(Entered in paper journal at 8:32 PM at home in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I was in a big building like a convention center, big-box retailer, and church combined. I was with a thuggish, Mexican boy. A friend who was like me separated from me at the exit. The exit was just a wide, garage- or loading-dock-style doorway.
A lot of people milled in and out between my friend and I -- we stood at opposite ends of the exit. We were tying to be "slick" by not letting on that we knew each other to all the people walking between us. We were proud: we thought we were troublemakers.
Somehow I also felt like myself. I felt like I was walking between the two guys. I felt like at least the guy I was (even presently?) was actually not a thug but a cop who was watching me. He/I thought he/I was being "slick" by watching me and waiting for me to cause trouble so he/I could catch me.
I tried to blend in with the crowd, but I ended up on the outskirts.
Showing posts with label undercover cop. Show all posts
Showing posts with label undercover cop. Show all posts
Saturday, March 2, 2013
(7/18/07) bed of a truck
(Entered in paper journal at 8:13 PM at home.)
Dream #1
I was in a van with a group of people. The van was white or pale, with a wide, work-van (emptyish, metallic) feel. We were just starting to drive, trying to get somewhere. But something was making us hesitant, possibly that we hadn't found some members of our group.
Two young men walked past the van. At first we might have thought we should let them in. Then someone in the van said, "No. They're cops. You can always tell, the way they try to dress like they're cool. But they're not."
One of the men was very close-shaven and wore a baseball cap, had a wiry, gaunt look, and was very pale white. The other had tight-to-the-head dreads, down about to the level of his jaw, and a little stubble. He was pale-brown, maybe Black Hispanic, with green eyes.
It somehow became somewhat obvious to me that these guys were cops. I thought, "But then everybody in the van must think I'm a cop, too!"
It was a nice, clear day. I stood in the bed of a truck. We drove down a back road on either side of which were narrow strips of grass bordered by tall trees or farmland. The bed of the truck had no walls and no roof, just barriers on the sides and L-shaped, metal poles in the corners. The bed didn't seem to be even, either: it seemed to step up in halves or quadrants. Everybody must have been in what I still thought of as the "van," which was probably now the cab of this "truck."
The truck was driving forward, as normal, and I stood at the back end of the bed, looking out toward the back of the truck, but I watched the road pass below me and the scenery pass beside me like I was at the front of the truck looking forward.
Somehow we had stopped or slowed down enough to let a tall, skinny, middle-aged, black man approach the car. He had close-cut, salt& pepper hair and beard, brown skin, and wore a brownish-green shirt and shorts. I thought, Why are they letting this guy on? He's a druggie and he wants to corrupt us all.
We were moving again, the truck probably moving forward from the front (in my perception as well as physically). I sat on a bench on the left side of the bed, watching a (white?) man, one of my crew members, talking with the black man while sitting on a bench on the right side of the bed.
Against my instinct, I was making an effort to be polite and listen to what the two men were saying. They tried to include me in the conversation. As I tried to respond, I heard a conversation in the back of my head. The conversation in the back of my head took over. It became a script, outlined with presentation-style headings and formats, on paper in a three-ring binder.
The black man sat to my left on the bench. I was pointing out different parts of the script as I heard it in my head. But it may also have been like we were speaking it out with each other.
Dream #1
I was in a van with a group of people. The van was white or pale, with a wide, work-van (emptyish, metallic) feel. We were just starting to drive, trying to get somewhere. But something was making us hesitant, possibly that we hadn't found some members of our group.
Two young men walked past the van. At first we might have thought we should let them in. Then someone in the van said, "No. They're cops. You can always tell, the way they try to dress like they're cool. But they're not."
One of the men was very close-shaven and wore a baseball cap, had a wiry, gaunt look, and was very pale white. The other had tight-to-the-head dreads, down about to the level of his jaw, and a little stubble. He was pale-brown, maybe Black Hispanic, with green eyes.
It somehow became somewhat obvious to me that these guys were cops. I thought, "But then everybody in the van must think I'm a cop, too!"
It was a nice, clear day. I stood in the bed of a truck. We drove down a back road on either side of which were narrow strips of grass bordered by tall trees or farmland. The bed of the truck had no walls and no roof, just barriers on the sides and L-shaped, metal poles in the corners. The bed didn't seem to be even, either: it seemed to step up in halves or quadrants. Everybody must have been in what I still thought of as the "van," which was probably now the cab of this "truck."
The truck was driving forward, as normal, and I stood at the back end of the bed, looking out toward the back of the truck, but I watched the road pass below me and the scenery pass beside me like I was at the front of the truck looking forward.
Somehow we had stopped or slowed down enough to let a tall, skinny, middle-aged, black man approach the car. He had close-cut, salt& pepper hair and beard, brown skin, and wore a brownish-green shirt and shorts. I thought, Why are they letting this guy on? He's a druggie and he wants to corrupt us all.
