Tuesday, March 6, 2012

charming the guard; hanging of prisoners

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was on a bus with a group of people. The bus was some kind of prison bus or bus to a concentration camp. But it wasn't overly packed or crowded. The seats went all along the sides of the bus. They were upholstered with some light brown, fake crushed velvet material. It must have been late afternoon: golden yellow light filled the bus.

A guard walked up and down the aisle of the bus. He was Asian and kind of short and stocky. He had a squarish haircut and squarish eyeglasses. He wore some kind of brownish uniform.

I believe there were other guards toward the back of the bus. This guard, I believe, enjoyed being mean and bullying to the other people on the bus. But the guards at the back were even more severe. They enforced a stronger level of bullying than even the guard himself would have used while he was alone.

None of the prisoners were supposed to talk with each other. But at one point, one of the prisoners did talk. He was an average, young, white man, kind of tall and thin, with curly hair. He wore a slightly baggy white t-shirt. The guard did something to the man to make him stop talking.

Later on, a young woman and I started talking. I was showing the woman a book of papers I had. The papers were possibly in a small steno book or note pad. A lot of the pages were blank. A lot of the pages had been torn out, folded up, crumpled up, and shoved into the book at odd angles. Some of these pages may have had lyrics to songs in different languages on them.

I showed the young woman, who may possibly have been Hispanic, a sheet of lyrics I had, probably for a Malaysian song, probably for a song by the singer Monoloque. I started going through the lyrics with the woman. I may have explained to the woman how I like singing songs in all different languages.

The guard eventually walked up to us. He wasn't trying to make us stop talking. He was interested in the fact that I sang Malaysian songs.

The guard started talking to me about his own life. He had an interest in something scientific. He may even have been pursuing these interests for a while. He got excited while he spoke about it. And I got excited listening to him. It seemed like he had some really good scientific ideas.

But then something happened, and the guard was made to stop talking to me. I understood that he wouldn't interrupt the speaking between me and the woman. He liked us now, and he'd leave us alone. But he couldn't talk to us or share his interests. The higher-ranking guards at the back of the bus prevented it.

Dream #2

A view like footage on old black and white film. Four men were hanging in nooses in the open space of what looked like the back of an old military truck, the kind with the tarp-like canopy over the back. The film was actually tinged a bluish color.

The men had just been dropped into their hanging positions. The drop must have been mild, because the men were in pretty good control of their bodies, still: their necks hadn't snapped. But after the men were dropped, something else had been done to them, adding an injury that would ensure their deaths.

All four men were shirtless and wore tattered, baggy pants. They were all extremely emaciated, and they all had scraggly beards. The man on the far left, feeling that he was going to die presently, crossed himself weakly. I was interested in the man. He seemed so resigned to his death.

My view closed in on the man. His body, though emaciated, still looked big, as if, before the men had been put through whatever they'd been put through, he would have been the biggest and strongest of them by far. His chest was hairy with curly, pale hair.

My view now closed in on the man's face. His face looked all dried out, almost like salted meat. The man twisted his face a few times in mild pain. Then the man's face relaxed, and the man's head bowed down, as if the man were sleeping. I knew the man was dead.