(10/29/07) collateral baby; the wrong way again!

(Entered in paper journal at 5:15 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)

Dream #1

A woman sat with some men in an otherwise empty theater. She held a gun which changed appearance from metallic silver to a weird, black, futuristic gun. The woman told the men how she had a man in holding. Unless he gave her a gun, which was a piece of evidence proving that she had killed yet another man, she would keep either keep the imprisoned man in holding or kill him.

One of the men reminded the woman, however, that there was a child of the imprisoned man who could somehow prove that the woman had killed a man.

I was in the hospital, walking through the halls as if I were the man who had been imprisoned. I was looking for my child, a little baby. I saw the baby hanging on a door. It was in the room, visible through the glass pane on the door. It had been hung with cords which to me resembled an umbilical cord.

As well as being the imprisoned man, I may also have been a doctor who had taken a special interest in this case. Finding the hung child, I brought it in to a couple of doctors. We figured we could try a special technique which could resuscitate strangulation victims.

I now saw a doctor standing over the baby. The doctor had a big knife in his hands. He cut through all the cords (which were like breathing tubes and other hospital equipment tubes) around the baby's neck. Blood flowed out of them.

Suddenly the baby woke up. It cried, and as it cried it grew into a child maybe ten or eleven years old. The doctor told the baby not to panic, that it was alright. But the baby panicked so much that it rolled out of bed.

The doctor jumped onto the bed and threw his legs over the other side to catch the boy. He then made some weird comment and swung his legs, and the boy, up onto a bed beside the first bed. He then jumped onto the bed.

Both the doctor and the boy were now boys about ten or eleven years old. The bed was huge. It had a wood frame. The boy and the boy-doctor were jumping all over the bed.

Dream #2

I stood at a train station like on the Metro North line of the MTA trains in New York. A small, dark-skinned (Indian?) boy said to me, "I'm happy you came all the way out to Utica to see us."

I was on the train now with a couple friends. The train was going through a deserty area of reddish-tan earth. I thought, I din't know New York had land like this. The sky was bright. The land became much more pale.

The train had been following another train. There were multiple tracks beside one another. Our train got its tracks confused and got lost from the lead train.

It was now like my friends and I were conducting the train. The friend actually conducting, though, hadn't been paying attention to the lead train's movements after we had gotten on the wrong track. Then he stopped paying attention to the tracks altogether. We started moving along on no tracks at all, near some cliff or mound of cakey sand. I told my friend, "Back up! Back up! We need to get back on track!"

We got back on a track, but we were heading somewhere way off from where we'd previously been heading. I told my friend, "If we just go back to where we first lost the train, I can get us back onto the track we're supposed to be on."

We got turned around and were heading back to where we'd gotten lost. We went past one or two large groups of people gathered around a black basalt cliff and overhang. I felt something wasn't right about seeing all these people. But I trusted we were going back to the right place.

We were back in an area that looked like where we'd gotten lost. But now my friend drove the train straight up the side of a hill. At first there were tracks. But at the top the tracks stopped. I yelled at my friend, "You're going the wrong way again!"

(11/6/07) i was two detectives

(Entered in paper journal at 5:30 PM on Q-train from Manhattan to Brooklyn.)

Dream #1

Two detectives in a living room without much furniture in it. I was one or both of the detectives. A woman had been accused of a crime. She was in the room. She was dark-skinned, maybe Hispanic or East Indian. One of the detectives (both may have been fat and pale, wearing worn-out dress clothes, fedoras, and trenchcoats) stood by a table, by which the woman also stood. The other detective sat on a couch.

The detective (me, from my point of view) sitting on the couch had stated his dismissal of the woman's alleged guilt. The other detective (me, but not seeing from the detective's point of view) wasn't investigating anymore, and he had accepted the other detective's statement of the woman's innocence. But he was still making actions which appeared to be searching for clues to the woman's guilt.

