Thursday, July 25, 2013

hot rod computer; fitting room full of clothes

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in some dark space with my boss JE and his boss AB. The space may have been walls, maybe brick, opening out to the dark air at the front wall. There was just a thin, yellow-grey light, like from a streetlamp, somewhere. I had my bag at my feet. It may have been really big, maybe even as big as a sleeping bag. It may have been like we were preparing to go on some kind of camping trip or slumber party.

AB asked me to take my computer out of my bag for some reason, possibly to show me some work I needed to do or to illustrate something I was doing for fun that he was interested in. I took my computer out of my bag. AB remarked how cheap and bad my computer looked. He was a little disgusted. I suddenly felt ashamed. AB was right. The computer was extremely light and flimsy, like it was made out of cardboard.AB showed me his computer. It was a nice, solid laptop.

AB was now going to show me the work I needed to do. He may have opened his laptop. But he was also holding my laptop. He was flipping it over in dismay. He asked me, "Does this thing even have a DVD player?" I said it did. I took my laptop. looked for the DVD player and seemed to find it.

I sat my laptop on some stand, something like a square pedestal of wood maybe about 150cm tall. I opened my laptop. It still looked like a cheap laptop on the outside. But the face and keyboard looked something like the hood and chrome grill of a1950s-style hot rod.

I may have done something like try to turn on the computer. But now all the chrome pieces seemed to make a strange-looking stereo, with a CD player and radio on the face. I ran my hand across the devices. The devices seemed to multipy. The computer was now as big as the pedestal it had been standing on.

Dream #2

I was in a clothing store, possibly a lingerie store, like a Victoria's Secret, or possibly the clothing section of a general department store. I headed into the women's fitting area. Apparently I was going to try on some women's clothes. Just outside the fitting room were a few torso mannequins wearing some cheap-looking, form-fitting blouses or dresses of sequins and glitter.

I had tried on whatever I was going to try on. Now I was putting my own clothes back on. But I had decided to change my outfit. I had just been coming back from something like a camping trip or some other kind of multi-day, intense task. I was now on my way home. I hadn't changed my clothes in one or two days. I had a backpack full of clothes, though. So I figured I'd just change now while I was in a fitting room.

I had a bag, like a laundry bag, full of clothes, in front of me. I somehow threw the clothes I'd changed out of into the bottom of the bag. But now that I'd changed, I kind of had second thoughts about it. Now I'd be walking out of the fitting room in different clothes, lugging a bag of clothes with me. Wouldn't that seem suspicious, like I was trying to shoplift some clothes?

I thought that I should just go ahead and change back into the first outfit I'd been wearing and try to put all my other clothes back into my backpack.

But now the bag holding my clothes was enormous! It looked like a cloth bag you can buy at the grocery store to use instead of disposable bags. It was navy blue. But it was about waist-high and maybe a meter wide -- stuffed full of my clothes! A lot of the clothes looked like cotton gloves and other accessories. The clothes were all wet, like they'd just come out of the washing machine.

The clothes I'd changed out of were at the bottom of this sack. I knew that now they'd not only be extremely difficult to get to, but wet and wrinkled as well. And since they'd been dirty when I'd taken them off, the wetness would make them smelly and even dirtier-feeling. It was no use getting back into my old clothes at this point.

I may have started pulling, or imagined pulling, the huge bag of wet clothes out of the fitting room.

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

injured knight

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was probably in a library with two of my friends, one of whom may have been my old friend ML. We were getting ready to leave the library to hear an author's talk.

ML was a little disappointed with the author, and possibly also with having to go to the talk. I knew this was because he didn't like some themes or some plot devices in the most popular book the author had written.

But I knew, and I wanted to tell ML, that the author himself didn't like his most popular book. He had kind of been forced or swayed to write it the way he had. His other books were written how he wanted to write them, and I liked them a lot more. I thought ML would, too.

I could see an image from the popular book. The book was an old-style, cloth-bound, hardcover book. On the paper glued to the inside of the front cover was an illustration, monochrome, in blue and white, of a knight leading a group of men through the mountains.

