(12/8/04) snobby zombies; trailer park cruise

(No time/place info for paper journal entry.)

Dream 1

A prison scene. People came in who were dressed in some strange way, almost like people who have reached middle age but who decide to keep wearing punk clothes, except the clothes were all bright colors, especially pink. These people were either zombies attacking the prisoners or people coming to attack the prisoners who, it had been discovered, were zombies. The prisoners, it seems now, wore dark blue police uniforms.

The prison was a smallish, dust floored, plaster walled cafeteria or courtyard room with balconies and hallways with barred doors for cells. The front door was barred, though it also seems to have been a revolving door, like the gates on the subway. Plenty of sunlight came into the place. It felt like it was in the desert.

Somehow nothing happened for this first sweep through of people. Now there was a second sweep through. This time it was like the "prisoners" were cops or just plain, old civilians and the people coming in were zombies. But though they still dressed strangely, like old bikers who decided to look like Malibu beach bums, they apparently "blended in" with everybody else and thus could attack them easily. I (wherever I had been) now recognized this. Now the zombies really did look regular, except just a bit too good-looking and clean-cut.

They chased me, perhaps as if I were the last one to be taken. I ran through one of the cast iron "subway gate" revolving doors and down a series of steps to a constrictive, winding basement.

One man and one woman followed after me, laughing. I could feel them trying to attract me and hypnotize me. They needed me to allow them to attack me and they could do so by attracting me or hypnotizing me with charm. The whole time I ran I kept throwing off the attraction by shouting (audibly again), "I do not opt control to you!"

Now the basement was no more than a tallish storage hole. I fumbled through some boxes to work my way into a long, dark tunnel-vent which went to a big room. But when I climbed into the vent the zombies caught my foot and began pulling me back.

Now "I" or some person (I either saw through his eyes or saw him from another viewpoint) was in a wooden, shed-like area that was small and missing a front wall. "I" was organizing things, rudimentary tools, on wooden tables and shelves smothered in and surrounded by hay.

I almost felt like "I" was incapable of anything other than this demeaning labor, which was just saving time for the two zombies, who were something like snobbish business people. But I saw how "I" or "he" had been hypnotized to act the way "XXXXX" was acting and to believe "XXXXX" was unable to do better with "himself."

The zombies were just hypnotizing "the man" to submit to more and more demoralization until he was so worn down he would just surrender to being slaughtered and eaten. So I tried to put a stop to it. I went up to this man, who was now a thin, short, rough skinned, squint-eyed, bald man in what looked like faded denim prison clothes. He was making scratches on some cardboard surface that looked like the lid to a box. He may have been making markings, long lines, with a crayon.

I got right to his right (?) ear and whispered, "This is only a dream. You must treat this all as a dream. This is not who you really are. You are much better than this. I am going to wake you up on the count of fourteen and you will see all this is a dream." I then began counting in a strange fashion and also with a voice that echoed off itself like some kind of distortion for a disco song.

I now stood over by the two zombies. They mentioned something about the man in the prison clothes. They laughed. I wondered why he hadn't woken up. I hoped the zombies hadn't caught me trying to release the man from his spell.

The zombies now talked about some expensive alcoholic drink. It revolted me. I saw in their hands some weird, football-shaped, organic lumps like organs or shark embryos. I knew they drank the blood out of these organic lumps. I thought something like, God! I can't even have a casual conversation without them revealing their repulsive, cannibalistic tendencies.

They must have felt my disapproval because they now changed the story. The organic lumps were some kind of expensive glasses. The drink inside was more like a Courvoisier. "But," the zombies said, "We almost never drink this anyway. It's far too expensive. In fact, we mainly bought these only to show you what they looked like and how unreasonably expensive they are." The zombies stood in front of some nice, silver SUV.

Dream 2

Mostly unremembered. I went on some long trip, possibly on a boat, and possibly with people from my NYC Americorps program. One guy in particular was there.

The room we two walked into, some kind of main cabin where all of us could meet, was wide, yet short and cheap looking. It had thin, green carpet, and thin, "trailer park" walls like fake wood panels. But these walls were muted, almost looking like the gravel colored press board backings often seen in big, cheap warehouses. There was a "couch," on which the other guy sat, which, other than having a small, green cushion somewhere, was in fact this gravel-colored press board fringed in tan plywood striping. The guy spread himself out on the "couch" like he didn't even care.