We were moving again, the truck probably moving forward from the front (in my perception as well as physically). I sat on a bench on the left side of the bed, watching a (white?) man, one of my crew members, talking with the black man while sitting on a bench on the right side of the bed.
Against my instinct, I was making an effort to be polite and listen to what the two men were saying. They tried to include me in the conversation. As I tried to respond, I heard a conversation in the back of my head. The conversation in the back of my head took over. It became a script, outlined with presentation-style headings and formats, on paper in a three-ring binder.
The black man sat to my left on the bench. I was pointing out different parts of the script as I heard it in my head. But it may also have been like we were speaking it out with each other.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
(1/12/08) lesbian doll sex; seduced by old friends; steamhippie
(Entered in paper journal at 8:45 AM at Flying Saucer cafe in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I was in a helicopter or watching a man in a helicopter. He was talking about how he was flying a plane. The helicopter was very small, maybe the size of a VW Beetle. When the man got to a certain height he said he would now make his descent.
I now saw from the man's point of view. I had wondered how something was filming (or taping) him from the air. Now I "saw" (where?) a jet of some sort, which I assumed was the vehicle on which the camera was positioned.
I now saw as if I were piloting the helicopter. I was descending much more quickly than I thought a helicopter should descend. I descended over a green field which seemed also to have some construction activity on it. I knew I was going to crash. The helicopter crashed.
I stood before a bus bench on a gritty city sidewalk. The helicopter was crashed, lodged between the bench and a small tree. The helicopter was like an oversize toy, maybe a couple feet wide and a few feet long. Its blades were stubby. They were still spinning around, stutteringly. The helicopter, which had been white, was now charcoaled over with smoke and burns.
My family stood behind me, talking. It was my grandfather, my mother, my great grandmother, and a couple other people. I knelt before a reddish-pink, velvety armchair that stood out on the sidewalk.
There were two dolls. They were crudely made, like third-rate Barbie dolls with almost Raggedy-Ann type heads.They had no clothes on. The doll on the left had no limbs.
I wanted to imagine the dolls as lesbians. I wanted to see them having a lesbian relationship. Bu I didn't want to move them with my own hands -- it seemed like that would make them "not really lesbians."
But then I noticed that the doll with limbs was geared. It could make simple movements if switched on or wound up. I may possibly have wound the doll up by spinning a white, toothed wheel which stuck out of its back, saw-wheel-style. It now rolled its head right and forward, as well as possibly shifting its whole body onto its right side and then back onto its back.
I sat the limbed doll right next to the limbless doll and propped the limbless doll on its left side. In this way, it looked like the limbed doll was purposely kissing the limbless doll and then moving its body up against the limbless doll's body. I was turned on by this.
My family was all heading into a building just off from the sidewalk. They got my attention so I could leave, too. My nephews were there, too. I realized these toys might have belonged to one of my nephews. I felt bad for having played such an obscene game with the toys.
As my grandfather walked past me he saw the toys in their movement. He suspected I had made the toys make these movements, but he wasn't sure. He looked at me with a slight disgust. I felt even worse than I had before. I tried to think how I could cover my act.
I walked toward the doorway. It was like a doorless entry, very small, like for a bedroom doorway. It was set in a kind of rundown building. The inside was, by my view from the outside, very dark. I could hardly see my family members once they entered.
Dream #2
I was in a large, dim bedroom with my old friend R and his fiancee L. We might have finished watching a movie on TV. I lay on one bed and R and L lay on another.
We were now getting ready for bed. I felt very tired and grainy-eyed. R got out of bed to turn something (the TV?) off at the other end of the room.
L sat up, kneeling in a way so her knees faced me. She wore a red, shimmery camisole or dress that looked too dressy for being pajamas. She had it pulled up enough on her legs so I could see the crotch of her panties, which were lavender and satiny. She looked at me to let me know she had let me see her panties on purpose.
When that didn't turn me on enough to make me go for her, L lay stomach-down on the bed, facing away from me and toward R. She pulled her "dress" up so that her whole bottom was exposed to me.
I knew L was trying to seduce me, and I was turned on. But I didn't really want to be with L. I also knew that if I was with L, I'd have to be with R, too. I didn't want that.
It was now like we all lay on the same bed. This is the way it had to be when I spent the night. The lights were probably all off. I lay on the left side of the bed, my head to the head of the bed. R and L lay with their heads to the foot of the bed, to my right. R lay next to me, and L to R.
I could tell that R was trying to seduce me. R thought that if I lay in the same bed as he, he still had a chance at seducing me. But I did my best to stay laying opposite R and L and to avoid touching them as much as possible.