I was now out in some wildland of rolling valleys of grass dotted with occasional groves of trees and shrubs. The day was grey, cool, and misty. There were three knights, one of whom may have been me.

The knights all rode big, powerful, fast horses. But the horses may also only have been half-horses, or they may have been like big puppets, or hobbyhorses with curtains of puppet-fabric over them. The knights were also wearing, instead of mail and armor, big, brown coats or vests made out of either animal hide or puppet fabric.

As the three knights sped along, the third knight, with whom I identified, somehow injured himself. One of his legs was broken. He fell off his horse, which then may have stopped running. The knight stood up and may even have gotten back up onto his horse, even though he knew he would no longer be useful at riding.

The other knights were only a short distance in front of the third knight. It was like they weren't moving forward at all, even though they may supposedly still have been charging forward.

I felt a keen sense of dismay and fear at the third knight/myself having broken his leg. I understood now that it may have happened because the knight had been shot off his horse, maybe by an enemy's crossbow. Or perhaps the knight had only fallen and injured himself. But his injury put him at the mercy of the enemy, who were lurking in the wildlands, unseen. I didn't want the knight to be doomed: his doom would be mine.

The knight called out to the other two knights that they should keep going and not worry about him. The knight tried to act like he could still ride, to keep the other knights from waiting for him.

I now understood that this was actually a scene from the popular book by the author my friends and I were going to see. I had felt bad about my friend not liking the book. So now I had gone into the book to make "the ultimate sacrifice" within the book, as a kind of penance. This might have seemed like a kind of silly thing for me to have done, since it might cost me my own as well as the knight's life.

The third knight was somehow keeping up with the other two knights, possibly even beating them. But it was now like he was speeding along on a pogo stick that was covered in shaggy hide or puppet fabric. The knight had chosen to ride on a pogo stick so he would only have to use one leg to move. But he was still afraid that something would happen, either to injure his broken leg even more, or to break his other leg. So he called back to the men that if something bad happened to his legs, he would make them feel really guilty about it.

I was now floating up in the air, maybe twenty meters high. I was looking down on something like a parking lot or a garage where a semi-truck was parked, possibly with two trailers attached to its back end, side by side.

Something had happened, I can't remember exactly what, to make the truck inaccessible to me. The truck had been guarded over by some man at some high vantage point and inside something like a control room. But I was either assigned to drive it, or I'd wanted to drive it, to some destination.

But now the man had been subdued, and the truck was no longer under the man's control. The two trailers were now attached (maybe they hadn't been before?) to the back of the truck, and the truck was now ready for me to drive. I could imagine the trucks being pulled back out of the concrete-walled, stall-like space they'd been in. My trip was ready to be started.

But now I realized I couldn't make the trip. I was scheduled to be somewhere, maybe at some place like my work, at a specific time. But the trip would take me 48 hours (or, at least, the end of one day and the beginning of the next). If I took on this task, I would miss the other thing I was scheduled to do. Plus, I now realized, I was only renting this truck. I had enough money to rent the truck for one day. But going on this trip for two days would be too expensive for me.

I also didn't know how to drive the truck. This hadn't seemed like such a big deal before. I'd thought I would have some time to be taught by my dad, who knew how to drive big trucks. But now the trip was about to start. I'd only have a short time, maybe 24 hours (even though the trip was to start immediately) for my dad to teach me.

Still, that didn't seem like such a big deal. I could learn what was essential, I thought, and pick up the rest by experience. But it was scary to think of needing to to that with such a big, dangerous vehicle.

And now I saw two other trailers standing alone, unhitched, near the stall-like parking space for the truck. I realized that the task was actually to take the trailers that were now hooked to the truck, then to come back, pick up the second pair of trailers, and haul them, too. This would definitely take me four days.

I was in despair. I definitely couldn't do this, and I may have said so, maybe even starting to cry. I didn't have the time, money, or experience for something like this.

