(Entered in paper journal at 11:20 AM, on Q-train from Brooklyn into Manhattan.)
Dream #1
It was night. I was coming out of a grocery store which may have had all its lights off. There may have been occasional flashes of lightning. I walked out of the shopping area and into a little pre-entrance area (which would normally have vending machines, etc.), holding the door behind me as I walked through. The door may have been electric, but it may have needed to be held open since all the power was out.
A couple women walked out the door behind me, but one woman wouldn't walk out while I held the door. She held the door and pushed on it until I got the idea and let go.
I walked out to the covered walkway that opened to the parking lot. It was raining heavily outside. There seemed to be a good amount of people rushing to and fro in the rain. The rain was so heavy it looked like a slightly luminious, grey cloud of impenetrable mist.
I was prepared to run through the rain to my car. I knew my umbrella would only slightly protect me, but that I would only get moderately wet if I hurried.
But I then realized that I had no idea where my car was in the parking lot. I was simultaneously trying to remember where my car was and trying to figure how wet I would get if I just made a mad dash through all the rows of the lot until I found my car.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
(12/18/08) all that's left of the lion
Dream #1
I stood across the street from a big building like Grand Central Station. The face of the building recessed about midway along the building.
From within this recess there pointed out the nose of a craft which looked to me like an SR-71. Judging by the nose, however, I assumed the jet must have been enormous. I got very excited.
There were a couple people with me. One woman, who was about my age, was to my left and just behind me. I told the woman we should walk farther along to look directly into the recess of the building. The woman didn't seem to be as excited as I.
I now saw the whole recess directly. The "SR-71" stood at the bottom. It was enormous and may have been grey. A number of other jets hovered, as if hung by wires, all the way up along the height of the building, within this recess. There may also have been a few jets standing atop the building, just peering over its sides.
I thought, There's a jet show! I forgot all about it! I hope I'm not too late!
The woman and I went inside the building. The woman wasn't excited about the jets at all and made me feel ashamed for being excited.
The inside of the building was, like the outside of the building, like Grand Central Station, except with display cases everywhere, like the jewelry and perfume sections of a nice department store.
I may have been looking down at some jewelry. The woman called from behind me, telling me she had found a lion. I thought, Well, we were here to look for jets, but perhaps they also have (stuffed) wild animals here as well.
I turned. The woman, whom I still couldn't see, directed my view to an old, rich-looking woman. The woman wore a fur coat. On the fur coat was a circle, maybe six inches in diameter. The circle had white plastic backing and was inlaid (?) with pale, golden-blonde hair/fur. The fur was kind of short, maybe one inch long. The top of the circle of fur had three oval, pale purple, polished stones lying on it. The whole thing seemed to look as if it were under a magnifying glass.
I thought, This is all that's left of the lion? I felt like the woman (my friend) was trying to mock both my excitement about this event and the lion itself.
I stood across the street from a big building like Grand Central Station. The face of the building recessed about midway along the building.
From within this recess there pointed out the nose of a craft which looked to me like an SR-71. Judging by the nose, however, I assumed the jet must have been enormous. I got very excited.
There were a couple people with me. One woman, who was about my age, was to my left and just behind me. I told the woman we should walk farther along to look directly into the recess of the building. The woman didn't seem to be as excited as I.
I now saw the whole recess directly. The "SR-71" stood at the bottom. It was enormous and may have been grey. A number of other jets hovered, as if hung by wires, all the way up along the height of the building, within this recess. There may also have been a few jets standing atop the building, just peering over its sides.
I thought, There's a jet show! I forgot all about it! I hope I'm not too late!
The woman and I went inside the building. The woman wasn't excited about the jets at all and made me feel ashamed for being excited.
The inside of the building was, like the outside of the building, like Grand Central Station, except with display cases everywhere, like the jewelry and perfume sections of a nice department store.
I may have been looking down at some jewelry. The woman called from behind me, telling me she had found a lion. I thought, Well, we were here to look for jets, but perhaps they also have (stuffed) wild animals here as well.
I turned. The woman, whom I still couldn't see, directed my view to an old, rich-looking woman. The woman wore a fur coat. On the fur coat was a circle, maybe six inches in diameter. The circle had white plastic backing and was inlaid (?) with pale, golden-blonde hair/fur. The fur was kind of short, maybe one inch long. The top of the circle of fur had three oval, pale purple, polished stones lying on it. The whole thing seemed to look as if it were under a magnifying glass.