Now I lay with my body entirely against the headboard. Something seemed very strange about the bed. It was like R and L were coiled around each other in an elliptical hollow on the bottom half of the bed. (The image in my head now reminds me texturally of the "Thou affrightest me with dreams" drawing in Blake's Job series.)
Dream #3
I sat near a booth-like shop on a small chunk of sidewalk (like Astor Place) in a downtown-like area. It was a sunny, but possibly cold, day. I sat on a bunch of blankets. I may possibly also have been covered in blankets. I was very bleary-eyed.
The shop-booth, to my right, was hung with random (motley) fabrics, which gave it a rundown, but very warm, look. There might have been steam coming from outside the shop, which made sitting outside it very pleasant in the cold weather.
I was, or was suspected of being, either a crackhead bum or an undercover cop posing as a crackhead bum. I may alternately have been myself and a young, black man. To my left, in the sunny street, was a big van, which might have been a police van. I tried not to appear to be associated with the van. I looked back behind my head. There was a tall building of green, reflective glass.
At first there was some shady activity going on between two black people in front of the motley shop. I tried not to pay attention to it. Now a black man, kind of strange-looking, like a hippie wearing a biker jacket, was asking something to the people in the shop, who were Chinese. The man produced a camera from his pocket. I understood the man just wanted someone to take a photo of him in front of this shop.
The man turned first to hand his camera to an Asian man or woman, who sat, like me, in front of the shop, covered in blankets. The Asian person was fattish, slightly worn out, with thickly scraggly hair. He/she wore a black biker jacket. But he/she could hardly hold the camera, let alone snap a photo: his/her fingernails were long and curled so that his/her hands were pretty much useless.
The man handed the camera to someone else, maybe to me. The person took a digital photo of the man bending over some kind of product, behind strips of curtain-fabric hung with globes. Steam might have been coming up around his face. The man wore a bandanna which I thought was mystical. He posed as if he were smelling and enjoying the steam.
The picture had been taken. I saw the image on the camera-back's screen. Seeing the photos, and how the man obviously took this experience to be so mystical and important, I really liked the man. I didn't want to get too close to the man, still, because I was pretty sure if I showed too much of my personality. I maintained a servile attitude toward the man.
I now saw one of my nephews, possibly my oldest nephew, but maybe from when he was five years old. He sat on the blanket by me. I thought, I need to act stronger in front of my nephew. I need to make him feel secure. So I did my best to act as cheerful and confident as possible.
Dream #1
I was in a helicopter or watching a man in a helicopter. He was talking about how he was flying a plane. The helicopter was very small, maybe the size of a VW Beetle. When the man got to a certain height he said he would now make his descent.
I now saw from the man's point of view. I had wondered how something was filming (or taping) him from the air. Now I "saw" (where?) a jet of some sort, which I assumed was the vehicle on which the camera was positioned.
I now saw as if I were piloting the helicopter. I was descending much more quickly than I thought a helicopter should descend. I descended over a green field which seemed also to have some construction activity on it. I knew I was going to crash. The helicopter crashed.
I stood before a bus bench on a gritty city sidewalk. The helicopter was crashed, lodged between the bench and a small tree. The helicopter was like an oversize toy, maybe a couple feet wide and a few feet long. Its blades were stubby. They were still spinning around, stutteringly. The helicopter, which had been white, was now charcoaled over with smoke and burns.
My family stood behind me, talking. It was my grandfather, my mother, my great grandmother, and a couple other people. I knelt before a reddish-pink, velvety armchair that stood out on the sidewalk.
There were two dolls. They were crudely made, like third-rate Barbie dolls with almost Raggedy-Ann type heads.They had no clothes on. The doll on the left had no limbs.
I wanted to imagine the dolls as lesbians. I wanted to see them having a lesbian relationship. Bu I didn't want to move them with my own hands -- it seemed like that would make them "not really lesbians."
But then I noticed that the doll with limbs was geared. It could make simple movements if switched on or wound up. I may possibly have wound the doll up by spinning a white, toothed wheel which stuck out of its back, saw-wheel-style. It now rolled its head right and forward, as well as possibly shifting its whole body onto its right side and then back onto its back.
I sat the limbed doll right next to the limbless doll and propped the limbless doll on its left side. In this way, it looked like the limbed doll was purposely kissing the limbless doll and then moving its body up against the limbless doll's body. I was turned on by this.
My family was all heading into a building just off from the sidewalk. They got my attention so I could leave, too. My nephews were there, too. I realized these toys might have belonged to one of my nephews. I felt bad for having played such an obscene game with the toys.
As my grandfather walked past me he saw the toys in their movement. He suspected I had made the toys make these movements, but he wasn't sure. He looked at me with a slight disgust. I felt even worse than I had before. I tried to think how I could cover my act.