I now saw something like the battle which had been fought to wrest the truck and trailers from the man's control. During that fight a father and his son, a young boy, were both shot in the head and killed. I thought to myself what an absurd waste it was that the father and son had been made to give their lives for these trucks.

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

a hill of beanbags

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was with a group of young adults or teenagers on an enormous stage. The stage may have been part of some game show which may or may not have been televised. The stage seemed to be in some place like a high school gymnasium. The stage, besides being enormous, may have been elevated about two or three times as high as usual above the audience.

An announcer, a young man in a suit and with a kind of showy, sharp hairdo, led us to our next contest. We had to climb, apparently, up some really steep object. At first I may not have been able to discern what the object was. But then I saw that the object was something like a gigantic, cylindrical beanbag. It wasn't standing quite erect, because of the odd clumping and shifting of the stuffing.

I watched a couple of my teammates, probably boys in their late teens, try and fail at climbing up the side of the beanbag. They would get up close to the top, then cling to the top, or as close as they could to the top, and then try to pull themselves up onto the top. But they wouldn't be able to pull themselves up, and they'd fall down.

My view of the gigantic beanbag shifted from the right to the left. I now saw that the beanbag was part of some larger complex, almost a small hill's worth, of beanbags. We had to run up to the top of this whole complex!

It was now my turn. At first I'd been worried. But now I really wasn't. I had the feeling that I knew how to get up the beanbag slope. I just had to get up enough momentum to blast myself up the slope. That way I wouldn't have to pull myself up by my arms. The people before me hadn't done enough running up the slope. I, however, would.

I charged past the announcer, who'd been standing right next to me, and up the slope. As I ran up it, it seemed a lot less steep than it had looked. It also seemed to have slide-like grooves in it. I was running up one of those grooves.

I lost a little of my steam as I reached the top. I was a little afraid at first that I wasn't going to make it. But I got to the top. I now saw the way up the rest of the hill of beanbags.

I kept running. I knew everybody down below was a little amazed, maybe even scared or annoyed. Nobody else had even gotten up the first slope, though I felt like some of my teammates had, somehow, continued along the course. I, however, hadn't just gotten up the first slope: I was making a charge to conquer the entire hill! But even I started to wonder about myself. Was I being too obsessed?

I felt my running speed slacken. I really felt like I was losing momentum. But I found myself at the top of the hill. The top of the hill was a wooden playground. The beanbag hill had been the first part of an obstacle course. This was the second part. But the playground really just seemed to be nothing more than a wooden playground, except that it may have been a few tiers high. It seemed to be more fun than anything else.

I ran around until I found a hole for a covered slide. I could see that the slide was really steep, just a straight shot down. But this was part of the obstacle course: you had to be brave enough to withstand the steep slide.

I was afraid, but I jumped down the hole. But I was kind of surprised to find that the slide, though steep, was made of a plastic that wasn't very slippery. So even though I was going straight down, I was never able to get up very much speed. I was disappointed. I had really wanted to test my courage against a straight drop.

The slide ended in a basement. The basement was like a museum. I was in a narrow hallway. I could tell that somewhere nearby was an exhibit of very colorful ceramic or sculpture of some kind. I could also hear two older women in some room talking about some exhibit, maybe an exhibit having to do with Star Wars or some other kind of science fiction.

I may still have felt like I was on the obstacle course. Regardless, I felt like I needed to hurry somewhere. I didn't feel like running was fast enough. I started to fly in some kind of awkward, almost upright way, and close to the ground.

I flew past some room with an exhibit playing either Star Wars or some other sci-fi movie or maybe news about some kind of missile attack. I flew past the reception desk, which was enormous and opulent, and at which sat a beautiful, young woman speaking on the phone.

I flew into the elevator bank and into one of the elevators, where I landed. The elevator doors closed. I knew the elevator was taking me up to a floor which housed one of the companies I worked for. I was a little worried about what my old boss, BS, would think of me once he saw me there.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

serpentine midwife

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was sitting on a bed in a room that was barely bigger than the bed itself. A dim, incandescent light shone down on the bed.