I thought, This is all that's left of the lion? I felt like the woman (my friend) was trying to mock both my excitement about this event and the lion itself.
(12/19/08) so many books
Dream #1
I had brought one or a few friends into my house. It was a grey day. I showed my friends my "bedroom."
I was surprised by the room -- I had so many books! Piles of books lined all the walls. Most of the piles were about two feet high or shorter, though some were about four feet high.
At some point I saw all of this as if I were laying on my side.
I had brought one or a few friends into my house. It was a grey day. I showed my friends my "bedroom."
I was surprised by the room -- I had so many books! Piles of books lined all the walls. Most of the piles were about two feet high or shorter, though some were about four feet high.
At some point I saw all of this as if I were laying on my side.
(12/20/08) she died in her imagination
(Entered in paper journal at 10 AM at home in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I was in a (dark?) room with a woman or possibly the ghost of a woman. The woman appeared to be young and blonde, very pretty. But she was actually an old woman, or a woman who had died long ago. I stood as if between two rooms: one, in which this woman lay on a bed, and the other, a dark living room where some other woman (?), like the woman's attendant (?), sat in deep shadow.
The woman told me a story of how she'd known she was going to die. She'd had a disease like cancer and was in the final stages. I heard her story and "understood," at first, that she'd been asked to take a role in a film adaptation of a John D. MacDonald movie. I "understood" that the woman was at death's door and could hardly move when her final scene was shot.
I imagined the scene: a 1950s black and white movie. The woman, with long, dark hair, probably red, lying under a big, fur blanket, saying some final words. At some point the woman may have pulled down the blanket to expose her breasts. I "understood" that the final scene, which may have been a death scene, anyway, had been re-written so that the almost-invalid woman could act it out in her condition.
But then, as if time replayed itself, I "heard" the woman's actual "telling" of the story. The woman had always admired John D. MacDonald's novels and had wanted to act in an adaptation of one. But she had never gotten the chance. So, on her death-bed, she imagined herself acting out her favorite novel. This imagination was so powerful to her that it was almost like a reality to her. In fact, at the time of her death, she died "in her imagination," passing away as the character of the novel, in the final scene of the novel, rather than as herself in her bed.
When I heard this story I laughed. It was so heartwarming, and so quirky, somehow -- a Hollywood starlet passing away in a pulp novel fantasy. But then I began to cry. I thought of how much this work meant to her, and how tragic it was that this starlet never got to express herself fully.
As I cried, the room lit slightly. The light came from a small pool of water. The pool was where the woman's sickbed had been. The woman sat or stood or floated in the pool. She wore an elegant, green and white striped swimsuit. She was simultaneously modern and older styled. She had the poise and beauty of both Grace Kelly and a modern surfer girl.
The woman told me her name -- something like Jean Harlow or Jean Jordan. She told me I could find other movies she'd acted in by looking in an old (box or shelf?) of books she'd kept nearby. She may have embraced me.
I now stood in front of a bookshelf, looking through a stack of books. I knew I should get the titles of these books and then watch the movies with the titles. All the novels were extreme pulp novels: sci-fi, crime, even pornography. I assumed the film adaptations of these novels were all little-heard-of B-movies.
I had a handful of books but can remember only one cover clearly. A painting wherein a woman possibly in a yellow outfit, or maybe a yellow trench coat, was running across a deep green, shadowy background. The woman was looking over her right shoulder, as if panicked that something would attack her. The (very long) title ran across the bottom of the page -- something like: I Can't Use My ESP to Call the Martians Who Are Getting (Rescuing?) Me.
There were other crime books with covers painted in deep, ashy blues and grey-blacks. One may have used the derogatory term for black people in its title.
There may have been another person, probably a man, fumbling around in the books as well, trying to get a hold of all the books I was looking at.
Dream #1
I was in a (dark?) room with a woman or possibly the ghost of a woman. The woman appeared to be young and blonde, very pretty. But she was actually an old woman, or a woman who had died long ago. I stood as if between two rooms: one, in which this woman lay on a bed, and the other, a dark living room where some other woman (?), like the woman's attendant (?), sat in deep shadow.
