(10/2/04) hospital bill

(Entered in daytime paper journal only. No time/place info.)

Dream 1

I looked at a hospital bill for treatment I had recently had. I realized how much money I owed the hospital.

(12/14/04) raw chicken cat; unprofessional poor boy

(Entered in paper journal at 7 AM at Utica and Eastern Parkway in Brooklyn.)

Dream 1

I was in a dim living room with my friend R. I feel like I was lying sideways on a couch that was kind of ragged and worn and rough. A cat was jumping from table to table and R's dog was somewhere around. I don't know if I could really see R.

R spoke about feeding his dog raw chicken meat all the time. He said the dog was acquiring more and more taste for raw meat. I told him, "I hope she doesn't eventually mistake the cat for a piece of raw chicken meat and kill her to eat her."

The cat was now long and thin, stringy, as if she had been starved or as if she had starved herself. I thought something like, That can't be the cat. Before, she had been full, and her fur had been bright orange, not dull and short.

The cat jumped at me, to attack. I feel she may even have jumped into my mouth.

Dream 2

One of the NYC Parks supervisors, DT, told me he would give me a ride home. It was night. I was in some lonely downtown area of a place, like Denver's downtown area had been a few years previously. I walked down some sloping streets with buildings and empty lots or parking lots.

I'd promised DT I would bring him water to repay him for helping me home. So at some point I carried two glasses, a tall glass and a short glass. The short glass may have been wider. The tall glass was upright. The short glass was upside down and held base-to-base with the tall glass.

The tall glass was almost full of water. I was supposed to have bought DT some bottled water. For some reason I couldn't do that, so I had just brought the glass of water.

As I continued walking I spilled the water and got the glass a little messy. Now either DT pulled up or I walked to a strangely shaped parking lot, possibly all asphalt or part asphalt and part dirt. I think there was also a hill I walked up.

I gave DT the sloppy cup of water and told him my situation. He acted like it was all okay and drank part of the water. He then made some excuse so he wouldn't have to drink the rest.

I got into DT's SUV. As we drove the time switched to midday. We drove along an area like Colfax Avenue in Denver, near my mom's house. We stopped at a smallish, kind of run-down house. All the way there and while we were in the house I told DT about my Americorps experience, living stipends, etc. DT said he understood, but couldn't do much, etc.

I continued talking as we stood in a horribly messy kitchen. DT spoke on the phone. He interrupted me to tell me he could no longer have me here. Wasn't someone going to come pick me up? I said yes, that XXXXX (MP?) was coming in his SUV.

I could tell DT only wanted me gone because I had been unprofessional. So now I tried to act more balanced and professional. But DT wasn't listening. He just said he'd consider what I'd said.

(1/5/05) money had arrived

(Entered in paper journal at 6:35 AM at home in Harlem.)

Dream 1

I walked or was dropped off at the end of a tree-shaded, concrete bike path in the suburbs that apparently wound along a hillside behind some houses and possibly along but up from or up and away from a creek. I was now at an asphalt cul-de-sac with houses' side yards on the left and right. I was going home. I think I was going there quickly because money had arrived.

As I walked, a kid walked past me who scared me. I was all alone with him on the street. he was tall, with a hooded sweatshirt, black grey with some design, and dark, baggy jeans. His hands were in the "kangaroo pouch" of the sweatshirt. His face was a tattered board of wood, like a brown-painted beam now chipping and splintering. I thought there were eye holes for him to see through, but I couldn't find any. Nevertheless he managed to look straight at me.

I acted unafraid, though I was extremely afraid. I got to a busy street. On my side the street was flat. There were a lot of small storefronts in small, white buildings. The street was wide and rushing moderately with cars. Across the street was a large, sweeping hill, possibly with a church somewhere.

I was about to get home. But I was afraid the man was following me. I didn't want him to know where I lived.

Now I was walking past my house. I looked in the windows as I passed to see I had letters. I was now inside my house. The place was a messy, kind of small house, all grayish and musty.

The two letters had been slid under my door. I thought at first that they were eviction notices. I picked them up and walked into my bedroom with them. They were checks from my great grandmother A.

The "checks" were actually just sloppily written letters with some monetary figures on them. One was an almost crumpled square of novelty paper, a pinkish, sandy color with a blue border dotted with seashells and sea creatures. The figure on this sheet was $28. There was an awfully written letter on it and also faded figures of addition and subtraction.

I thought to myself that this must be a carbon copy sheet and that my grandma must have absently-mindedly been doing figures on the top sheet before sending me the letter. I wondered if the "check" would be any good in such a messy state. Besides, it wasn't enough money.