At this point the position of the woman and this second detective varied or alternated. There was a little corner of space behind the table.Alternately the woman and the second detective appeared to be behind the table.

At the edge of the table near the woman and second detective was some loose change. At one point the second detective grabbed the change. Something about the feel of the change, a sliminess or griminess, proved that the surfaces of the coins were poisoned.

The second detective said, "Aha! Now I've proven it! This is how she killed them. So she wasn't innocent after all!"

The first detective (me, from my viewpoint) thought, Now the second detective will die. He inadvertently killed himself to find the woman's guilt.

I (or the first detective?) thought, He (the second detective -- also me by feeling) thought he would impress the older detective by revealing the woman's guilt. But he did it in too roundabout a way. There was a simpler way, which I knew the first detective knew, but which I (as I simply) did not know.

(1/21/10) the ghost and the murderess

Dream #1

I walked down a city sidewalk, on the left side of the street. It was early morning, dark, with a deep blue sky overhead. I came up to a taped-off area of sidewalk. To my right, behind the tape, was a big, heavy tower of something like scaffold. I looked up and saw a heavy load of something like thick boards or thick, metal plates hanging from a cord, as if the top of this tower were a crane.

I was afraid that the load would fall on me. I didn't cross the tape. I walked into the street, past the tower, then back to the sidewalk. But now I saw that there was another tower before me. I was still afraid that the load behind me would fall and crush me. But now I was also afraid that the load before me would crush me.

I flew up into the air. I was now level with the loads. The towers around the loads were like makeshift floors of wooden boards. The place felt very much like an active construction area. I floated between the two towers. Both towers seemed, now, to be set flush against the face of the building. The second tower stood near the corner of the building.

A tall, strong, round-bodied, round-headed, black man wearing overalls (no shirt?) walked around the corner. When I saw him, I started yelling things at him, things that I thought would make me sound like a ghost or a demon. I thought that I was invisible, but that I could still be heard. I was trying to scare the man, as if to pay him back for his having scared me.

The man seemed either not to hear me or to hear me only slightly. He stopped and looked forward, as if trying to figure out whether he actually was hearing something.

I was now in a kind of small, slightly shabby bedroom. The room was lit somewhat brightly by incandescent light. I was with someone else, possibly a woman. We were shuffling through a loose scattering of papers and pamphlets which lay on the bed. We either stood before or sat on the bed.

The papers and pamphlets were all about grotesque events, probably all murders and serial murders, and possibly all about one woman who had committed these murders. I looked through a number of these pamphlets. The text and margins were blue or red and looked like Chinese take-out menus or old Christian pamphlets for witnessing.

I picked up one pamphlet. A photo on the front showed a dead person's face. The face was black with decay. The skin of the face was shrunken with decay, but it also seemed to be stuffed into the mouth of the face. The head had a few strands of almost colorless, but not pale, blondeish hair.

I turned through the pages. Another photo showed a bone that had been broken in half and placed into a clear, crystal glass of water. The glass had a thick base of cut, niched crystal. I either read or knew that the murderess would take the bones of her victims and put them in water to clean off all the flesh, which the woman possibly thought of as the only evidence of her guilt.

I turned to another photo. It was of the woman. She, too, stood over a bed. She looked like a woman from the early twentieth or late nineteenth century. Her dress was very plain, long-sleeved, tight around the woman's top, with the skirt curtaining slightly outward. The woman's hairstyle was close, but "bunned" outward. The woman had a pale, oval face and wide, pale, severe eyes.

The woman started talking and moving. She was pointing to something on the bed, possibly the dead body the face of which was the subject of the first photo. The woman yelled something about how I'd discovered her and how I wasn't supposed to discover her.

I was suddenly afraid. I felt like I was in the woman's house right now, and like she was now sneaking around to get ready to kill me. But I was also afraid that, since I had seen so much about the woman, that the  murderous impulse would also infect me, and that I would soon be like her.