The woman told me a story of how she'd known she was going to die. She'd had a disease like cancer and was in the final stages. I heard her story and "understood," at first, that she'd been asked to take a role in a film adaptation of a John D. MacDonald movie. I "understood" that the woman was at death's door and could hardly move when her final scene was shot.
I imagined the scene: a 1950s black and white movie. The woman, with long, dark hair, probably red, lying under a big, fur blanket, saying some final words. At some point the woman may have pulled down the blanket to expose her breasts. I "understood" that the final scene, which may have been a death scene, anyway, had been re-written so that the almost-invalid woman could act it out in her condition.
But then, as if time replayed itself, I "heard" the woman's actual "telling" of the story. The woman had always admired John D. MacDonald's novels and had wanted to act in an adaptation of one. But she had never gotten the chance. So, on her death-bed, she imagined herself acting out her favorite novel. This imagination was so powerful to her that it was almost like a reality to her. In fact, at the time of her death, she died "in her imagination," passing away as the character of the novel, in the final scene of the novel, rather than as herself in her bed.
When I heard this story I laughed. It was so heartwarming, and so quirky, somehow -- a Hollywood starlet passing away in a pulp novel fantasy. But then I began to cry. I thought of how much this work meant to her, and how tragic it was that this starlet never got to express herself fully.
As I cried, the room lit slightly. The light came from a small pool of water. The pool was where the woman's sickbed had been. The woman sat or stood or floated in the pool. She wore an elegant, green and white striped swimsuit. She was simultaneously modern and older styled. She had the poise and beauty of both Grace Kelly and a modern surfer girl.
The woman told me her name -- something like Jean Harlow or Jean Jordan. She told me I could find other movies she'd acted in by looking in an old (box or shelf?) of books she'd kept nearby. She may have embraced me.
I now stood in front of a bookshelf, looking through a stack of books. I knew I should get the titles of these books and then watch the movies with the titles. All the novels were extreme pulp novels: sci-fi, crime, even pornography. I assumed the film adaptations of these novels were all little-heard-of B-movies.
I had a handful of books but can remember only one cover clearly. A painting wherein a woman possibly in a yellow outfit, or maybe a yellow trench coat, was running across a deep green, shadowy background. The woman was looking over her right shoulder, as if panicked that something would attack her. The (very long) title ran across the bottom of the page -- something like: I Can't Use My ESP to Call the Martians Who Are Getting (Rescuing?) Me.
There were other crime books with covers painted in deep, ashy blues and grey-blacks. One may have used the derogatory term for black people in its title.
There may have been another person, probably a man, fumbling around in the books as well, trying to get a hold of all the books I was looking at.
(12/21/08) L's sick mother; the land of mutated children
(Entered in paper journal at 12:08 PM at girlfriend H's apartment.)
Dream #1
I was inside an apartment. It was smallish, with grey carpet and pale lighting. It might have been early morning or late afternoon. I might have been all alone in the apartment.
My friend R's wife L walked in. Apparently the apartment belonged to R and L. I might have been in there, trying to get something while neither of them were there. But now L saw me. She went in and sat on her bed, which was (apparently) in the living room. The bed was all messy.
I asked L how she was doing. She seemed very mellow, almost depressed. She said she was fine. I asked her how her mom and dad were doing. She said, "Oh, my mom..."
I saw a picture in my head of a cartoon dad and mom at the very top of a greyish-green screen.
The mom popped out of the picture. I understood that this meant that L's mom was having health problems, or maybe that she had cancer.
I had to leave. L didn't want me to go, but, as bad as I felt for L's mom, I didn't want to have or start anymore contact with L or R.
I walked out the door. I wore both my shoes, but my right foot was also wrapped in a brown, plastic bag. I walked down a long, grey-painted, wooden stairway to a small parking lot/road that was bordered by a slightly wooded area. I knew R would be coming around soon. I wanted to be gone before he got here so I wouldn't have to see him. I may have walked another road.
Dream #2
I got onto a small airplane. The seats of the plane were arranged like a bus. The pilots got in. They sat in a seating area like bus drivers might sit in.
The plane began speeding up. The light outside was greyish like on a cloudy day. We coated past a landscape of full, green trees.
