Thursday, May 3, 2012

frisbee art

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was out on a really wide lawn with a small group of people. Everybody was kind of in the same place, but we weren't all together. I think a few people were friends. I may also have been with one other person.

I had been there doing something of my own. I may have been doing something with frisbees. Now I was finished and was about to leave.

But before I left I threw a special frisbee. This frisbee had the ability to lift high up into the air and then travel for long, long distances. While the frisbee traveled these distances, it would record events -- not just events of the present, but also events of the past. I was trying to do something, I think, like record the past events of my life.

I threw the frisbee. It was almost transparent, with a little bit of a gel-like, bluish tinge to it. In order to get high up into the air, the frisbee had to get a good wafting of air under it.

I kept watching, waiting for the perfect breeze to get under the frisbee. But every breeze that came only lifted the frisbee up a little bit. The frisbee would glide a ways, then go back down to about waist level. It would hover around that range a bit before another gust would lift it. But it definitely wasn't getting high enough, even to leave the park!

As I watched the frisbee, it seemed to shift and grow. Still floating around like a frisbee, it now looked like a dome-lidded garbage can, except with a broad disk around the base of the dome-lid. It was still all made of the almost transparent, plastic material.

Some man noticed that I was frustrated with the inability of my frisbee to get going. The man was some kind of frisbee expert, and he wanted to give me some pointers on how to get the frisbee moving.

The man knew that I had been taking video of myself throwing the frisbee. So he asked to see the video, so he could analyze my throws. I turned on the first video. But right from the very beginning I knew it was going to be embarrassing. Apparently I had filmed myself doing some kind of art with the frisbee.

I knew that I hadn't been throwing the frisbee in any context like sport, or playing catch with others. Instead, I'd gotten all dressed up in colorful clothes, put up some colorful sets in the park, and thrown the frisbee, basically to myself, in ways that I thought were "artistic."

I knew this had been completely useless and silly. But I tried to explain it to the man, before we got too far into the embarrassing aspect of the video, by using terms that made it seem like my throws really were based in some kind of truly athletic effort.

I actually had two videos. I thought the second video was probably better than the first. It was in black and white instead of color. So I thought the absence of the gaudy colors I'd used in the first video would be a lot less embarrassing.

The person I was showing the videos to was now a woman. There may have been one or two people around us. And we were watching the videos on a monitor that stood atop some technical tower in a dark booth, like the control booth outside a sound studio.

I told the woman, "You'll probably also like this video because it's a lot easier to understand. It's really good, too, because it has Edie Sedgwick in it. And, of course, she's really attractive."

The video started. Either I or somebody else (a woman?) began telling the plot of the video. The video was now basically a movie. The movie was about a blonde, business-like woman. The woman was maybe in her thirties. She was pretty, but she did look a bit worn and weathered by life. She had shoulder-length, blonde hair and wore a long, tan overcoat.

The person (I?) said, "This woman is going back to an old neighborhood from her past. She's trying to reconnect with a traumatic moment. She's trying to make peace with it. She may even have discovered recently that she could enjoy being in this place again. This may have come as a surprise to her."

My view became really close on the video. I may even have seen directly from the woman's point of view. It was night. The woman was walking up to a house she used to live in. It may have been implied that the house had ghosts.

The woman walked up to the door. But now the view went down to where the wall of the house met the concrete of the walkway. All along this edge there was a thin strip of weak metal.

The view panned slowly along this metal, from left to right. The metal began reflecting bright colors, like from the hot spotlights of a Kenneth Anger film. Some haunting, bleak music played in the background. The music worked its way up to a crescendo, at which point, I assumed, something was to be revealed to the woman.