I tried to be cool. I walked into the bathroom, saying something about how I was sorry I hadn't been able to make the room look very cool and that I wasn't really a dork. The guy  said, "Oh, it's no big deal. We'll have these walls plastered with rap star posters in no time. Especially the bathroom walls."

I now looked up to the walls, as if I were a five-year-old child, to see two calendar/posters, which, though of apparently abstract and almost featureless design, were "of" two very famous rap stars. I thought something like, "Oh, I'm not sure I wanted this, after all."

(2/18-19/06) i don't want to see the insanity; the police must be lying

(NOTE on dream entries -- Some dreams I entered into my paper journal were entered immediately after I woke from the dreams. Some of these dreams may have been written in a "coherent" narrative style. Others were written in an outline style. Earlier on, in 2004, I would flesh out and "analyze" these dreams in my daytime journals. I'm not really sure whether I did the same thing from the dreams I took this method with in 2006 and possibly 2005. Since this blog is dedicated to recording the dreams in my dedicated dream journals, however, I am sticking to the form of the dreams as written in the journals.)

(Entered in paper journal at 11:07 PM at home in Brooklyn -- pretty sure immediately after waking from the dream.)

Dream 1

I sat by a computer doing a project -- radio/computer news -- "fair" in Kmart parking lot -- some area blocked off (by convenience store "van") where strange kid staring.

Later on, still by screen -- kid vanished. Something wrong with place, too, Hearing news as watching live scene of highway in Seattle. Talking of kid, kid probably in Seattle.

cars buzzing along highway. News stranger -- kid maybe insane -- then kid probably stolen by father -- father probably insane -- at first highway on web page, just live photos like on Vail.com website -- now action video, direct -- a car makes a tail of exhaust -- i thought, i could be watching them.

the highway seems closer and closer, until the "camera" is right there -- i click out, think, last thing I need is to get possessed by this madman -- as i click i send a car flying up and back down in Seattle -- the highway now my own -- see, as "radio" narrates, cars driving on grass, grass fields everywhere -- crashing, laying in ruts, broken, crashed cars everywhere -- "radio" narrates this is the junkyard, people come here to wreck their cars.

so now it seems like it should feel safe. But I feel even more afraid. And I still want to change "states" on the website, but I don't want to go to any other state. I'm afraid that the insane man will drive there, too, and possess me. --

Dream 2

(Entered in paper journal at 8:43 AM at Starbucks on 1st Street and 7th Avenue in Brooklyn.)

I was with my brother. We were in a big van that I drove.We stopped at the edge of a park, either a city park or a national park. I got out of the van and got back in. I had seen a park house at the top of the hill pretty easily from in front of the van. I was excited to go there. But I knew we had to get somewhere in the van.

I explained this to my brother. He responded positively and said, "Then I'll just spend a minute or two in the park. You can wait idling right here."

Previously we had been in something like a roadside parking area where cars pull in diagonally with the curb.

Now we were on the corner of an intersection. I thought, after a second or two of my brother being gone, Look how happy he was to go. I won't pressure him to leave. I'll pull in and park.

I pulled into a small, half-dirt, half-asphalt parking lot. There were only a few spaces. I parked in front of, i.e. front-to-front with, an army-green car that looked like a police car. I drove a tiny bit too far and ran off the asphalt and onto the dirt -- about a six- or seven-inch drop.

As I was trying to pull back, thinking it wouldn't be impressive to have my car like that in front of a "cop car," a "real" cop car's passengers called to me on a loudspeaker, telling me to pull away from the "cop car" and step out of my van. They thought I was a criminal for whom they had set up this green "cop car" as a decoy. I was already trying to pull back. but the asphalt drop was too steep for me to get up.

I looked back to the "real" cop car. Both cops were half out of their opened doors with their guns ppointing at me. They told me to forget pulling my van back and just to get out of the vehicle. Neither they nor I were sure they wouldn't shoot me, even if I did comply with their orders. They thought I was pretty dangerous.

We sent thoughts back and forth -- some woman had pegged me as a really bad person. I tried to explain (telepathically) that I knew who she was and that she had followed me around, but that I had never done anything bad in front of her. She had posed as a friend.