I walked toward the doorway. It was like a doorless entry, very small, like for a bedroom doorway. It was set in a kind of rundown building. The inside was, by my view from the outside, very dark. I could hardly see my family members once they entered.
Dream #2
I was in a large, dim bedroom with my old friend R and his fiancee L. We might have finished watching a movie on TV. I lay on one bed and R and L lay on another.
We were now getting ready for bed. I felt very tired and grainy-eyed. R got out of bed to turn something (the TV?) off at the other end of the room.
L sat up, kneeling in a way so her knees faced me. She wore a red, shimmery camisole or dress that looked too dressy for being pajamas. She had it pulled up enough on her legs so I could see the crotch of her panties, which were lavender and satiny. She looked at me to let me know she had let me see her panties on purpose.
When that didn't turn me on enough to make me go for her, L lay stomach-down on the bed, facing away from me and toward R. She pulled her "dress" up so that her whole bottom was exposed to me.
I knew L was trying to seduce me, and I was turned on. But I didn't really want to be with L. I also knew that if I was with L, I'd have to be with R, too. I didn't want that.
It was now like we all lay on the same bed. This is the way it had to be when I spent the night. The lights were probably all off. I lay on the left side of the bed, my head to the head of the bed. R and L lay with their heads to the foot of the bed, to my right. R lay next to me, and L to R.
I could tell that R was trying to seduce me. R thought that if I lay in the same bed as he, he still had a chance at seducing me. But I did my best to stay laying opposite R and L and to avoid touching them as much as possible.
Now I lay with my body entirely against the headboard. Something seemed very strange about the bed. It was like R and L were coiled around each other in an elliptical hollow on the bottom half of the bed. (The image in my head now reminds me texturally of the "Thou affrightest me with dreams" drawing in Blake's Job series.)
Dream #3
I sat near a booth-like shop on a small chunk of sidewalk (like Astor Place) in a downtown-like area. It was a sunny, but possibly cold, day. I sat on a bunch of blankets. I may possibly also have been covered in blankets. I was very bleary-eyed.
The shop-booth, to my right, was hung with random (motley) fabrics, which gave it a rundown, but very warm, look. There might have been steam coming from outside the shop, which made sitting outside it very pleasant in the cold weather.
I was, or was suspected of being, either a crackhead bum or an undercover cop posing as a crackhead bum. I may alternately have been myself and a young, black man. To my left, in the sunny street, was a big van, which might have been a police van. I tried not to appear to be associated with the van. I looked back behind my head. There was a tall building of green, reflective glass.
At first there was some shady activity going on between two black people in front of the motley shop. I tried not to pay attention to it. Now a black man, kind of strange-looking, like a hippie wearing a biker jacket, was asking something to the people in the shop, who were Chinese. The man produced a camera from his pocket. I understood the man just wanted someone to take a photo of him in front of this shop.
The man turned first to hand his camera to an Asian man or woman, who sat, like me, in front of the shop, covered in blankets. The Asian person was fattish, slightly worn out, with thickly scraggly hair. He/she wore a black biker jacket. But he/she could hardly hold the camera, let alone snap a photo: his/her fingernails were long and curled so that his/her hands were pretty much useless.
The man handed the camera to someone else, maybe to me. The person took a digital photo of the man bending over some kind of product, behind strips of curtain-fabric hung with globes. Steam might have been coming up around his face. The man wore a bandanna which I thought was mystical. He posed as if he were smelling and enjoying the steam.
The picture had been taken. I saw the image on the camera-back's screen. Seeing the photos, and how the man obviously took this experience to be so mystical and important, I really liked the man. I didn't want to get too close to the man, still, because I was pretty sure if I showed too much of my personality. I maintained a servile attitude toward the man.
I now saw one of my nephews, possibly my oldest nephew, but maybe from when he was five years old. He sat on the blanket by me. I thought, I need to act stronger in front of my nephew. I need to make him feel secure. So I did my best to act as cheerful and confident as possible.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
(3/23/08) machine gun trampoline; suicidal woman; seeing old friends; zombie city fair
(Entered in paper journal at 9:08 AM at Starbucks on 43rd Street and Third Avenue in Manhattan.)
Dream #1
Possibly a vision of a man in a car. The man may have had no hands. Then a man on a ship, possibly talking on the phone about making a shipment of gold. The scene switched to the man on the other end of the line. He made some comment like, "You better make this shipment snatchy."
The man looked like a white crook from the 1970s. He wore a multicolored, striped suit. He was in some kind of crowded area, like a small warehouse. Behind him was a thin man at a desk, facing the wall, his back facing the man. The man at the desk wore an outfit like a policeman's uniform. He had close-cut, black hair. He may have been "played by" Tom Hanks. The first man and the Tom Hanks man were both cops on an undercover mission.
