(7/31/06) fungeling or yuenlueng; wearing only thong panties to college; tom osborne and lake surfing

(Entered in paper journal at 6:08 AM on 4-train from Utica Avenue in Brooklyn to 59th Street in Manhattan.)

Dream 1

I was in a subway station that had something like the look of a stage to it. At the back end was a brown-painted wood wall with four doors. Across the wide way were staircases leading down to subways. I was looking for a certain train, but I couldn't find the right staircase.

I walked back out the doors. I "saw" somewhere, in some room like a security room or control room, maybe three black teenage boys. The boys were laughing at me because they had changed around the trains and tricked me.

I walked back through the doors, to the staircases. I went to a staircase down to my right. It went down a number of stories. A group of black kids came tumbling down toward me, trying to race me and beat me down the stairs. I began jumping over the railings until I even flew down through the openings between the cases and landed on the bottom floor.

I walked into a classroom where a few kids were waiting to be taught. I couldn't stop flying. I jumped from empty desk to empty desk. Eventually I was bounding, ten feet in the air. I made a half-circle around the large classroom and landed by the right wall midway through the classroom, looking up to the front, to a child by the chalkboard.

The child (a girl?) had written on the chalkboard about the technique I had just been practicing. She said the class already knew all about that. The technique was called something like "fungeling" or "yuenlueng."

Dream 2

My grandmother P drove me up to my new college dorm room. The room was at the top of a building, in a complex surrounded by a parking area. Some guys who lived next door to my new room saw me and started making faces with each other like they were plotting to give me trouble. The sky was grey, heavy, and cool.

I was about to get out of the car, but I saw I was only wearing blue thong panties. My grandma was about to drive off to find a parking space. I told her to wait for me and got back in the car, into the backseat.

As I changed my clothes, my grandma drove around the entirely empty lot to find a specific parking space. The space was numbered 35 or 53. I had such a feeling of awe as we pulled into that space.

Dream 3

I was in a room with a woman who was something like a screenwriting teacher to me. The woman was telling me that she didn't treat everybody as special as she treated me.

She said, "Everybody else is pretty normal, except XXXXX." (Tom Osborne?) "He actually has screenplays published."

Now "Tom Osborne" came in, very well dressed, looking a little like a young version of a person, CJ, who was on the board of a parks foundation I volunteered with in Brooklyn in waking life.

"Tom Osborne" shook my hand and asked, "When are you going to let me see your screenplay, Preemie?"

I stood up to get a copy out of my backpack. As I did, Tom disappeared and the room filled up with people, one of whom was my brother. He had bought Tom a lot new David Bowie CDs. When I saw that he'd bought Pin-Ups, I was impressed. But when my brother held the case up for me to see, it changed to a CD I'd never seen before. It looked like Magical Mystery Tour.

I was now outside, by a swampy lake. It was small, but it had big tides, and people were surfing in it. I got in and felt the pull of the tides.

I was now among a lot of people and piles of what eventually became Chex cereal. I was looking for a person or waiting for a person whom I was almost in love with -- he was almost like the "Tom Osborne" character again.

Another guy was waiting for Tom. The guy was black. He may have been a woman at first. He and I started "pretend kissing" -- then I kept trying to "real kiss" him, but I just ended up putting my tongue in his mouth in a lot of weird ways, eventually pulling out Chex with my tongue.

I was now sitting on a pile of Chex and chocolate Teddy Grahams. I stood up, saying I had to go, and that I was sorry I couldn't have seen Tom.

I saw a cemetery. I thought I really needed to go there. There were thick, granite crosses behind an iron fence. I walked toward the cemetery.

I was back to the swampy "beach." There were a lot of people surfing. I found a surfboard and floated it out with a group of girls to where "they thought" the tide was good (?). My surfboard was red, with a white fin, all flimsy like hollow plastic in a big-wheel tricycle.

I stood on the board (in this murky lake water, filled with moss!) and was surprised by how easy it was. Now a wave came. I rode with it into a swampy area full of young, whitish-barked trees. I was disappointed by my inability to direct myself to shore like everybody else.

I turned my surfboard around near an iron fence and was surprised by how easily the tide drifted me back out of the woods. But there were webs full of tiny, white spiders. I didn't want them to bite me or get on me. I drifted back out.

I was on shore. I went somewhere and talked to somebody and then headed toward home. I looked at the lake again -- this time a corner of it. Most of the people here were just standing in the water and enjoying the rushing of the tide. The water was full of moss.

I figured that if everybody else was having so much fun in the lake, I should get in, too. I got in. I was alone. But then XXXXX's wife (kind of like my coworker BK's wife, AK) was with me, teaching me about the tide. We were by a bridge. All the water sucked out under the bridge. XXXXX said she had made a boat.

We were in a room. XXXXX showed me the boat. She was pulling it out of a bag. The boat couldn't have been more than four feet long.

XXXXX said, "I made it out of the bark of an ancestral tree."

At first it was shaped like,

then when she had it all the way pulled out, it was like,

all polished wood and with gold embellishments and ornate designs. I was impressed but also flabbergasted (jealous) that XXXXX could create such such a beautiful piece of art that was also practical.

(4/30/08) momentum

(Entered in paper journal at 6:19 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)

Dream #1

I stood out on a sidewalk at night with a group of people before a long folding table. The table was stacked with meals that we were assigned to take to older, probably housebound, people. I was paired up to deliver a meal with a pretty, blonde girl with long hair.

I bent over the table to grab a meal. I was wearing loose, tan, casual pants like for the summer and pink panties. The pretty girl stood to my right. I bent over so that she could see the waistband of my panties above the waistband of my pants. I hoped the girl would be turned on by the sight.

