which would, I feared, make my future visits here really stressful.
I pulled back my personality so much that I became like a ghost. I "walked," moving my legs, but not moving because I was moving my legs. I was actually moving by cruising forward while floating about an inch above the floor. I crept-floated around the corner of a pillar and possibly squeezed between the space between the back of a chair or couch and the pillar. I floated toward a bookshelf and reached out for a book.
The cashier walked out from the bathroom, which, I saw, was near a smallish, concrete-floored laundry room. The cashier was a tallish, skinny man with a slight, stubbly, black beard and glasses. He may have worn a wool cap.
The cashier, seeing me, at first seemed hesitant to interact. Then he said, "Beautiful night."
I said something in response, but my words were drowned out to me by my thoughts about what I should say. I knew the man had said what he'd said because he didn't want to go through the whole "how are you doing" or "how can I help you" kind of thing.
But I thought that since he'd said it was a beautiful night, I'd sound like I was an idiot if anything I said implied I would be staying inside reading. I thought I'd say something about the long walk I'd just taken to show that I hadn't wasted the beauty of the day by being inside.
I may have asked the man about a book to read. The man told me that I should read XXXXX (can't remember). I thought to myself, Who does that guy think he is, telling me what book to read? I won't read it!
I walked up to a bookshelf to the right (as I faced it) of the cash register. This bookshelf had previously been along the back wall, but now it was on the right wall. I looked up at one of the top shelves, to a row of Stephen King books with the "new style" white bindings with blocks of color across the bottom of the page, where the titles are. I focused on one book called something like Jumping in the Hay.
Dream #1
I was walking down a street in a city which was probably supposed to be New York. The streets were clean and calm, though there were a moderate amount of people walking along them. The whole area had a small town feel. It was afternoon, and the sky was a placid silver-blue.
I had been walking from a place far uptown -- possibly 125th Street -- and possibly even across a bridge. I was now down on what was supposed to have been 86th Street. I was looking for a place to have coffee. I was going to have coffee and write or read for a little while, then head back uptown. It was like I had gotten some kind of break time from a large training event or conference.
I found a coffee shop in a building hat looked very small-town like. I walked inside. There was a lot of space. The floors and tables were of pale wood. The tables were as wide as dining tables. The place had two areas. The "back" area, to my left, was set slightly lower than the "front" area.
I thought I would sit in the cafe and read for a while. But for some reason I felt pressed for time. I worried either that I would have to get out of here before sunset or that I would have to get out of here in time to get back to the event uptown. I thought to myself that it would be much smarter for me, in the future, to walk down somewhere, have coffee there, and then walk back uptown (as if that were different from what I had just done!). That way I could avoid getting out of here after sunset.
The place was empty except for two old, heavyish ladies with square, grey haircuts. The ladies sat across from each other at a table near a divider-screen which set apart the back area from the front area. The ladies wore slightly oversized t-shirts, probably blue and red, and pale jeans. They spoke like two grandmothers, with a deadpan, but patient and cheerful tone of voice.
I had to squeeze past the two ladies to get into the back area, where I thought I'd sit because it had so much space. I may have seen two more people enter the shop: a man and woman about my age. This may have made me a little anxious.
I wanted to buy some coffee or tea, but I hadn't seen a cashier yet. I saw a stairway that went down to a basement. It was narrow, with clean walls and pale wood steps. It looked newly built. I knew the cashier was actually in the basement.
I went down into the basement. It was huge, like three or four living rooms put together. The place itself seemed to be set up like three or four different living rooms. The whole place was cast in a bluish light, which I think came from the ground-level windows, high up on the walls. The floor was covered in thick, white shag carpet or rugs of the same material. There were couches everywhere. There were square pillars of dark wood near the center of the room. There were other household items, like bicycles, etc., scattered about.
Bookshelves lined most of the walls. All the books on the shelves looked like popular novels. What mostly caught my attention as I gazed at the bookshelves from the center of the room were books whose spines looked like those of the old V.C. Andrews books.
I saw the cash register, but nobody was there. I knew the cashier was in the restroom. I tried to be quiet, almost invisible as well. I was afraid that if I was too "forward" about my presence, I would cause the cashier to dislike me, which would, I feared, make my future visits here really stressful.
I pulled back my personality so much that I became like a ghost. I "walked," moving my legs, but not moving because I was moving my legs. I was actually moving by cruising forward while floating about an inch above the floor. I crept-floated around the corner of a pillar and possibly squeezed between the space between the back of a chair or couch and the pillar. I floated toward a bookshelf and reached out for a book.
The cashier walked out from the bathroom, which, I saw, was near a smallish, concrete-floored laundry room. The cashier was a tallish, skinny man with a slight, stubbly, black beard and glasses. He may have worn a wool cap.
The cashier, seeing me, at first seemed hesitant to interact. Then he said, "Beautiful night."
I said something in response, but my words were drowned out to me by my thoughts about what I should say. I knew the man had said what he'd said because he didn't want to go through the whole "how are you doing" or "how can I help you" kind of thing.
But I thought that since he'd said it was a beautiful night, I'd sound like I was an idiot if anything I said implied I would be staying inside reading. I thought I'd say something about the long walk I'd just taken to show that I hadn't wasted the beauty of the day by being inside.
I may have asked the man about a book to read. The man told me that I should read XXXXX (can't remember). I thought to myself, Who does that guy think he is, telling me what book to read? I won't read it!
I walked up to a bookshelf to the right (as I faced it) of the cash register. This bookshelf had previously been along the back wall, but now it was on the right wall. I looked up at one of the top shelves, to a row of Stephen King books with the "new style" white bindings with blocks of color across the bottom of the page, where the titles are. I focused on one book called something like Jumping in the Hay.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)