The first man hung up the phone and walked over to the Tom Hanks man, who said something in a gruff voice. I was impressed that Tom Hanks was using a voice so different from his natural voice.
The scene switched. The Tom Hanks man was now (also?) the man with the missing hand. The man was now only missing one hand, not two. A crocodile had bitten off the missing hand. The man was in a room which had water up to about knee-depth. The crocodile was swimming around in this room.
The man had a machine gun. He found the crocodile and fought it, yelling things like, "You want to try and take my other hand? Take this!" The man shoved the machine gun into the crocodile's mouth and began shooting.
There was now a scene like at a circus. There were two large trampolines. A clown was jumping on the left trampoline. He was doing "difficult tricks," which were mainly just jumping and twirling, no flips or anything.
The Tom Hanks man said, "Now they" (the people who funded the circus?) "want to make the trampoline fabric even thinner. But it's barely wide enough to prevent accidents even now!"
I looked at the trampolines. Instead of the fabric being the entire circle, there was just a thin stretch of fabric in the center. The rest of the circle was just a frame of springs.
The jumping clown landed just off the mat and fell in the springs. He untangled himself from the springs and stood on the ground. I knew that the clowns were already learning how to jump on fabric this thin and could actually learn how to jump on even thinner fabric.
Dream #2
It was the late 1800s or early 1900s. I stood before a woman like the main woman from the Francis Ford Coppola film Youth Without Youth. I held the woman's hands in mine. The woman's eyes seemed enormous somehow. The woman told me she wanted to kill herself.
Dream #3
I was at the house of my friend R and his wife L. We stood with something between us, something like a model of a spacecraft from a science fiction movie or even a long ship like a Viking vessel. I hadn't wanted to come to R and L's house, and I especially hadn't wanted to meet with R and L, but I'd had to retrieve something I'd left at their place.
I was speaking with R and L and acting cheerful. But I was upset that I'd even had to start speaking to them. I was leaving now. I walked down a straight, long flight of steps that got dimmer and dimmer, lit only by the light of R and L's apartment. Either R or L told me they hoped I would come back soon. I knew my feelings of obligation would probably make me come back.
Dream #4
I was traveling with a group of people. There were a few carloads of us. Zombies had overtaken America, presumably. We were driving from town to town, avoiding zombies as well as we could.
It was dark night. we were in an abandoned town. We were running low on supplies, but apparently we would take new supplies from each town. And even though we were running low on supplies, our cars were full of things we needed.
Some of us found the setup of a city fair. Some people in the group managed to turn on a lot of the rides. I stood outside the whole thing with a couple other people, watching the people ride the rides. The place was full of warmth and color. I thought, Let them have their fun. Things have been fun. They'll probably just get tougher. Let these people have fun while they can.
Suddenly jets flew at us from he horizon. The military spotted all our lights and thought we were zombies trying to lay some kind of strange trap. they dropped bombs on us. I didn't see the bombs. Instead I saw as if I were facing two people watching the bombs drop. I could tell the bombs had hit one or two of our cars. I felt a wave of despair. Not only did we just lose some of the things we needed; we also lost one or two of our only transportation sources.
Another series of bombs dropped. They hit the city fair. A final series of bombs destroyed a house from which we had hoped to gather supplies.
It was now daytime. We were driving through an abandoned (?) large city. We drove through an office park, past a long lawn-island, and through a multiple intersection of roads and building parking lots. We approached a building which may possibly have had an old courthouse look to it, though it may also have partly been a modern office building.
I thought about a police officer we had been dealing with -- a "Mr. (?) Simms." He might have been a zombie. But somehow we were also working with him to prevent ourselves from being thought of as zombies. I knew there would actually be trouble if we kept dealing with him.
I thought back to the last time we'd seen the officer. We'd dropped him off at a building like the courthouse. He'd been in a very weird state, almost like drunkenness. I was sure now that he had in fact then been becoming a zombie.
Dream #1
Possibly a vision of a man in a car. The man may have had no hands. Then a man on a ship, possibly talking on the phone about making a shipment of gold. The scene switched to the man on the other end of the line. He made some comment like, "You better make this shipment snatchy."
The man looked like a white crook from the 1970s. He wore a multicolored, striped suit. He was in some kind of crowded area, like a small warehouse. Behind him was a thin man at a desk, facing the wall, his back facing the man. The man at the desk wore an outfit like a policeman's uniform. He had close-cut, black hair. He may have been "played by" Tom Hanks. The first man and the Tom Hanks man were both cops on an undercover mission.
The first man hung up the phone and walked over to the Tom Hanks man, who said something in a gruff voice. I was impressed that Tom Hanks was using a voice so different from his natural voice.
The scene switched. The Tom Hanks man was now (also?) the man with the missing hand. The man was now only missing one hand, not two. A crocodile had bitten off the missing hand. The man was in a room which had water up to about knee-depth. The crocodile was swimming around in this room.