I thought back through all my memories of the woman, unable to believe the woman could have betrayed me. I tried to figure out whether she was trying to frame me for something she had done. All my memories, though, were of her (a blonde, mousy-looking, lower-middle-class woman, dry-skin-cheeked, worn-eyed) decking herself with household items from bargain stores. During some of my memories, she and I were making movies.

But I had one particular memory of sneaking up and catching the woman by surprise. The woman was decking herself for one of our movies. She was excited about it, but in a calm way. She had rolls of wide, clear tape on her head. She cut the rolls "into shape" with scissors.

I thought, The police must be lying. The woman really liked me and making movies with me. She wouldn't accuse me like this.

(4/7/06) the murderer and the book

(Entered in paper journal at 6 PM at Starbucks on 43rd Street and 3rd Avenue in Manhattan.)

Dream 1

I was in an office with little light, almost like the peripheries of things were lit by a spotlight in the distance through a window. I was by myself, but I felt my boss EB's presence somewhere.

Now I was on the phone. I held a book (like the Witchcraft of the Southwest book at the Mid-Manhattan library) in my hand. The person on the phone -- possibly a cop -- spoke of a murderer, who was either I or my EB. I could feel EB's presence telling me to hang up the phone or he would kill me, too. But I was too intent on solving the mystery and proving my innocence.

The book's inner lining, I "noticed," was "human skin" "instead of" paper. It really was paper, though, a bit wadded up and with some kidney-shaped pen drawings on it. I saw an image, maybe a "prevision" of my own body: my back with two slabs of skin cut off in the area of my lungs, somewhat matching the shapes drawn on the lining of the book.

(10/29/08) injured woman; diseased group; inaccurate work

(Entered in paper journal at 6:10 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)

Dream #1

Something like a movie or a documentary about a woman. The woman may have been going to sue a group of people for having gotten her involved in some situation. I saw old black and white photos of the woman. The woman was fat, with short, sloppily arranged hair. She had pale blue-green (?) eyes. In one photo she may have been opening presents with someone like her father. In all the photos she looked mentally unstable.

I now saw the woman lying on a bed, on her back, with her head hung down over the side of the bed. It was obvious the woman had some kind of motor-system dysfunction.

The woman was "talking" -- actually it sounded and looked more like she was narrating. The woman's voice played in the background as the woman, without speaking, was, in my view, trying to pull something out from under her bed. The thing was possibly a cane that looked like a weed-whacker with a microphone at its top. The woman slowly pulled herself out of bed and walked toward the bathroom.

The woman was "talking" about the situation, and how she had already come into it with a lot of bodily troubles. The woman said how the situation had caused her to get a gunshot in her skull (she might have shot herself) and how she also ended up with severe injuries limiting even further her use of her arms and legs.

Dream #2

Something like a movie. A small group of people had been exposed to something like a degenerative pathogen. They had gone their separate ways and then started to feel the effects of the pathogen. Some of the people had managed to stop or delay the effects, but not until after the degeneration of their tissue had caused a loss of blood. It seemed like everybody from the small group would die, except, perhaps, an evil man who was going to do something even worse to all the other doomed men so that he could live.

The scene was now of a "cop" getting ready for bed. He had been at the scene with the other men and had been kind to them, while warning them about whatever they had been doing. I thought he was nice. He was apparently played by Klaus Kinski.

The cop was in something like a barracks with a lot of other men. The place looked like a cabin, with dark wood walls and floors and dim (but full) light from hanging electric lamps. The place seemed very warm and comforting. The beds were all close together. The men were all in white long underwear. The beds all had white sheets, but at least the cop's bed was also blanketed in a thick fur.

The cop got into bed with another man and turned his back to him. He at first pulled the blanket over him, but then pulled the blanket away to reveal that his nose (maybe eyes, too?) was trickling blood. He'd gotten infected, as well.

I thought, Oh, no! Not him, too. He's such a nice guy! But I knew not only that the cop was infected, but that he was also doomed to die much more quickly than the others, since nobody would be around to help him delay things.

Dream #3

My co-worker CL and my boss BS had worked together on some project. CL now poked his head into BS' office to thank him for the work, which was almost completely related to the industry CL did research on, and only slightly related to the industry that BS did research on. But BS, and possibly my co-worker IA, now warned CL not to trust the work after all, as it had been done mostly by me, and I had done an inexact job.

Both BS' and CL's offices were dark. BS may not have been in his office at all.