I went to a kitchen table. There were a few more envelopes on the floor close to the wall. I fell down, crouching on the floor, feeling also like I was in flimsy clothing or beneath a matronly blanket.

I opened one of the envelopes. A ton of papers fell out. One looked like a folded postal money order. I didn't think it could be. I unfolded it. It was. I read the amount the order was good for. $192. I couldn't believe it. I was reading it upside-down. I looked at it once again. It was still upside-down. $192. I felt great relief. This would be enough to supplement my income for a few weeks.

(2/10/05) the $700 casa bonita train

(Entered in paper journal at 9:45 PM at home in Harlem.)

Dream 1

I was in a house with JN from Morningside Park. She had received some kind of promotion. She was now assigned to monitor some potentially illegal activity. A man (a lecturer I knew in waking life from the New York Tolerance Center) who may have called himself the District Attorney came by to inspect JN's performance.

I was crouched somewhere, like I was cleaning a floor. The man caught sight of me, thought I was a drug addict, and determined he would follow JN and me to XXXXX to make sure I wasn't getting her involved in drugs.

JN and I were in the bathroom. JN was now a skinny, attractive girl. I was in some kind of lingerie, though I wasn't wearing anything like panties or lingerie bottoms. I had a huge penis, which showed below some sheer, black camisole.

We were now at the place. I can't remember this part.

I was outside, looking at a red-bodied subway train. I was happy because maybe I'd get to ride it.

(By this point in time in waking life, red-bodied subway trains were being replaced by newer, silver-bodied trains with white interiors and periwinkle-blue seats. I called them "ghost trains." And I was always happy whenever I got to ride one of the old, red-bodied trains.)

But as the red-bodied train got closer (as if coming round some small, rocky slopes) I saw it was more like an old-style railroad train, slow-moving, windowless, almost like a chain of clean trolleys.

The train passed by so slowly that I got to ask passengers questions. Where were they going? Somewhere up north (like this was the Metro North). How did they eat on such a long trip? There was "free" dinner. It was included in the ticket price, which itself was reasonable. Excited, I ran into some chambered cave like the white caves at Casa Bonita to purchase a ticket.

My mom sat with some folks in a chamber. She said, "Don't get too excited. The 'reasonable' ticket price is seven hundred."

I continued running. I thought to myself, Well, seven hundred isn't that bad. But I quickly stopped. I must at first have thought my mom had meant seven hundred cents, or seven dollars. But now I realized she'd meant seven hundred dollars!

I shouted, "Seven hundred dollars! That's awful!" I felt like all my money was slipping away.

I was now sliding down a tunnel slide that was still like the chambered, white caves at Casa Bonita.

(3/20/05) gay tools

(Entered in paper journal at 7:20 AM at home in Harlem.)

Dream 1

I headed to an amusement park. I was now before a ride -- a tall, thin, metal, spidery, hourglass-shaped frame, off the spinning top of which hung long wires to swing set-like seats that almost touched the ground. The top would spin enough so that the strung seats would whirl about parallel to the ground. The seated people could then control their seats somehow to spin around and move higher or lower. I think at first the seats looked like painted, glittery, rocket-like capsules, but that they changed.

It was my turn to ride. I got on the swing set seat. The top only turned slowly. I was barely going up. I tried to turn myself around or lift my seat up some more. But I couldn't find any controls.

I heard someone somewhere say, "The last batch of folks was brave enough to have a good ride. Too bad you got stuck with this batch of folks."

Now my crew mate MG came by and saw me on the ride. He thought it looked like fun.

Now I was able to control the ride. I spun the top faster and cranked some springy string-control so that I was way high in the air, at about ten degrees from only slowly. (This ride was in something like a vacant, dusty lot. I don't know where the other rides were.)

Now Max and I and some interesting older woman were inside a shed-like area. The place was tight, with thick, wood beam frames and no walls, and a few, naked incandescent bulbs lighting the clutter of close-packed tools and boxes. We went to a red truck which had tool compartments dense along its sides.

MG was talking impressively to the woman -- something about a job he had or would have soon. The woman gave an intellectual-sounded response. I felt left out. I thought, grabbing a tub of tools I felt were necessary for the task at hand, At least I know how to work, how to put myself to work. At least I can interact with folks that way.

But now MG and the woman grabbed a huge board or case of tools out of the compartment. They tried to move forward. They'd have to move through a tight frame of wood beams. The tub of tools was blocking the way.

MG and the woman stared at me. I asked, "Wasn't I supposed to bring out these tools?"

They said, "No. We're only using these tools."