The man had a machine gun. He found the crocodile and fought it, yelling things like, "You want to try and take my other hand? Take this!" The man shoved the machine gun into the crocodile's mouth and began shooting.
There was now a scene like at a circus. There were two large trampolines. A clown was jumping on the left trampoline. He was doing "difficult tricks," which were mainly just jumping and twirling, no flips or anything.
The Tom Hanks man said, "Now they" (the people who funded the circus?) "want to make the trampoline fabric even thinner. But it's barely wide enough to prevent accidents even now!"
I looked at the trampolines. Instead of the fabric being the entire circle, there was just a thin stretch of fabric in the center. The rest of the circle was just a frame of springs.
The jumping clown landed just off the mat and fell in the springs. He untangled himself from the springs and stood on the ground. I knew that the clowns were already learning how to jump on fabric this thin and could actually learn how to jump on even thinner fabric.
Dream #2
It was the late 1800s or early 1900s. I stood before a woman like the main woman from the Francis Ford Coppola film Youth Without Youth. I held the woman's hands in mine. The woman's eyes seemed enormous somehow. The woman told me she wanted to kill herself.
Dream #3
I was at the house of my friend R and his wife L. We stood with something between us, something like a model of a spacecraft from a science fiction movie or even a long ship like a Viking vessel. I hadn't wanted to come to R and L's house, and I especially hadn't wanted to meet with R and L, but I'd had to retrieve something I'd left at their place.
I was speaking with R and L and acting cheerful. But I was upset that I'd even had to start speaking to them. I was leaving now. I walked down a straight, long flight of steps that got dimmer and dimmer, lit only by the light of R and L's apartment. Either R or L told me they hoped I would come back soon. I knew my feelings of obligation would probably make me come back.
Dream #4
I was traveling with a group of people. There were a few carloads of us. Zombies had overtaken America, presumably. We were driving from town to town, avoiding zombies as well as we could.
It was dark night. we were in an abandoned town. We were running low on supplies, but apparently we would take new supplies from each town. And even though we were running low on supplies, our cars were full of things we needed.
Some of us found the setup of a city fair. Some people in the group managed to turn on a lot of the rides. I stood outside the whole thing with a couple other people, watching the people ride the rides. The place was full of warmth and color. I thought, Let them have their fun. Things have been fun. They'll probably just get tougher. Let these people have fun while they can.
Suddenly jets flew at us from he horizon. The military spotted all our lights and thought we were zombies trying to lay some kind of strange trap. they dropped bombs on us. I didn't see the bombs. Instead I saw as if I were facing two people watching the bombs drop. I could tell the bombs had hit one or two of our cars. I felt a wave of despair. Not only did we just lose some of the things we needed; we also lost one or two of our only transportation sources.
Another series of bombs dropped. They hit the city fair. A final series of bombs destroyed a house from which we had hoped to gather supplies.
It was now daytime. We were driving through an abandoned (?) large city. We drove through an office park, past a long lawn-island, and through a multiple intersection of roads and building parking lots. We approached a building which may possibly have had an old courthouse look to it, though it may also have partly been a modern office building.
I thought about a police officer we had been dealing with -- a "Mr. (?) Simms." He might have been a zombie. But somehow we were also working with him to prevent ourselves from being thought of as zombies. I knew there would actually be trouble if we kept dealing with him.
I thought back to the last time we'd seen the officer. We'd dropped him off at a building like the courthouse. He'd been in a very weird state, almost like drunkenness. I was sure now that he had in fact then been becoming a zombie.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
(12/24/08) the fool of the second half
(Entered in paper journal at 9:15 AM at Starbucks in Westminster, Colorado.)
Dream #1
I may have been in some play where I was playing the part of a fool. The play may have gone into intermission. I walked outside. I stood on a small bridge that was over a deepish slope. At the bottom of the slope (to my right) was something like a plaza with a river. The light was like winter, but the air may have felt warm. The trees may have been barren.
I saw a futuristic craft flying toward me from over the plaza/river. The craft was white -- it looked like a mix between an ambulance and the Back to the Future DeLorean. It flew on some kind of hovering power, and its exhaust was more like clear convection rather than any smoke.
I hoped I could get a clear view of it. But somehow it knocked me off my feet, as if it had managed to wedge under me. I felt rejected, like I had felt a kinship with the vehicle and was now treated poorly by it.
I looked over the bridge. A car that looked like a police vehicle and a hummer, but with a strange, futuristic shape and strange, "swiveling" wheels, pulled up on the plaza.
I was something like an undercover cop. I knew the group of people in this vehicle were big criminals planning some large crime. They hadn't been expected to show up here. They were a dangerous group of people in any encounter, and they had come to think of themselves as invincible. But now that they showed up here, thinking nobody would be looking for them, in fact not having been expected here at all, I knew I could probably catch them by surprise.