As the plane began taking off, I looked to my right, i.e. toward the front of the plane. The light outside was deep blue, like late afternoon, almost night. I saw through the pilots' windows. I thought, I've never been in a plane where you could actually see through the pilots' windows like this!
We passed through two sets of trees, which were arranged on either side of us like gates. We would scrape against the trees as we passed them. The trees may have been half-barren, not full. The horizon was a band of pale purple.
It was now daytime. The pilot was talking to some passengers in the front row as if he were a bus driver. I looked around. We were flying barely above street level, above a highway, following the highway's source. Then the plane was actually driving along on the highway. Finally, the plane had transformed into a regular bus, driving along the highway.
I thought, Well, maybe this is just for the first leg of our trip. I remembered having taken a bus once from Newark Airport to Allentown, Pennsylvania. I thought, Well, once we get to our next place we can take an actual airplane.
I was now skateboarding down the highway. The highway had a weird appearance, like it was smaller or cleaner than usual. The day was warm and bright. There was also a feeling along the highway like it was passing under bridges or just within range of barriers or enclosures, though there were grass slopes on either side of the road all the time. There were no cars. Instead there were kids, maybe teenagers, playing all through the street.
I tried to keep off to the left shoulder of the road. The shoulder was lined with tan bricks. My skateboard kept moving without any effort from me: I was going down a slope the whole way.
I was trying to avoid the kids because I didn't want to interrupt their fun, but also because I didn't want them to think I was a kid, too, and have them start bothering me. But eventually some kids did start to notice me. I skated over to the right shoulder of the road in hopes of avoiding them. But they followed me.
I got off my skateboard. I walked up onto the grass slope. Here, too, were kids in small groups, like picnic groups, playing here and there under the wide shade of the sparse trees.
I reached the top of the slope. The space was empty of trees, completely open to the clear, blue sky. All around me I saw rolling hills of grass, with small groups of kids playing everywhere.
I was being followed again by a group of kids who walked with a zombie-like slowness and will-lessness. I tried to avoid the kids. I walked to my right, toward a rocky cliff. Three zombie children cornered me at the cliff. They all looked like average, slightly troublemaking, white teenage boys. One wore a brown t-shirt.
I knew if I jumped off the cliff I'd die. I hadn't been afraid of the kids before: I just didn't want to be bothered by them. So I figured there was no use being afraid now. I might as well just see what they were planning to do.
But the kids didn't reach me. They may have stopped. The head of one of the zombie kids suddenly re-shaped. It puffed out into a grotesque circle, like out of a Garbage Pail Kids card. The kid seemed to be doing this in order to make me afraid. But I still wasn't afraid. Another kid expanded his head so that it grew a leg and an arm, both of which had a gross, rubbery appearance. I was trying to figure out what kind of disease these children had that was making their bodies do this.
I was now in a house or an apartment. This place may have been underground. The place was only half-lit, as if a few random lights in unseen rooms were throwing into the main room the only light the room had. The place was sparsely furnished but seemed cluttered nonetheless. There was a lot of activity, maybe from a lot of children running around. The place seemed more like a mental hospital than an apartment or house or even a school building.
At first I was floating, as if I were coming down a stairway and into the main room. I tried not to attract anybody's attention. I thought if anybody saw me and tried to connect with me, they'd give me whatever disease they had.
I floated through the main room (over an air-hockey table?) and into a very small, lit hallway. A couple kids ran out of a doorway to my left. As they ran past me they mutated themselves. One added limbs to his head the way the other had done. Another added bubbling lumps, two or three times the size of his actual head, to the back of his skull. A little girl came out and mutated her head so that it looked like a short body attached to a tall body at the neck, with the tall body in a pink dress and the short body in a blue dress.
Finally a woman came out of the room. She looked like Daryl Hannah's Pris character in the movie Blade Runner. She was very sexy and sleek. She wore a black and white striped tights costume and had spiky, pale blonde, almost white, hair. She herself was a mutation. But she was known as the "mother" of all these children. She had hypnotized them to be mischievous. But she was like a role model to them, so even if they weren't hypnotized, they probably would still be mischievous, if that was how she told them to be.
The woman touched me. I knew that since she touched me, I, too, would probably also start acting mischievously.
Dream #1
I was inside an apartment. It was smallish, with grey carpet and pale lighting. It might have been early morning or late afternoon. I might have been all alone in the apartment.
