(Entered in dream journal at 8:59 AM at Ozzie's coffee shop on Garfield and 5th in Brooklyn.)
Dream 1
Some group with one acronym had a short history that ended violently or tragically. Another group with a similar acronym had a much longer history and may have destroyed or absorbed the first group.
Dream 2
I saw as a rich man chased after somebody through a building, a house. the hallways were very complex and led into enormous rooms. The man may have been with a group of people. He stopped at one point, amazed, and said, "This house is enormous!"
Dream 3
I sat on the floor in a library like a nice college library. I was in a spacious but not very well-known or often-used (or often-cleaned!) room. I had a pile of books. I read from one book, then switched somewhere along the way.
A woman sat to my right, in a wooden chair. She read the same book (but in a different edition?) that I was reading. I saw the book was like a Penguin Classics with a photo on front of a colorful, early Italian Renaissance painting -- almost like an illuminated page with lots of people in red and green and blue clothing.
The book was about some very obscure aspect of art, particularly drawing on the personal experience of someone from medieval (Italy? or Greece?), who had written the book. But, I thought, the book had been written by an American, hadn't it?
I looked at the front of the woman's edition -- it looked like a Dover book. The cover was pale vanilla yellow. It ldelineated the translation of the book. Somehow the book had passed through a number of translators (who were really the authors of the book) -- two of the most recent being Japanese writers whom I admired very much. Finally the book had been written by either the American or the medieval Italian.
I looked at the girl. She was so beautiful. I was happy she, too, was reading this book. I embraced her, cuddled up against her. She stayed still. I couldn't tell whether she liked it. I slumped back down onto the floor. I thought, The last thing someone wants is to be accosted in a library.
I was sure the girl would get up and walk away. But she sat in the chair in a comfortable way, pointing toward me, maybe sitting cradled in the chair with her legs over the arms of the chair and pointing toward me. I knew she had actually liked what I had done.
Showing posts with label rich man. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rich man. Show all posts
Sunday, February 5, 2017
Saturday, November 17, 2012
(9/22/09) joy to see the woman dead; customer and co-worker
Dream #1
I was in a place like a stage version of an old, European city at night. There were a lot of people milling around here and there. There were a couple of buildings with their ligts on inside. In the center of the street was a tall, wooden staircase.
I had watched a rich man (and a rich woman?) do something awful to one of my friends. The rich man and woman were like bosses of a company for which all of us on this street worked.
For a moment I may have been in some large room or large field, virtually alone with the rich man, with a chance to tell him that I didn't like the way he'd treated my friend. But I was too afraid to tell the rich man how I felt. I feared he would hurt me somehow.
I was back in the street. I was climbing up the wooden staircase, which also had people milling about on it, like they were in a line for an amusement park ride. I might have seen or heard the rich man laughing, either on the staircase or in the distance on the street, exulting over the cruel act he had committed. The rich man may have looked like a well-groomed, slightly softened, version of the blind accordion player from Fellini's Amarcord.
I reached the top of the staircase. I now stood in a mezzanine or balcony in a very nice hotel or mansion. The place was well-lit and clean, with white walls and railings. People were crowded all throughout the floor and all the way down the stairs. I worked my way through the crowd, as if I were walking on a railing over all the people, and arrived at the head of the staircase (although, apparently, I had just come from the staircase).
I saw, in one corner or the balcony, the rich woman lying face-down, dead, on the floor, crowded around by a thick huddle of people. The woman was dressed in a beige or tan robe and an ivory-white head-covering, like a Muslim woman might wear.
I stood or knelt or perched on a corner of railing and began laughing. I felt such relief, almost joy, to see the woman dead. It felt like a payback for what the rich man and woman had done to my friend. My laugh was so loud and so obviously, defiantly happy that the packed, milling crowd, which had been mumblingly noisy before, now became completely silent and turned to stare at me.
I could tell that the rich man was somewhere near me in the crowd. I could tell he'd be angry with me. But I now called out, "She's dead, isn't she? But it looks just like a cartoon. I wonder if we flipped her around, if she'd have X's on her eyes!" I began laughing again.
Dream #2
I was at a testing center (which I had as a temporary job for a couple months in between my permanent jobs). I sat on a desk, and my boss, NJ, stood beside me. I had had some troubles with a customer, possibly technical issues, and I was now really upset. But NJ told me to get back to work. I had to stand up and sit back down at another desk.
The person who had been my customer now sat down beside me. He was a black boy, maybe ten years old, with light brown, smooth skin, a very thin frame, and a head of huge, frizzy hair. He wore a white t-shirt that was just a little too large. The boy was now my co-worker, not my customer.
I was a little worried, thinking how the boy had been so difficult before, as a customer, that he'd now be even more difficult as a co-worker. I pulled out something, possibly a black binder, and began shuffling through either white pages or photographs that were in plastic sleeves.
I was in a place like a stage version of an old, European city at night. There were a lot of people milling around here and there. There were a couple of buildings with their ligts on inside. In the center of the street was a tall, wooden staircase.
I had watched a rich man (and a rich woman?) do something awful to one of my friends. The rich man and woman were like bosses of a company for which all of us on this street worked.
For a moment I may have been in some large room or large field, virtually alone with the rich man, with a chance to tell him that I didn't like the way he'd treated my friend. But I was too afraid to tell the rich man how I felt. I feared he would hurt me somehow.
I was back in the street. I was climbing up the wooden staircase, which also had people milling about on it, like they were in a line for an amusement park ride. I might have seen or heard the rich man laughing, either on the staircase or in the distance on the street, exulting over the cruel act he had committed. The rich man may have looked like a well-groomed, slightly softened, version of the blind accordion player from Fellini's Amarcord.
I reached the top of the staircase. I now stood in a mezzanine or balcony in a very nice hotel or mansion. The place was well-lit and clean, with white walls and railings. People were crowded all throughout the floor and all the way down the stairs. I worked my way through the crowd, as if I were walking on a railing over all the people, and arrived at the head of the staircase (although, apparently, I had just come from the staircase).
I saw, in one corner or the balcony, the rich woman lying face-down, dead, on the floor, crowded around by a thick huddle of people. The woman was dressed in a beige or tan robe and an ivory-white head-covering, like a Muslim woman might wear.
I stood or knelt or perched on a corner of railing and began laughing. I felt such relief, almost joy, to see the woman dead. It felt like a payback for what the rich man and woman had done to my friend. My laugh was so loud and so obviously, defiantly happy that the packed, milling crowd, which had been mumblingly noisy before, now became completely silent and turned to stare at me.
I could tell that the rich man was somewhere near me in the crowd. I could tell he'd be angry with me. But I now called out, "She's dead, isn't she? But it looks just like a cartoon. I wonder if we flipped her around, if she'd have X's on her eyes!" I began laughing again.
Dream #2
I was at a testing center (which I had as a temporary job for a couple months in between my permanent jobs). I sat on a desk, and my boss, NJ, stood beside me. I had had some troubles with a customer, possibly technical issues, and I was now really upset. But NJ told me to get back to work. I had to stand up and sit back down at another desk.
The person who had been my customer now sat down beside me. He was a black boy, maybe ten years old, with light brown, smooth skin, a very thin frame, and a head of huge, frizzy hair. He wore a white t-shirt that was just a little too large. The boy was now my co-worker, not my customer.
I was a little worried, thinking how the boy had been so difficult before, as a customer, that he'd now be even more difficult as a co-worker. I pulled out something, possibly a black binder, and began shuffling through either white pages or photographs that were in plastic sleeves.
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