Saturday, June 30, 2012

flood party; "i'm a virgin star"

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was inside some huge indoor area that was flooded. The place was huge, like a convention center, but it somehow had the look of a living room. It was like, above the surface of the water, there were dry areas, along the walls of the huge space, that looked like little living rooms.

The water had risen to its crest, I believe. But it was still surging and waving a little. I was in the middle of it all. It was hard to keep my head above water after the little surges and waves. It was like I was being pulled down deep below the surface.

There were a man above the surface and a woman below the surface. Both people, I believe, were Asian, probably young, and both good looking. I think I'd see the woman when I'd get sucked below the surface. I'd think the woman was kind and pretty. But the man, when I'd come above the surface, would tell me not to let the woman suck me under. He told me the woman would keep me under if I let her suck me under.

I was now wary of the woman. I got sucked under again. But I saw the woman again, and somehow she convinced me to stay under the water for a little bit longer. She was really cute. She wore a tight, leopard print tank top and tiny, blue jean shorts.

I had descended all the way down to the bottom of the water. I was now afraid. I had done what the man had told me not to do. Would I drown? I could feel that I'd need air soon.

But now I found I could breathe underwater. I looked around. It was like there was a little living room down here. I was surprised. But, I thought, it looked like the perfect place to have parties. Probably, I thought, this woman invites people over all the time to have wild parties. I thought that now that I lived down here with the woman, I'd have to deal with all these annoying wild parties.

The woman, I knew, had swum up to the surface. I kept waiting for her to return. I think I really wanted to see her legs again, in those tiny jean shorts.

Dream #2

I was driving a vehicle with my brother at night. We were driving down a road like a main road that ran just along the suburban residential neighborhood my family lived in when I was in high school. The vehicle I drove was something like a mix between some sort of cargo truck and a motor home. But the front area, the cabin, seemed somehow to be separated from the motor home part. The cabin also seemed to have two or more seats behind the front row of seats. My brother sat in one of the backseats.

At some point in time my mother got into the car. She may have come in through the driver's side door. But I was still driving, while my mom sat in the front passenger's seat. My mom may have started making comments about my driving, probably about how she thought I didn't know where I was going.

I tried to ignore my mom and just keep my thoughts on the road. But now my mom had pulled some of my notebook journals out of a book bag or backpack I had lying on the floor. She started making comments about how some of the stuff I had written was inappropriate. She may even have torn pages out of the notebooks or threatened to tear the pages out.

I was really angry that my mom had messed around with my notebooks. I told her to put my notebooks away and leave my stuff alone. Now she was really offended. She may have been silent in a really sulky way, or she may have said some really needling things to me, to make me feel bad for having criticized her.

I did feel bad, now. But I wasn't going to apologize. I wasn't going to lose focus of the road either. My mom had no right just going through my stuff the way she did.

I knew where I needed to get now. I knew I needed to get to a certain street (I can't remember) in a certain neighborhood. I knew that no way would be quick. But I knew there was a somewhat direct way, given where we were. I knew I had to go up to a certain street and turn left. But I could only turn left on that street if I was paying attention the whole time. I kept myself in a frame of mind where I felt like I was paying attention.

Suddenly, though, there were a bunch of women walking through the street in the opposite direction from my vehicle. There were maybe twenty of them. They all looked, I guess, like Gretel in the fairy tale of "Hansel and Gretel." They wore white caps with hook-shaped twists coming down over the ears and then back up. They wore yellow-skirted dresses with black tops and white shirts underneath. The tops seemed to be laced somehow. They all seemed to be part of some club. And they were all walking at random through the street.

I was doing everything I could to dodge all the Gretel girls and to keep my focus on where I needed to turn. But at one point my mom grabbed the steering wheel. She forced the steering wheel over so that the vehicle pulled all the way over to the left (my left) side of the road. It seemed like we almost hit a few Gretel girls as we veered to the side of the road. But they all seemed to have gotten out of our way.

My mom had now made me a nervous wreck. I stopped the car. My mom was yelling and screaming at me about how I'd almost hit all those girls. The vehicle was swaying too and fro. Even though I was still in the big vehicle, it actually felt like I was on something that I was having a hard time balancing, like a motorcycle. I told my mom that I was done driving while she was in the vehicle. If she wanted us to go anywhere, she could drive.