I tried to get the tools out of their way. But as I grabbed the but, MG and the woman impatiently bashed the case of tools against me. I felt and saw tools crash all around me and bright light everywhere. All this time the conversation between MG and the woman was still going on. I could hear them now talking about something about homosexuality.

My sight was now of some black and white photos, as if I were holding a coffee table book close to my face. Another voice, like a female narrator, took over for MG and the woman and gave some details about the subjects (probably artists) of these photographs, which were taken by a woman in the 1970s.

One picture I focused on was of a party at a woman's apartment, probably in New York. It was a small living room, with a couch and a woven rug and some thin shelves taking up most of the space. But there were plants everywhere. There were maybe fourteen or fifteen (small and medium) pots of plants. There were even two pots under the couch.

There were about ten people in the photograph. The only woman I noticed was the one who threw the party. She had on black leather pants and some tight-knit sweater with a v-neck. She was thin and delicate, yet somehow blunt-faced, and she had a thin yet long pile of frizz-curly hair about her head and shoulders. Everybody else was male, as far as I noticed. They were all gay, except for the girl and her boyfriend, who stood beside her.

I thought, I can't believe I've been invited to this party. I don't want to be hit on by guys all night. Not that I'm turned off by the thought of being with a guy. But all these guys look like assholes.

I now saw two guys with their arms around each other's shoulders: a normal friendship pose. But these guys were lovers. They were both Latino, though I thought at first that the smaller guy was white. The bigger guy was very dark.

At first the guys both had roundish, wide-eyed faces. But the closer I looked the more I saw that they both actually looked Native American: thin-eyed, with broad, flat sharp faces. Their dress was very 1970s Navajo-style -- very cowboy-like, with tight shirts over compactly bulging stomachs like water canteens. I was actually kind of disappointed that two guys like this would be gay.

Now I stood with another older woman. She was tall, thin, and had the same intellectual attractiveness I find in Diane Arbus. We stood in a smallish apartment that felt like it was in some city in the desert. The place was empty and the light was grey-sky light soaking in through yellow-thick curtains, into off-white walls and a dirty pine green carpet.

The woman was telling her her plans about how to flower this place. The place was something like a public center, a park or garden (though it was just an apartment).

On a ledge in front of the front window was a wide pot full of grey and white and black speckled gravel with a couple sprigs of green sprouting up into a couple white and pink flowers. But behind this pot crept a viny stalk that hugged its way around from the right to the left and stalked up independently on the ledge a couple inches to the left of and behind the wide, pinkish, plastic pot. The stalk was a tropical green that faded up into a tropical green-yellow before flowering in a cardinal-red spike tighter than a thistle-head, combed together like the wet hairs of a thick paintbrush.

I told the woman I liked this flower very much. She said, "Yes. MH," (one of my Americorps crew mates) "found this flower all the way down that way."

When the woman said this I noticed the vine, which I saw circling around and behind the right side of the pot, actually climbed farther right, low along the wall in one green and yellow strand down a hallway, to a point in a boiler room where MH had made the discovery.

The woman continued. "MH found it when she picked a quarter off the flower." (I now saw a quarter by the vine behind the right side of the pot.) "I was about to wring her neck, because she spread this invasive species just so she could pick up a quarter. But MH told me that the quarter was for a man who was diabetic and who needed every last bit of his money for his diabetes medication.

"So I said, 'Well, that's okay then. But you have to be very careful, because this vine thrives very well around these small blossoms. But I like that vine, too.'"

(4/2/05) grocery checkout touchscreen

(Entered in paper journal at 10:15 AM at Starbucks on 114th Street and Broadway in Manhattan.)

Dream 1

I headed for the self-checkout lines in a grocery store that was lit dimly, like a large warehouse. I had given a great deal of attention to what I had been shopping for, though I don't remember anymore what it all was.

A few people stood in line in front of me, or, rather, we all gathered in line in close time so that I was last in line, but arrived in line maybe a fraction of a second after the first in line. But everybody parted when they realized I stood behind them, as if obliged to let me go by simple, polite repayment for having jostled ahead of me.

The front guy was kind of wiry, small, with a head of loosely curled, black hair. I felt bad for going ahead of everybody. The checkout stands looked like they were set crooked or like they were set in an obscure corner, like where a customer service booth or a pharmacy booth might be.

I went to a stand beside a stand where a lady was checking out items. I only had one carton, one quart, of milk I sat it down on the scanner and then lifted it up and held it in my left hand.

A nine-squared menu appeared on the touchscreen. It led to another nine-squared menu which led to the last menu I remember, which, though still in the nine-square format, only had the first five squares as options, i.e.

as opposed to

I don't remember the first two menus, except that each option-button had a picture on its top half and an item name on its bottom half, i.e.

