(9/16/09) old friends and sex; college girls' lingerie

(Entered in dream journal at 7:54 AM at Sit & Wonder cafe in Brooklyn.)

Dream #1

I walked down a sidewalk of brownstone buildings in the daytime. I was going to meet my old friend R and his wife L. I saw them sitting on a staircase in front of a brownstone. I may have been looking at my BlackBerry as I walked up to R and L. I put my BlackBerry down and then looked up at R and L.

We were now in a large restaurant, somewhat fancy, with tall walls. The walls and fixtures were all made of wood and brass. Natural daylight probably came in through windows. We walked up to a table that had booth seats on one side and chairs on the other, with the booth seats' back serving as booth seats' backs on the other side as well.

I may have been standing there by myself, looking at my BlackBerry. I walked over to a much larger booth table, where a lot of people were sitting. These people were all my friends. R and L may have been among them. Behind the people were two tall windows, letting in a dim view of a tallish, brick row building and a deep, clear, blue sky.

I watched a group of women walk out of the row building. The women were all young adults, with short, pale blonde hair and bronzed skin. They wore tight, sleeveless or tank-top shirts and carried boxes or plastic crates with them, as if they were moving out.

Among the women was my old friend PD, who looked odd with short, pale blonde hair. PD seemed to be looking in through the window and into the restaurant. I waved to PD, trying to get her attention. But she didn't seem to notice. She continued with the girls down to a vehicle, maybe a van.

I told everybody at the table (I was still standing), "That was PD! I tried to get her attention!" I wondered whether PD and the other girls were all lesbians. For some reason their hairstyles seemed lesbian to me. PD was now among the people at the table. The people at the table were all conversing casually.

I walked away, reading my BlackBerry. I was now in a room, which was still in the restaurant. The room was about twelve feet by twelve feet, with gentle, yellowish, natural light coming into the room. But the room felt run-down, like the paint on the walls was chipping and the wood floors were unpolished. Three chairs of tall, old wood stood side by side.

Behind the chairs stood a young, Japanese man. The man held a cloth bag and a black, cardboard box like a shoebox. The box had dimmish, silver-grey writing on it. The bag had a Takashi Murakami flower and logo on it. I realized, from the bag, that I knew the man.

As the man and I conversed laughingly about how we knew each other (by speaking about how we knew Murakami), either R or R and L walked into the room. I thought, If R knows I'm friends with this man, he'll try to destroy the friendship. I walked out of the room.

I was back in the main area of the restaurant. I sat down at a booth seat in a half-booth table, behind which was dimness and a bar up at the top of a roughly seven-foot-tall tier.

A woman sat next to me. She was pretty, maybe ten years older than I, with long, blonde hair and a red dress. We spoke for a while and then were home at the woman's apartment. We were in bed. I was on top of her, moving against her. The woman looked like Cindy Crawford: thin, with dark-tanned skin and brown-blonde hair. She wore black panties and a black bra. As I rubbed against the woman, she opened her mouth in a wide "O" of pleasure.

I was now walking out of a large apartment complex with my old co-worker BK. It was probably early morning, the clear sky a dim silver-blue. BK and I walked under some scaffolding near some tall buildings.

BK told me, "When I was first looking for jobs, I used DO" (an old boss of mine) "as a reference. But I then realized that was a mistake. DO always gives the most restrained, least positive opinion about anybody he has to give a reference for."

BK may then have asked whether I used DO as a reference. I felt bad for telling BK yes. So I went into some long speech about how at first DO had promised me he would give me a good reference.

We were now walking through a wide, vacant lot of asphalt which was worn and cracked, with patches of grass growing through in places. We crossed a street, probably to a large, clean parking lot at the end of which was a clean, tan and pink shopping mall lit in watery, white light. We then crossed the street, back to the asphalt lot. Across the lot was a tall, wide apartment complex atop a tall, torn-looking hill. BK And I walked down the vacant lot, to another set of buildings and scaffolding.

BK started jumping around with excitement, all fluttery, like a girl. He started talking about how excited he was about some party he was throwing. He asked me if I was coming. I may have wondered whether BK was gay. I then began whether I had had sex with the blonde woman or with BK.

Dream #2

It was black night. I walked (counter-clockwise?) around a square of dwellings like very small rooms separated from one another by thin walls. The rooms had ceilings like thatch or wicker. This square of dwellings was in the center of a lawny field.

The rooms were all dimly lit, some with fires, some, probably, with electric light. The rooms were all filled with colorful objects, mainly swatches of fabric for clothing. The rooms were all for college aged people. I didn't see a lot of people (maybe none, at first), although there was an atmosphere of people being around, a feeling of liveliness.

I started looking into each of the room-units. I occasionally saw women's clothes lying on the beds. I took looks through all the clothing, seeing what I might like to come back to and try on. I now came to a room, brighter than the others, lit by electric light, with a few people all lounging around, mostly on the bed. The people may have been members of my college comedy performance group, although I think they may all have been women.