I pulled the vehicle over into some dirt lot, which may have been an RV lot. My mom and brother and I got out. My sister may now also have been with us, as well as a couple other family members, maybe some of my nephews. All the lights in the vehicle were on, and the headlights of the vehicle were also left on.

As we got out of the vehicle, my ex-girlfriend H came walking up to me. She was holding some books or notebooks. She said she was so happy finally to see everybody in my family. Everybody else was walking away from the vehicle. So I told H that I'd introduce her to everybody in a moment. She may have tried interacting with them already, although they hadn't seemed to interact with her. I realized I hadn't told my family anything about H. So they didn't know her to interact with her.


H's lips were all messed up. It was like the flesh of her lips had been replaced with something like a dried pudding, or maybe scabs. Her lips didn't puff out, either. They were flat, even a tiny bit sunken in.


H and I headed up into the vehicle. The living area part of the vehicle could now be accessed through the back end of the cabin. There was a kind of tall bed. I had my bookbag on the bed.


H was asking me something about how my life was going. I was trying to explain to her that my job in Colorado really wasn't working out, and that I had to find something else to do. I told her something about some project somewhere. It was some kind of project, maybe scientific, that somebody had approached me about without my having made any first contact with them. But it ended up sounding like something I really wanted to do.


But when I'd thought about doing it, I explained to H, I hesitated. I'd come back to Colorado to be with my family. This assignment would take me out of Colorado. So I didn't know if it really would be right for me to do it.


I knew that I had all the documents relating to the project in my book bag. I could see in my mind's eye the cover of some book. The cover was blue, with a white drawing of one hemisphere of a globe. There were possibly white drawings of something like olive leafs crossing below the drawing of the globe.


I thought if I could show the documentation to H, she could see what I was talking about. Maybe she'd be impressed that this organization contacted me directly to ask me to work for them. But when I pulled the documents out of my bookbag -- I saw that the offer had expired! I was supposed to reply by a certain time. I'd missed the window. The offer was no longer good!


I threw the papers down on the ground and began crying. I told H, "It doesn't matter anymore! It doesn't matter! It's all over with! I can't do anything!" I walked over to the windshield of the vehicle. I looked down into the light from the headlights to see if I could find my family.


Everything went black. I may have still been having some sort of conversation with H. The conversation may have continued as the light faded back in. I found myself in a subway station, something like the Times Square subway station. I was heading up out of the station.


But I was stuck behind three young men. The men were either white or white and Hispanic. They wore baggy t-shirts, cocked baseball caps, and baggy jean shorts. They were walking in all kinds of weird ways. At some point either I may have wondered whether they had something wrong with their legs, or else they may actually have had something wrong with their legs.


I went up either an escalator or staircase behind these guys. It was hard to get around them. I got around them as everybody passed through the exit turnstiles of the station. But then we all turned left through some small, kind of dumpy-looking shopping area. The guys had managed to loop around some column where nobody had been walking and get right in front of me again. They were still walking around all crazy and laughing with each other, like they enjoyed slowing down people's walking. But I don't think they were aware of me in particular.

Finally a lot of us who had exited the subway were heading up an escalator into a shopping center. I knew I couldn't stand waiting behind these guys at all anymore. I had to get up ahead of them before we all got jammed onto this escalator. So I maneuvered my way ahead of the guys. The guys all seemed surprised that I'd gotten past them. Maybe I'd done it a little forcibly or awkwardly. The guys may have been offended. I hoped not. I didn't want to get in a fight with them later on.

I was now in a real hurry just to get out of wherever I was trying to get out of or to get to wherever I was trying to get to. I also wanted to get enough distance between me and the guys that they couldn't catch back up with me and pass me later on, maybe making some comment like "Why didn't you just stay behind us, if we were going to pass you anyway?"

The escalator was really steep. But I was running up it two steps at a time. I could even sense that the guys behind me were kind of amazed that I was so serious about getting wherever I needed to go.