As we walked away from the table and into a suburban neighborhood (but, possibly, first through a college neighborhood?) I realized the girl might think I was a fool for trying to show off the fact that I was wearing panties.

The girl and I got slightly separated. The areas we had been walking through had been pretty well lit by orange streetlamp. But now things were dim. The sky was also swarming with steely, wiry, grey clouds.

I had gotten ahead of the girl. I now ran back toward her. I saw her standing around the corner at the end of the block, which was at the top of a slight hill.

Somehow I was now running in a different direction. To show the girl I was good or strong (or, simply, not a fool), I began flying. I flew with my stomach only a foot or so above the sidewalk.

I flew under a barren tree like a cherry tree but with the branches more gnarled and spiky and densely spaced. I decided I would loop under, around, above, and back under the tree canopy to show how well I could fly.

But I couldn't quite do it. I couldn't keep my momentum up through the whole loop. I fell down through the canopy once, or maybe even twice. I tried to consider how I would keep up my momentum.

Suddenly I sat up in bed. I must have been in a young boy's bedroom. The lights were on. I was under a blanket that might have had an action cartoon scene on it. To my left were plastic figures, like Star Wars figures, in all different sizes, from maybe two feet tall to the standard action-figure size, i.e. around three inches tall.

I could hear myself having a conversation with my friend R. I got up and walked around the room and into the hallway. I thought I heard R at the front door.

I was going to check through the peephole. But as I walked to the door I was pulled back. R's dog bit some part of me, like the hollow behind my knee or the hollow behind my elbow, and pulled me back toward the bed. I laughed at the dog and probably fell down onto the bed.

(5/12/09) goodhearted envious pervert

(Entered in paper journal at 6:50 AM at home.)

Dream #1

I was at R and L's apartment. It was night, and all the lights except a dim night light were shut off. The apartment was a long, railroad-style apartment. It felt a little cluttered, possibly like clothes or some kind of fabric, or even wads of cotton-like material, lay all over.

I was here to watch R's dog. I hadn't been asked to feed the dog; I just wanted to, because I liked the dog, and I liked to do things for it. But I didn't want to feed the dog while R and L were around. I didn't want them to see me and think I wanted them back in my life.

I walked out of the apartment before feeding the dog. I felt like I was getting too close to the time when R and L would be coming back home. I thought it would be better to leave instead of being caught feeding the dog.

I stood out in the corridor, which was like a wide balcony from which came down a few stairways, or even ramps. The balcony turned at a right angle to my right and ran in front of a couple other apartment entrances. The whole area was wide and airy, with white walls but a somewhat plain and unkempt feeling.

But now I thought it would be better to be brave and risk being caught if it meant I could do something nice for the dog, like feed it, one more time. I went back inside. I don't think I even physically fed the dog. Instead I walked back through the darkness and found myself at the end of the apartment, in a lit kitchen. The kitchen was very plain and was lit either with a colorless incandescent bulb or a fluorescent bulb.

I found a door, which I opened. This door led to the back exit of the apartment. I looked down a drab, fluorescent-lit stairwell that looked like a fire-exit stairwell. I thought, Now I could escape this way, so that even if I leave right when R and L come home, they'll never come across me.

But I again thought, Why be so timid? If R and L are going to see you, they're going to see you. Why try to find all these ways around it?

I exited through the front. I thought, Well, nobody's going to see me after all. But then I heard L walking up the stairs. I started walking down the stairs. I met L. I told her what I'd been doing. L told me something about a party she and R were having, as if to scold me for having come too early for the party.

We were now downstairs, in some lobby area set up for gatherings. The floor was sunk in in a pentagonal (?) shape, stepping down to make a wide, couch-like pit. Around us was an odd-shaped room with white (stucco-paint-style, really bumpy?) walls and a pale incandescent light. The place felt very much like a living room from the 1970s.

We were among a few friends. There were a couple random things to eat and drink. Nobody sat or stood very comfortably, though everybody seemed to be relaxed. I sat on the floor. R sat near me somewhere. L sat behind me on a couch.

Now R and L were bragging, to annoy everybody, about their child, a boy, who did incredible things and for whom R and L did incredible things.

I saw R and L's boy, though he was slightly obscured from my view by a person sitting to my right. The boy lay on his back on an animal-skin rug, with his legs crossed. The boy was about seven or eight years old, fair-skinned, but slightly tanned, with blue eyes and sandy blonde hair in a loose bowl-cut style.

The boy had a long cylinder pressed to his lips. He blew on it and fingered it like a flute. (This whole image struck me, upon waking, as being like an image of Kokopelli.) I tried to see what the boy's instrument really was.

I stood and got a closer view of the boy as L continued bragging, now bragging about how she (or she and R?) made the instrument themselves. I was struck with a twinge of jealousy because the instrument was so well-made.

The instrument was a very long cylinder, soft, so its walls didn't hold up, woven of a soft, leather-like material. The instrument was blue. But as time went on it became yellow. It may have been fringed at the edges, like a Southwestern-style beaded change purse or pair of moccasins. It was remarkably large and well-woven.

L spoke about how she and R made the thing so they could pipe it out a window on one floor and into a window on the floor below. I knew that even now this instrument was piped out a window. I also knew that a music lesson for this instrument was apparently the most fashionable kind of music lesson a child could receive these days.

I stood on my head on the couch L sat on. I was facing L. I was wearing, under my jeans, a pair of yellow, cotton (?) panties. I had ejaculated in the panties. I could feel the wet semen on my lower abdomen. I thought I should stand or sit regularly before all the semen dribbled up my stomach, above the waistline of my pants. If everybody saw the semen leaking out of my pants they'd surely think I was a pervert.

I saw L's older sister. I may have been sistting upright now. I asked L's sister how she'd been. She answered that she'd been doing fine.