There was a snake on the bed with me. I may even have been holding the snake in my hands. It was a dull green snake with a white underbelly and beady, black eyes. The snake was maybe 60 or 70 centimeters long.

The snake was apparently giving birth or laying an egg like a chicken egg. It was doing so by making the egg come out of its mouth. This seemed to be really hard on the snake.

The snake finished laying her egg. But I knew there were more eggs to lay. I needed to check on the progress of the second egg. I had to grab the snake's head and open her jaws. The snake was poisonous, and I was afraid of being bit, but I knew I had to check. But even as I opened her jaws, the snake didn't seem very violent at all. She seemed gentle, drained.

I looked down into the snake's throat. I saw the second egg, a little way down. I let the snake go. I thought she would lay the second egg presently. But she just lay there limp. I figured she had lost so much energy in having her first egg that she needed to rest before having the second egg.

I stood up and walked out of the room. I thought I would come back closer to the time when the snake was ready to have her second egg. I was now in a dim room like a basement living room. The area had low ceilings, and even though it was long, it felt so cluttered with stuff that it felt tight and cramped.

At some point a kind of old, overweight woman with short, square, blonde hair and a peach-pink shirt walked into the room. She was still "asleep": she may have been sleepwalking. It was like she was recovering from a bad illness which had sent her either into unconsciousness or delirium.

I walked down toward the end of the room and met up with a group of young women. I myself may have been a young woman. All the women (including myself?) were pregnant, or else they were in need of a midwife's assistance for some other women they knew nearby who were about to have babies.

Apparently the old woman was the midwife all the women were looking for. We saw the woman again. She was walking around like she was in a drunken stupor. The woman walked over to the wall and then flopped down onto some spot like a counter or a desk top as if it were a bed.

It was clear the old woman needed more rest before she could take on the tasks of a midwife. But the women were all going to approach the old woman anyway. Each of the women, like me, had a snake. The snakes were all giving birth to eggs. And the old woman was the only one who could help with the births. The old woman still needed to recover a lot, but she was probably well enough to be midwife to the snakes, even though it would drain her energy.

The women all tittered to each other about how childlike they'd appear, all coming to the old woman at once, asking her for help. The girls all joked that they'd seem like little girls, asking, "Help my snake? My snake? My snake?"

But behind the joke was the sentiment that the women really did need the old woman to help with the snakes. And behind that sentiment was a fear. The snakes were something like a buildup. The women really needed the old woman's help giving birth to their own babies. But the women were afraid to bring up the topic. They were afraid the old woman would still be too ill to deliver the babies when the time came, or that the old woman would simply refuse. So the young women became overly, though jokingly, focused on the snakes, and how much they needed the old woman's help with the snakes.

Thursday, April 11, 2013

white tiger reconstruction

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

It was daytime, a sunny-cloudy day, with clouds skeining across the sky and making the atmosphere all kind of yellow. I had walked outside of a big house with white siding. I hadn't been outside for very long, and I'm pretty sure I hadn't done anything, but I felt like I'd been out for a while.

It started pouring rain. I was hoping to get back inside before I got soaked. But I had to take a "hike" around the big front yard of this big house. Plus, before the house, two white tigers were lying asleep at the trunk of a (barren? headless?) tree. I knew that if I approached the house's front door directly I'd wake the tigers, who would get angry and attack me.

So I walked in a counter-clockwise square around a portion of the yard. The yard was large, but I didn't walk around the whole thing. I maybe only covered a hundred square meters, but I felt like I'd walked quite a bit more. I walked around two huge beasts that were as big as elephants but had faces more like rhinoceros faces, but with narrow, tapered snouts.

The beasts lay on a shallow slope that slightly obscured my vied of the tigers. But just before I crossed down in front of the huge beasts, I saw that the pouring rain was waking at least one of the tigers. The tiger was yawning lazily. But I could tell that once the tiger got all its senses back from sleep, it would be annoyed by being woken and soaked by the rain. If the tiger saw me, it would take out its annoyance on me, attacking me.