My friend R's wife L walked in. Apparently the apartment belonged to R and L. I might have been in there, trying to get something while neither of them were there. But now L saw me. She went in and sat on her bed, which was (apparently) in the living room. The bed was all messy.
I asked L how she was doing. She seemed very mellow, almost depressed. She said she was fine. I asked her how her mom and dad were doing. She said, "Oh, my mom..."
I saw a picture in my head of a cartoon dad and mom at the very top of a greyish-green screen.
The mom popped out of the picture. I understood that this meant that L's mom was having health problems, or maybe that she had cancer.
I had to leave. L didn't want me to go, but, as bad as I felt for L's mom, I didn't want to have or start anymore contact with L or R.
I walked out the door. I wore both my shoes, but my right foot was also wrapped in a brown, plastic bag. I walked down a long, grey-painted, wooden stairway to a small parking lot/road that was bordered by a slightly wooded area. I knew R would be coming around soon. I wanted to be gone before he got here so I wouldn't have to see him. I may have walked another road.
Dream #2
I got onto a small airplane. The seats of the plane were arranged like a bus. The pilots got in. They sat in a seating area like bus drivers might sit in.
The plane began speeding up. The light outside was greyish like on a cloudy day. We coated past a landscape of full, green trees.
As the plane began taking off, I looked to my right, i.e. toward the front of the plane. The light outside was deep blue, like late afternoon, almost night. I saw through the pilots' windows. I thought, I've never been in a plane where you could actually see through the pilots' windows like this!
We passed through two sets of trees, which were arranged on either side of us like gates. We would scrape against the trees as we passed them. The trees may have been half-barren, not full. The horizon was a band of pale purple.
It was now daytime. The pilot was talking to some passengers in the front row as if he were a bus driver. I looked around. We were flying barely above street level, above a highway, following the highway's source. Then the plane was actually driving along on the highway. Finally, the plane had transformed into a regular bus, driving along the highway.
I thought, Well, maybe this is just for the first leg of our trip. I remembered having taken a bus once from Newark Airport to Allentown, Pennsylvania. I thought, Well, once we get to our next place we can take an actual airplane.
I was now skateboarding down the highway. The highway had a weird appearance, like it was smaller or cleaner than usual. The day was warm and bright. There was also a feeling along the highway like it was passing under bridges or just within range of barriers or enclosures, though there were grass slopes on either side of the road all the time. There were no cars. Instead there were kids, maybe teenagers, playing all through the street.
I tried to keep off to the left shoulder of the road. The shoulder was lined with tan bricks. My skateboard kept moving without any effort from me: I was going down a slope the whole way.
I was trying to avoid the kids because I didn't want to interrupt their fun, but also because I didn't want them to think I was a kid, too, and have them start bothering me. But eventually some kids did start to notice me. I skated over to the right shoulder of the road in hopes of avoiding them. But they followed me.
I got off my skateboard. I walked up onto the grass slope. Here, too, were kids in small groups, like picnic groups, playing here and there under the wide shade of the sparse trees.
I reached the top of the slope. The space was empty of trees, completely open to the clear, blue sky. All around me I saw rolling hills of grass, with small groups of kids playing everywhere.
I was being followed again by a group of kids who walked with a zombie-like slowness and will-lessness. I tried to avoid the kids. I walked to my right, toward a rocky cliff. Three zombie children cornered me at the cliff. They all looked like average, slightly troublemaking, white teenage boys. One wore a brown t-shirt.
I knew if I jumped off the cliff I'd die. I hadn't been afraid of the kids before: I just didn't want to be bothered by them. So I figured there was no use being afraid now. I might as well just see what they were planning to do.
But the kids didn't reach me. They may have stopped. The head of one of the zombie kids suddenly re-shaped. It puffed out into a grotesque circle, like out of a Garbage Pail Kids card. The kid seemed to be doing this in order to make me afraid. But I still wasn't afraid. Another kid expanded his head so that it grew a leg and an arm, both of which had a gross, rubbery appearance. I was trying to figure out what kind of disease these children had that was making their bodies do this.
I was now in a house or an apartment. This place may have been underground. The place was only half-lit, as if a few random lights in unseen rooms were throwing into the main room the only light the room had. The place was sparsely furnished but seemed cluttered nonetheless. There was a lot of activity, maybe from a lot of children running around. The place seemed more like a mental hospital than an apartment or house or even a school building.