The white flying vehicle now came back to me. I couldn't get inside, but I jumped on top of it. The craft took a dive straight down. I wondered if I would just crash or experience a harsh landing. But the craft would, I knew, engage its hovering mechanism as we approached ground, so it would be just like we were landing on a cushion of air.
As we approached ground, I may have gotten a better view of the four-wheeled vehicle, possibly as it opened itself up (like a children's toy). Somewhere on the vehicle was the title "MR. SHAMAN," the name of the covert group.
I stayed seated on the flying vehicle. A small group of men were seated in the various opened compartments of the Mr. Shaman vehicle. The innards of the vehicle may have been shining chrome and dark black, with blue and purple glints. The men wore sunglasses and had the look of cheesy 1980s future-action movie badguys. The men laughed at me like I was an idiot. They didn't know who I was. They thought I was just some passerby.
I said, "Now's the moment!" I made some call to my vehicle. Small areas on the sides of the vehicle opened up to reveal guns. The guns fired rapidly, though they made very little sound. I couldn't tell whether I had killed the group.
I was now walking back into the theater. The play was slowly beginning again. There were very few people in the audience -- the theater was maybe only a tenth full. The stage was enormous. The scene was of something like a barber shop.
I walked to the stage and sat on the steps up to the stage at the right (the audience's right). I was dressed in the costume of a fool.
I watched the play. I couldn't remember my lines for the second half of the play. I thought that was fine, in some sense. I figured I had (hopefully) practiced my lines so much that they had just become natural, spontaneous, for me. I thought that when the moment came, I would just know I was supposed to step on stage. But I also thought it would be embarrassing if the moment finally came where I was supposed to come on stage, and I still sat where I was, not remembering my entering line. Or worse, I thought, I could remember to step on stage but I wouldn't remember my lines.
I imagined myself on a strange stage of green, screen-like planes that were "supposed to" signify forest (?). I saw a group of nuns around me, coaching me on my lines. I might have been embarrassed because the actresses were all pretty girls and I was forgetting everything like a doofus, not the star I wished to be.
The current stage was supposed to represent a barber shop. The stage was still staggered in screen-like planes against which were projected grey and white patterns that may have resembled television static or newspaper print.
A man sat in a barber's chair. All around him were a group of people, probably dressed in mid-twentieth-century business clothes. The man himself was dressed in something like a tan robe, like a stagey version of a monk's robe.
I was waiting to hear the line that would bring my character on stage. But now a character stepped on stage who, I thought, was playing the fool instead of me. The character was somewhat sexless, but more female than male. The character may have been old, with hair that was scraggly and white, but dirtyish, as if the old color were still fading, aging, out of it. The person wore a grey and black, tweed (?) trench coat pulled over almost "her" whole body. The person may also have been holding a whole armful of newspaper, all in disarray, as well as some plastic bags.
I thought, Perhaps I'm not supposed to be in the second half of the play. Maybe that's why I can't "remember" the lines I'm supposed to speak. This person is the fool of the second half.
Now a group of actresses dressed as sexy nurses all crowded onto the stairs I sat on. The nurses' outfits were like novelty outfits -- all short-skirted, some white, some pink. The outfits may even have been made of latex, like fetish clothing.
The nurses were all speaking lines about tending to some man whom everybody loved. The nurses all nudged me out of the cluster they were in, as if to tell me I needed to get out of the scene altogether. I was only in the way in the part they were now acting out.
I thought, Well, maybe I should just sit in the audience until I hear a line that's familiar to me. I looked back into the audience as I sat down, to see if I could spot any other actors who were doing the same thing as I.
Maybe a row or two behind me sat about four or five women. They were all costumed (?) as women from the late Medieval or early Renaissance times. They all had the look of women in Flemish paintings: very pale and oval-faced. The women's dresses were rich, crimson velvet (?) with white bodices. Their hair, blondish-brown (?), was done so the sides of their heads were capped in little, white fabric bundles.
These women looked like actresses to me. I tried to figure if I was supposed to fit into the same part of the play that they were supposed to fit into. But I couldn't think of any context where they would speak lines that would bring a character like mine on stage.
Dream #1
I may have been in some play where I was playing the part of a fool. The play may have gone into intermission. I walked outside. I stood on a small bridge that was over a deepish slope. At the bottom of the slope (to my right) was something like a plaza with a river. The light was like winter, but the air may have felt warm. The trees may have been barren.
I saw a futuristic craft flying toward me from over the plaza/river. The craft was white -- it looked like a mix between an ambulance and the Back to the Future DeLorean. It flew on some kind of hovering power, and its exhaust was more like clear convection rather than any smoke.