I reflected on the huge beasts as I passed before them. They may have been dead, or they may also have been asleep. But I wasn't afraid of them. I knew that if they weren't dead, and if the rain woke them, they wouldn't be as violent as the white tigers would. They would be gentle, and probably just wander off.

I was hoping to work my way far to the right side of the house, then sneak around to the front door. But even as I was heading up the small, shallow slope on which the huge beasts lay, one of the tigers was charging at me. The tiger jumped on top of me and knocked me to the ground, flat on my back.

Right before I was knocked over I began hearing my own (???) voice narrating, as if I were, somewhere, watching a documentary about myself having been attacked by the tiger. As I landed on my back, the view around me may have been of a new subway train, with the white interior.

My narration said that the tiger weighed five thousand pounds. When I heard that, I became afraid. I didn't want the tiger's entire weight bearing down on me: it would be too painful! But the tiger must already have been bearing fully down on me. The narration said that I hadn't felt the weight of the tiger: the pressure hadn't been as painful as I'd expected. This, I realized, was true.

But the tiger was tearing at me, probably with its claws and teeth. I knew the tiger was tearing my body apart. And now the documentary (wherever it was playing, wherever I was watching) was moving to the second part, which was how the person -- no longer me, but more like a young version of Jackie Chan (???)  -- had had large parts of his body torn apart and had to go through reconstructive surgery.

At first I saw a photo of the young man after his reconstruction. It turned out, however, that the young man didn't want a normal reconstruction. He didn't want the doctors to put him back to normal. Instead, he simply wanted to be made functional, and to keep the mauled portions of his body as mauled-looking as he could, as a kind of "lesson" to his attackers, but also as a kind of artistic statement. The photo of the man's face, in fact, looked like the leathery face of a long dead person, or even of a shrunken head.

I now saw the young man, as if on film or video, speaking to the camera and documentary crew. The man was in something like the control room of a very small TV station. The lights were warm and incandescent, and the walls were brick, but all lined with tall cabinets full of TV studio control systems and monitors. The monitors may all have been playing imagery of spaceflight and missiles, which may have had something to do with recent news events, maybe with some impending war.

The man, I now saw, had been reconstructed to look really strange. He had all kinds of dull grey, coathanger-like wires stuck through his body. Some reconstructed portions of his flesh were raw and slimy. Other portions, such as a couple of his fingers, looked more like raw fat or ligament than flesh. And other portions of him looked more like random pieces of plastic or machinery. His head was crowned or haloed with a band of wire, which stuck into his raw skull at certain points.

The man began showing the camera and crew the work he did around the studio. Apparently, like the phantom of the opera, the man isolated himself in his work. He was a genius at his work, and he wasn't as antisocial as the phantom, but he bitterly isolated himself in his work, again as a "lesson," apparently, to the tigers that had mauled him.

But as I watched the man at work, I realized that all of his reconstruction was also like an augmentation. His wire/plastic/technology hands allowed him to process data and punch buttons in the cabinets at an incredible speed. And the man seemed to be able to operate an incredible number of machines at once!

But as I focused on the man's fingers operating on one interace at immense speed, I realized that the man could be driving himself too hard. His brain and body, it seemed to me, may not have been fully healed -- maybe because the man had chosen to have such an incomplete, strange reconstruction.

The man may have been driving himself to cause his incompletely healed portions to break down. And maybe the breakdown was desired by certain parts of the man's body. It may have been that certain artificial elements of the reconstruction wanted more of the original elements of the man to die, so that more artificial elements could join the artificial elements already in place. But, I thought, it may also have been possible that a breakdown would shut down even the artificial parts of the man's body.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

grandma mudslide

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in a hallway of a hospital. The hallway was sterile, with bare, white walls and greenish-white, fluorescent lighting.

I was probably at the hospital for my grandmother. She had probably just died. I'm not sure I was there to see my grandma: it may have been more like I was there just to acknowledge the fact that she'd died.

My mom sat in front of the door to my grandmother's room. I looked into the room. I didn't quite feel like I could go in. I kind of felt like my mom was blocking the door, even though she wasn't.