The people told me they knew I'd been looking through all the women's clothing. They told me I'd be welcome to try on anything I liked. I may have spoken with them a little, partly trying to justify my habit, about how I chose the clothing I would try on. I may have seen myself trying on a classical pair of thick, satin panties by the light of a fire.

(9/27/09) struggle for lucidity; the murakami bug

Dream #1

I opened my eyes in my bedroom. The bedroom was dark, and my vision was a bit staticky. I realized that my lights were off, which wasn't usual for my room. (Due to some problems with paranoia, I'd slept with my lights on from about July of 2009 through about the end of 2010.)

I realized I was dreaming. I became lucid. But I immediately began losing my dream. Everything faded into blackness, as if I had closed my eyes. I told myself to open my eyes again. It took an immense effort. But when my eyes began to open, my dream-vision smeared out before me, as if I were speeding through a tunnel the walls of which were made of my dream-bedroom.

I now had my eyes open in my bedroom, with the lights on. I was awake. (I may actually have been awake at this point.) I lay on my back and looked up to the ceiling, my head half-covered by m blanket. I fell into a numbed state and thought I was probably on the verge of sleeping and dreaming again. At some point the lights may even have gone out in my room.

I told myself, Well, you can't get back to the lucid dream you were having. But perhaps if you're in this state, you can push yourself into another lucid dream, or even an out of body experience, an astral projection. I told myself to concentrate. I "concentrated" intensely, almost viciously.

I felt a rushing (downward or upward?) sensation in my body. I felt like closed-eye purple electrodes had attached to my body to pull me upward. I felt like I was scowling, teeth bared, to pull myself upward, out of my body. I thought, I'm doing it!

Everything went black. (I may have woken up and then gone back to sleep for another dream.) I lay in my bedroom and opened my eyes again. The room was dark, swimming with staticky orgone eyebugs.  I told myself, You're dreaming again. Get up this time.

I was suddenly standing, at the foot of where I had been laying, my blanket crumpled up like a cocoon at my feet. I ma have thought of myself as wearing a grey robe, being all grey myself, and even wearing a head covering, like a woman in a Giotto painting portraying Jesus' life might wear.

I lost my energy or my focus again. My eyes closed. I told myself to open them, not to lose my dream. I succeeded in doing this, but almost immediately afterward, the scene became increasingly staticky, maybe even grey-white, and I lost my dream.

Dream #2

I was in a big room with a couple other people. My mother may possibly have been among the people. The room may have been a mix between something like a hallway in an airport terminal and a nice, wood-walled library in a mansion. Natural light came in from a window to the right, the window possibly almost as tall and wide as the wall itself.

On the left wall was a platform that ran along the entire wall, lifted up maybe three feet from the rest of the floor, with railing -- structured almost like the moving walkway conveyor belts at airports, but, again, with touches of wood, carpeting, etc., that made it look like something in a mansion. I stood on that platform, probably with my mother.

We had found a small bug and were now having to dispose of it. The bug was almost beetle shaped, but with a much more distinct, rounder head, almost half the size of its body. The bug's color was a pale-copper brown, dappled with a pale-brown, almost like a pale version of the color on a sunflower seed's shell. We grabbed up the bug in a napkin and tossed it into (or toward?) a trashcan.

My mother walked away, down the long hallway. In some way, it felt like she was walking from one wing of the NYPL Rose Main Reading Room to the other. The other two women (???) may also have been gone now.

I noticed that the bug hadn't gone into the trashcan after all. I saw it wandering around on the floor. I picked it up (it was maybe three quarters of an inch long) to throw it away. But now, panicked, not wanting to be thrown away, the bug grew thin, green, vegetation-like tendrils out of itself. These tendrils grew long and coiled themselves around. They grew little leafs or thorns, so that the bug almost looked decorated with something out of a work by Takashi Murakami.

I tried to throw the bug into the white trash bag, but I couldn't: the tendrils stuck to me like sticky stalks of weeds. I tried to shake the bug off me. The tendrils now coiled all around my hands, and the "leafs" (if they ever had been leafs) were now soft thorns sticking into my skin. (During all this, I noticed that I was wearing white, latex gloves.) I finally somehow managed to shake the Murakami-bug off my hands.

The bug didn't go all the way into the trash. It clung to the side of the bag, near the mouth of the trashcan, its tendrils sprawling out like uncoiled wire, threatening to spring back out of the can by the energy of their own tension. I thought I'd have to be ready for that.

I now walked down the platform, possibly following after the women. I looked at my hands. I noticed that I had cuts on my hands from where the little thorns had dug in. At first the cuts seemed small, just like little scratches. But then I saw that some of the cuts, especially around the knuckles at the base of my fingers, cut all the way to the bone.

I looked into one of these cuts and saw something beneath that looked like firm, porous tofu. It sickened me to see that, but I told myself not to worry about it. It's fat, I think, I told myself. Your friends have told about seeing that before, when they'd broken their bones or cut themselves really deeply. So don't worry about it.

I may now have met up with a few of my friends, possibly from my old improv comedy team from college. My friends all sat in an airport-like seating area that also looked like part of a mansion. My friends might have regarded me like I was a joke, not to be taken seriously, and then gone back to whatever their conversation had been.