At first I was floating, as if I were coming down a stairway and into the main room. I tried not to attract anybody's attention. I thought if anybody saw me and tried to connect with me, they'd give me whatever disease they had.
I floated through the main room (over an air-hockey table?) and into a very small, lit hallway. A couple kids ran out of a doorway to my left. As they ran past me they mutated themselves. One added limbs to his head the way the other had done. Another added bubbling lumps, two or three times the size of his actual head, to the back of his skull. A little girl came out and mutated her head so that it looked like a short body attached to a tall body at the neck, with the tall body in a pink dress and the short body in a blue dress.
Finally a woman came out of the room. She looked like Daryl Hannah's Pris character in the movie Blade Runner. She was very sexy and sleek. She wore a black and white striped tights costume and had spiky, pale blonde, almost white, hair. She herself was a mutation. But she was known as the "mother" of all these children. She had hypnotized them to be mischievous. But she was like a role model to them, so even if they weren't hypnotized, they probably would still be mischievous, if that was how she told them to be.
The woman touched me. I knew that since she touched me, I, too, would probably also start acting mischievously.
(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.
(12/27/08) a tangle tale; the gravel pit
(Entered in paper journal at 9:23 AM at Connecticut Muffin in Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I stood out on an open field by myself on a greyish, warm day. I was flying on a red kite. The kite was really big and seemed to be at a towering height.
At some point I may have seen a tangle of other kites, which were red and blue. I may have tried to avoid the tangle. My kite avoided the tangle, but then a strong wind came up and dissolved the kite. All that was left was the frame, and possibly a clear, gelatinous film where the red plastic (?) had been.
The kite may have crashed, and I may have run out of the way of it. I now looked at the tangle of red and blue kites. It was a bundle of long strips of red and blue kite fabric. The strips reached up to the towering distance my kite had reached, but they touched down to the ground as well.
I saw one of the strips lose its ability to fly. It seemed to disjoin from all the other strips and to slide out of the body of the tangle under its own weight. I was afraid the if one strip fell, the whole mass of strips would fall, and that if they fell on me, they would kill me.
I ran out of the way, though not particularly panicked. It was like as soon as I started running I became less afraid, remembering how lightweight and soft kite material really is.
I may have seen the very barren structure of what would be a tall building like a warehouse or movie theater when it was fully constructed. I now stood under a tarp-tent with a white roof and plastic, white poles.
There were people in line, possibly "to watch" the kites. I got in line, but some old man butted in front of me in a really annoying way. The man was shortish, bald, fattish, with leathery, tan skin and brownish sunglasses. He had a little girl, maybe his daughter, with him.
I at first tried not to show how annoyed I was at him. But I suddenly got uncontrollably angry. I got close to him and made gross noises. Then I actually hit his right ear. This may have caused some kind of stir. The line may have broken up, the people in line may have turned to gather around me, thinking I was crazy.
Dream #2
I walked out onto a strange field with my mom. The day was grey with heavy clouds. The field was dark brown, wet earth with tall clumps of grass.
My mom was leading a group of us on some mission. My mom may have stood on or before something like a small pond that was either frozen over or had solid matter in it that could be walked on. She was taking an instrument like a shovel or jackhammer and either breaking the ice to take something out of the water or taking the solid pieces out of the water.
My mom called and waved to the others of us as if she were a military leader. The others went up to the body of water, which had a dark, grey metallic gleam to it. Somehow the whole atmosphere looked "as if" it were stormy and apocalyptic.
I didn't go with the others, however. I had a bag of bones (?) in my hand. I needed to go bury the bones. My mom yelled after me to come with everybody else. She sounded very threatening. I yelled, "Fuck you! I have to take care of my own things!"
The "bones" were now seeds. Then the seeds were encased in the squares of a chocolate bar. I walked over to a gravely pit. The pit was a burial pit. The pit had a lattice structure, a grid of wood, embedded in it.
I remembered that the bones of John Lennon had been buried here. I didn't want to disturb the bones. I was afraid they would bring John Lennon back as a bad spirit. I also knew I (or others?) had buried other seeds within this pit. The seeds themselves were like bones, and disturbing them, I feared, would also have bad consequences. Nevertheless I tossed in the (now) almonds, which were coated in the melted chocolate of a candy bar (although some were still in full squares), into the burial pit.