But now my grandma started moving. My grandma actually wasn't dead yet. It was like she had been on a respirator, but like she had just recently gotten the tube taken out, so that she could breathe on her own. It was assumed that her breathing would naturally get weaker and weaker, and that she would die. But this was all surprising to me: I'd been told my grandma was dead.

In fact, my grandma was breathing just fine. But now she began struggling in her bed. She began hunching and twisting upward, trying to get a good view of me. She was trying urgently to tell me something. But she couldn't speak. Instead, she was just hissing.

I wanted to go into the room to talk with my grandma, or at least stand outside the room and focus on what my grandma was saying. But somehow my mom scared me off from the room. My mom may have been trying to convince me that my grandma was dying and that I just needed to let her die. I didn't believe her, but I was too afraid to argue. I just turned and walked away from my grandma's room. But I had a bad feeling that my grandma was trying to tell me a bad secret about my mom.

I was now standing out on a river bank. My mom sat out on the river bank, possibly at something like a school desk or office desk. I walked away from the river bank. Directly behind it was a steep, muddy slope. There were a good amount of people sitting out on the slope, like they were at the park or waiting for a concert or something. But the slope was extremely steep and muddy: it didn't look like it would be comfortable at all.

For some reason I felt like I needed to scale the slope. I started climbing the slope. It was really difficult, but eventually I was approaching the top.

But now the slope became extremely steep, almost a vertical wall, all mud. I had to struggle to find hand- and footholds, and the mud was slopping all around me. Yet there were also people sitting on the slope near me, like they were just enjoying a day at the park. And there were two pretty, tanned girls with frizzy, blonde-brown hair walking up a cinder path to my right.

I didn't get all the way to the top of the slope (which may have been bordered by a wooded area) when I decided I needed to slide down the slope. But I was afraid that the slope was so steep that I would slide too quickly and start tumbling down the slope and crash to my death.

But I started sliding, anyway. It wasn't so bad. The hardest thing was, that I had with me the book I'm currently reading (Mont Saint-Michel and Chartres, by Henry Adams), and that it was hard for me to hold onto it as I slid down the slope.

Monday, April 8, 2013

carnegie's airship

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was probably laying on the floor of a dark living room. My brother, and maybe other members of my family, were also in the living room. A television was on in the room. I couldn't see the TV, but it provided the only source of light in the room.

The TV was playing a documentary about Andrew Carnegie. The documentary's narrator explained that Carnegie had, by modern rules, cheated his way into making a lot of money. Now that Carnegie had made a lot of money, he wanted to build a gigantic airship, which he felt would be of great benefit to humanity.

I saw, somehow, a few views of Carnegie on his airship. The shots were taken with a very old film camera, and they were really grainy and shadowy. The airship, I could tell, was gigantic. It floated slowly through the air like a zeppelin, although I hadn't thought of it as being like a zeppelin at the time.

The narrator now explained that Carnegie had been accused of cheating and theft by his peers. They worked long and hard and managed to get the U.S. courts to convict Carnegie. Carnegie had to give a lot of his money back.

By his own standards, he may now have been broke, even though he was probably still a millionaire. But, the narrator, explained, Carnegie no longer had the money to operate his gigantic airship. This was a bit of a tragedy, because it set air travel back by decades.

I had stood up to go take care of something. Now I had a clear view of the TV screen. The documentary was showing film of the final flight of the airship (the film's view from far above the ship???).

The airship was like a gigantic, flat slab of stone -- like an entire stratum of rock taken out of a mountain! -- atop which was a long, well-manicured park. The airship was like an enormous aircraft carrier, except with park instead of an airstrip. At the stern end may have been some kind of control center, or even a mansion or other kind of estate.

I was so inspired by this airship that I shouted out, "Yes! Look at that thing!" Suddenly it seemed to me that everything Carnegie had done had been right, if it could have led to an achievement like this. It also did seem tragic to me that people took away Carnegie's ability to continue running this monument to humanity.