Each screen I reached made me more and more worried that I was messing up my item choice and that I would end up having to pay more money than I actually had. Each time I touched the screen I felt as giddy as I would on a high-wire. The words were so misleading, and the pictures were only obtuse indicators of the product.

In the last screen there were pictures of the milk carton, something like the Tuscan milk carton illustrations. I thought the first button's picture was of my milk. But I read the word "skim" below the picture. I knew that wasn't it. There were pictures of old, unpainted, wooden barns and fields of tall, green grass. Then there was another picture, of a milk carton. One of the buttons' words was something like "magnesium."

I was about to choose the second milk carton button, but the word was "testicular." I stood there for a second, trying to figure out what the hell kind of milk I had, and whether I had made a mistake in one of the first two screens.

(6/14/05) expensive breakfast cocktails; transvestite eviction greeting card

(Entered in paper journal at 6 AM at home in Harlem.)

Dream 1

Something strange had happened at work, like work had been canceled, or like we had our work changed from one type of work to another. Some guy had given us a speech about how things had changed. Now everybody cleared out.

I sat on a hillside with my crewmate and friend KB. We looked down on some "main street" and a little bar there. She asked if I wanted to go there for breakfast. I said sure.

I was now wandering through some spot of town far down the road. It took me a minute to realize I wasn't supposed to be there.

I was now at the bar, sitting with KB and some man, maybe my friend ML, maybe a well-put-together man like a doctor or a Ph.D. candidate.

We sat below a sign displaying a list of drinks the bar served for breakfast. I didn't want to order anything. It was all too expensive. But I didn't want to look like a cheapskate, either. The sign was huge and had two sides. I read both sides and finally found one drink I could afford. But even then I didn't want to order. It just seemed like too much money.

Dream 2

I had moved into a rented room-type place. My brother had as well. Our landlady came in to look at the place. We left. We came back. The place had been dirty before. Now it was clean. I knew my landlady had looked through my dresser drawers.

My brother had gotten kicked out. But I looked in the drawer, where my girl clothes were, and saw a letter for me to leave, too. It was in magic marker and signed in different colors by all kinds of different people, all of whom were in my landlady's family. It was almost like a "thank you" or "we'll miss you" card.

(8/1/05) stomach exploded; i came because i was turned on; the city of night and darkness; $220 and 99-cent beach

(Entered in paper journal at 12:30 PM at Starbucks on 43rd Street and 3rd Avenue in Manhattan.)

Dream 1

I was on the side of a wide highway on a mountain slope with my mom. It was a sunny day. the shoulder of the road seems to have been wide, but when I got out of the car I was almost hit a couple times by semi-trucks coming very close to me. They rushed by quickly and violently enough for me almost to be knocked over by the gusts.

My mom, who, while I couldn't see her, sounded more like my old boss KYB from my Americorps program near Los Alamos, told me to get back in the car. I thought I had been thoughtless to get out of the car.

I turned back to get in. The car (which before was a short, dark blue sedan?) was now a white vehicle like a pickup truck with no doors. I stood outside the truck and right beside my mom.

Another truck rushed by. I said, "It's not surprise that friend of my sister's got a burst stomach when he got hit by that truck."

My mom said, "Well, he did die of that burst stomach, but it may not have been just from the truck, and his stomach didn't burst right when the truck hit him."

(As my mom said the following I figured out that my mom actually knew two people who had been killed by a truck and that the kid I thought of had actually been mixed up with someone else. I also mainly saw my mom, but I also saw in my mind's eye some grey, slightly bloodied, plastic device over a bare sternum.)

My mom said, "I was there when he died. He was doing fine, just talking with people and joking. Some people may say he pulled something out of himself, one of the tubes. But he didn't. His stomach just suddenly exploded. The doctors said it had become very weak over a long period of time, maybe only two (weeks/months?).

"When his stomach exploded, he just became quiet. His eyes got really big, and only a small string of blood came out from the corner of his mouth. Just like the other person I know whose stomach exploded. He tried to speak, to scream, but all that came out was a little, scared sigh."

I now either felt or saw the young boy beside my mom, trying to contact me as a ghost.

Dream 2

I went to a restaurant with one or two female friends who were gay. I may have thought I was just going to a dinner alone with them. But it turned out it was a party. I sat at a huge table with a bunch of gay women. The table was a long, narrow oval, and I sat at the bottom end. My one or two friends were all the way at the top of the table.

All the women made comments about men. They said I had come here only because I was turned on by lesbians.