But when I pushed my "shovel" -- some weird, metallic instrument like a roto-rooter with a spade tip -- into the gravel, all the gravel in the pit began sinking. In some squares of the grid, the gravel receded entirely, revealing something like a living space below, almost like an ugly, messy version of Bugs Bunny's house, maybe with some skulls lying around.
I thought I would need to find more gravel to fill the pit back up. The pit may have needed to be full for the magic of the seeds to work. But my fear of the consequences of disturbing the bones and the seed-bones may have caused the pit to lose its gravel.
Dream #1
I stood out on an open field by myself on a greyish, warm day. I was flying on a red kite. The kite was really big and seemed to be at a towering height.
At some point I may have seen a tangle of other kites, which were red and blue. I may have tried to avoid the tangle. My kite avoided the tangle, but then a strong wind came up and dissolved the kite. All that was left was the frame, and possibly a clear, gelatinous film where the red plastic (?) had been.
The kite may have crashed, and I may have run out of the way of it. I now looked at the tangle of red and blue kites. It was a bundle of long strips of red and blue kite fabric. The strips reached up to the towering distance my kite had reached, but they touched down to the ground as well.
I saw one of the strips lose its ability to fly. It seemed to disjoin from all the other strips and to slide out of the body of the tangle under its own weight. I was afraid the if one strip fell, the whole mass of strips would fall, and that if they fell on me, they would kill me.
I ran out of the way, though not particularly panicked. It was like as soon as I started running I became less afraid, remembering how lightweight and soft kite material really is.
I may have seen the very barren structure of what would be a tall building like a warehouse or movie theater when it was fully constructed. I now stood under a tarp-tent with a white roof and plastic, white poles.
There were people in line, possibly "to watch" the kites. I got in line, but some old man butted in front of me in a really annoying way. The man was shortish, bald, fattish, with leathery, tan skin and brownish sunglasses. He had a little girl, maybe his daughter, with him.
I at first tried not to show how annoyed I was at him. But I suddenly got uncontrollably angry. I got close to him and made gross noises. Then I actually hit his right ear. This may have caused some kind of stir. The line may have broken up, the people in line may have turned to gather around me, thinking I was crazy.
Dream #2
I walked out onto a strange field with my mom. The day was grey with heavy clouds. The field was dark brown, wet earth with tall clumps of grass.
My mom was leading a group of us on some mission. My mom may have stood on or before something like a small pond that was either frozen over or had solid matter in it that could be walked on. She was taking an instrument like a shovel or jackhammer and either breaking the ice to take something out of the water or taking the solid pieces out of the water.
My mom called and waved to the others of us as if she were a military leader. The others went up to the body of water, which had a dark, grey metallic gleam to it. Somehow the whole atmosphere looked "as if" it were stormy and apocalyptic.
I didn't go with the others, however. I had a bag of bones (?) in my hand. I needed to go bury the bones. My mom yelled after me to come with everybody else. She sounded very threatening. I yelled, "Fuck you! I have to take care of my own things!"
The "bones" were now seeds. Then the seeds were encased in the squares of a chocolate bar. I walked over to a gravely pit. The pit was a burial pit. The pit had a lattice structure, a grid of wood, embedded in it.
I remembered that the bones of John Lennon had been buried here. I didn't want to disturb the bones. I was afraid they would bring John Lennon back as a bad spirit. I also knew I (or others?) had buried other seeds within this pit. The seeds themselves were like bones, and disturbing them, I feared, would also have bad consequences. Nevertheless I tossed in the (now) almonds, which were coated in the melted chocolate of a candy bar (although some were still in full squares), into the burial pit.
But when I pushed my "shovel" -- some weird, metallic instrument like a roto-rooter with a spade tip -- into the gravel, all the gravel in the pit began sinking. In some squares of the grid, the gravel receded entirely, revealing something like a living space below, almost like an ugly, messy version of Bugs Bunny's house, maybe with some skulls lying around.
I thought I would need to find more gravel to fill the pit back up. The pit may have needed to be full for the magic of the seeds to work. But my fear of the consequences of disturbing the bones and the seed-bones may have caused the pit to lose its gravel.
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