I hoped I could get a clear view of it. But somehow it knocked me off my feet, as if it had managed to wedge under me. I felt rejected, like I had felt a kinship with the vehicle and was now treated poorly by it.
I looked over the bridge. A car that looked like a police vehicle and a hummer, but with a strange, futuristic shape and strange, "swiveling" wheels, pulled up on the plaza.
I was something like an undercover cop. I knew the group of people in this vehicle were big criminals planning some large crime. They hadn't been expected to show up here. They were a dangerous group of people in any encounter, and they had come to think of themselves as invincible. But now that they showed up here, thinking nobody would be looking for them, in fact not having been expected here at all, I knew I could probably catch them by surprise.
The white flying vehicle now came back to me. I couldn't get inside, but I jumped on top of it. The craft took a dive straight down. I wondered if I would just crash or experience a harsh landing. But the craft would, I knew, engage its hovering mechanism as we approached ground, so it would be just like we were landing on a cushion of air.
As we approached ground, I may have gotten a better view of the four-wheeled vehicle, possibly as it opened itself up (like a children's toy). Somewhere on the vehicle was the title "MR. SHAMAN," the name of the covert group.
I stayed seated on the flying vehicle. A small group of men were seated in the various opened compartments of the Mr. Shaman vehicle. The innards of the vehicle may have been shining chrome and dark black, with blue and purple glints. The men wore sunglasses and had the look of cheesy 1980s future-action movie badguys. The men laughed at me like I was an idiot. They didn't know who I was. They thought I was just some passerby.
I said, "Now's the moment!" I made some call to my vehicle. Small areas on the sides of the vehicle opened up to reveal guns. The guns fired rapidly, though they made very little sound. I couldn't tell whether I had killed the group.
I was now walking back into the theater. The play was slowly beginning again. There were very few people in the audience -- the theater was maybe only a tenth full. The stage was enormous. The scene was of something like a barber shop.
I walked to the stage and sat on the steps up to the stage at the right (the audience's right). I was dressed in the costume of a fool.
I watched the play. I couldn't remember my lines for the second half of the play. I thought that was fine, in some sense. I figured I had (hopefully) practiced my lines so much that they had just become natural, spontaneous, for me. I thought that when the moment came, I would just know I was supposed to step on stage. But I also thought it would be embarrassing if the moment finally came where I was supposed to come on stage, and I still sat where I was, not remembering my entering line. Or worse, I thought, I could remember to step on stage but I wouldn't remember my lines.
I imagined myself on a strange stage of green, screen-like planes that were "supposed to" signify forest (?). I saw a group of nuns around me, coaching me on my lines. I might have been embarrassed because the actresses were all pretty girls and I was forgetting everything like a doofus, not the star I wished to be.
The current stage was supposed to represent a barber shop. The stage was still staggered in screen-like planes against which were projected grey and white patterns that may have resembled television static or newspaper print.
A man sat in a barber's chair. All around him were a group of people, probably dressed in mid-twentieth-century business clothes. The man himself was dressed in something like a tan robe, like a stagey version of a monk's robe.
I was waiting to hear the line that would bring my character on stage. But now a character stepped on stage who, I thought, was playing the fool instead of me. The character was somewhat sexless, but more female than male. The character may have been old, with hair that was scraggly and white, but dirtyish, as if the old color were still fading, aging, out of it. The person wore a grey and black, tweed (?) trench coat pulled over almost "her" whole body. The person may also have been holding a whole armful of newspaper, all in disarray, as well as some plastic bags.
I thought, Perhaps I'm not supposed to be in the second half of the play. Maybe that's why I can't "remember" the lines I'm supposed to speak. This person is the fool of the second half.
Now a group of actresses dressed as sexy nurses all crowded onto the stairs I sat on. The nurses' outfits were like novelty outfits -- all short-skirted, some white, some pink. The outfits may even have been made of latex, like fetish clothing.
The nurses were all speaking lines about tending to some man whom everybody loved. The nurses all nudged me out of the cluster they were in, as if to tell me I needed to get out of the scene altogether. I was only in the way in the part they were now acting out.
I thought, Well, maybe I should just sit in the audience until I hear a line that's familiar to me. I looked back into the audience as I sat down, to see if I could spot any other actors who were doing the same thing as I.
Maybe a row or two behind me sat about four or five women. They were all costumed (?) as women from the late Medieval or early Renaissance times. They all had the look of women in Flemish paintings: very pale and oval-faced. The women's dresses were rich, crimson velvet (?) with white bodices. Their hair, blondish-brown (?), was done so the sides of their heads were capped in little, white fabric bundles.
These women looked like actresses to me. I tried to figure if I was supposed to fit into the same part of the play that they were supposed to fit into. But I couldn't think of any context where they would speak lines that would bring a character like mine on stage.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)