I looked to my left. My friend KB's friend SF was there, wearing a white t-shirt and pink, sweats-like pants. She was a little fatter than she was when I had seen her before. I was a little dejected. When I'd seen her before, I'd been really attracted to her. But now I was less so.

But, still, despite my lowered attraction, and the fact that SF was gay (like she, and my friend KB, were in waking life) I felt like if I only admitted to her that I was attracted to her, she would be with me. But I also wasn't quite convinced that she wouldn't just point me out as a typical male and an object of ridicule. So I couldn't bring myself to tell her anything. SF got frustrated at my indecision and left.

There was a guy a couple chairs down. I couldn't tell if he was gay. He tried to talk to me, just friendly. But I didn't want to talk to him or anybody at this party. I saw that about half the party had secretly left, anyway, including my two friends. I felt awful to think I had actually let myself believe I could make meaningful friendships with anybody.

Now, apparently, I was drunk. This guy and I were yelling at and making fun of everybody in the restaurant. But at some point I couldn't remember what I had said, and I was afraid I had unintentionally made derogatory comments about gay people.

Dream 3

It was a foggy night. I was walking on a concrete walkway by a concrete or stone building, all very nondescript, yet somehow resembling something old and European. There might have been a canal somewhere.

I turned around. I saw beyond me a city. It almost looked like a movie set of a big city like New York. But the way the fog and darkness surrounded and permeated it made me name it "The Night City" or "The City of Night and Darkness." I felt that if I looked into the folds of fog and darkness I could transport myself to that city. I was mesmerized terrified by the city.

Now I may have woken up. I lay in bed, still half-seeing the city. I saw a series of pathways where I had stood, ramping up in diagonals like ramping driveways in a parking garage or ramping walkways in a stadium.

I told myself, What a vision, and it's a spontaneous imagination, not a dream! if only I could feel myself in the scene.

I told myself, Well, just hold the image in your mind and let yourself fall into the image as a dream state. Now I fell asleep (?) and for a moment I stood staring at the ramping walkways. I tried to look at the city, but I was afraid my imagination couldn't believably construct something so vivid and intriguing.

Dream 4

I was in the backseat, either of a car or a van which my dad was driving. My brother and sister were also there. My dad was taking us to the beach. He had bought some Aloe Vera lotion, which was supposed to be better than sunblock. It was actually like some kind of yogurt, pinkish with strawberry flavor and with greenish jelly-matter in it that was Aloe Vera. I took some and rubbed it all over my stomach.

We had to go into a 99-cent store. I may have bought something. I may have felt guilty for spending money on an item, something like $2.99, especially at a store where things were only supposed to cost ninety-nine cents.

Now we were in a huge parking lot at the beach. The lot was basically empty. The driver was no longer my dad but some blonde guy who looked like a lifeguard or a camp counselor.

I spent a while getting ready to go in the water. I was fumbling around all through the van, in all the seats, picking things up, losing things, changing clothes, getting a towel. Then I was going back and forth between the van and some car at the other end of the parking lot.

My brother and sister had become "a few people I work with," vague people, although I think I may have seen KB at one point taking off her shirt and shorts to reveal a bathing suit.

I fumbled at one point with my wallet. I had a bunch of bills which I was trying to fit into my wallet. I did this right in front of the lifeguard, wondering if displaying my money right in front of somebody was a good idea. Eventually I stuffed all my bills crudely but sufficiently into a surprisingly loose pocket of my wallet.

I now rushed all over the place, looking for my towel. I realized I hadn't brought one and that I'd have to go back to the 99-cent store to buy one for $2.99, which really was more money than I could afford to spend.

But now, rushing once again to the car from the van, I tried desperately to remember whether I hadn't been to the 99-cent store yet today. I knew I had, and that I had bought just what I'd needed. But now I couldn't remember what I needed, even though even now I was looking for it.

I got to the car and realized I had so much to do before I could even get into the water.

I stopped and said, maybe out loud, "It should not take this long to do something as easy as going to the beach!"

Now the blonde leader sat before me in the vehicle, which was now more like a van than a car. He said, "Okay, I've collected today's fee from everybody except you. Once you give me the $220, you're free to go to the beach -- after we go to the dollar store so you can buy a towel."

Now I was even more confused. I knew first of all that I didn't have $220. But I was also trying to remember whether a $220 fee was stated before I'd gotten in the van. I couldn't figure why anybody would pay $220 just to go to the beach for a couple hours. I wasn't convinced I should pay the leader. In fact, I was, probably, more worried about having to go buy a new towel, knowing the trip to the 99-cent store would take a long time.