There were a lot fewer people on the escalator by the time I got to the top of it. I was now on the floor of what looked like a shopping mall. But I knew I still had to keep going up. There was another escalator. I had to run to and up that escalator as well. This escalator was even steeper than the last. There was probably nobody other than me on this escalator. It was really difficult for me to get to the top of it. But I managed.

I was on another floor like a floor in a shopping mall. I could see another escalator. This one was really small, and the steps on it almost looked like steps on a regular old staircase. I ran to it. But getting up it was unbelievably difficult. I was already extremely exhausted. And the steps were so steep, it was almost like climbing backwards. And -- I could see, just beyond this escalator, that I had one last escalator to climb -- a tall one -- even steeper than the rest!

At the top of the small escalator I decided to take a break. I may have determined that I was far, far ahead of the guys now and that I didn't need to worry about them anymore. I was on another floor like the floor of a shopping mall. I sat down on a rather nice bench which seemed to be cushioned and upholstered in something like brown fake suede.

Off to my right was a shop with a dark front. It looked like a clothing store inside -- some kind of dimly lit, trendy clothing store, perhaps. But on the left (my left) side of the shop front was a slim, glass window with a TV screen.

The TV screen was playing some music video. The music video was colorful, with yellows and pinks and whites, and I liked it a lot. It may have looked like it was from the 1980s. But I can't remember it now. But I had the ability to control the TV, maybe by a game joystick. And I played the video two or three times in a row.

A second music video now played. It also looked like it was from the 1980s. But the color scheme was a lot more drab and sinister. There were a couple, a man and a woman, watching the screen now. They must have come from inside the shop. As the couple watched the screen I realized that the space around the screen was  filled with something like a Japanese scroll, patterned with something like orange and green flowers, very blocky and circular, on a white background.

After a moment, though, they walked away from the screen. The couple were white, somewhat well-off looking, and maybe in their late thirties or early forties. The woman was pretty. The man was overweight, balding, with a red beard and a little red hair and eyeglasses. Both the man and the woman were wearing kimonos. One wore a purple kimono with white designs. Another wore an orange kimono with white designs.

I was kind of surprised that an older white couple would be walking through the mall wearing kimonos. But now I saw another white couple walking out of the clothing shop wearing kimonos. One of the kimonos was mint green. Then there were three or four more white people, these ones single or in a group of friends, walking out of the shop and also wearing kimonos! I was surprised, but I probably just assumed that this was the new fashion.

I went back to the music video. It was finishing, and I wanted to replay it. But a man who had sat down beside me while I'd been looking at all the kimono people now had the joystick. He wanted to play some other music video.

I figured that would be cool. I'd gotten kind of obsessed with the first music video. And I didn't want to get obsessed with the second music video, too. But I would have, if this man hadn't been here to stop me. Besides, it would be nice to see someone else's tastes in music. You always learned cool, new artists that way.

But the man was having a hell of a time figuring out how to get a music video to play. I'm not sure if he'd made me feel like I shouldn't help him. But I didn't help him. I just waited for him to figure out how to work the joystick so he could play a music video. But after a moment, I realized it was going to take him a really long time to figure things out.

I stood up and walked away from the area. It was like I was in the kitchen of some kind of big, but run-down house. But the kitchen was supposed to be more like the living room of the house. There was a tall stairway leading up to some place that I felt like I needed to get to. So I headed toward the staircase.

But the man, sensing that I was annoyed with his having taken control of the joystick and then having no idea of what to do with it, but still wanting to keep me around -- just to control me, I guess -- called after me, in a kind of loose, but menacing tone, "Hey, stay upstairs." The man meant that I should stay on the floor I was currently on. Apparently there was a downward staircase as well as the upward one, though I couldn't see it. The man thought I was taking the downward staircase, but he didn't want me to.

I knew it wasn't that he didn't want me to go downstairs. It was that he didn't want me to leave this floor -- his sphere of control. But I went upstairs anyway. I figured that if the man bugged me about it later, I'd just tell him that I thought when he'd told me to stay upstairs he'd simply meant that I shouldn't go downstairs.

The staircase was long and steep, and it got dimmer and dimmer as I went up. Finally I was in a small room, kind of like a bedroom. It was really cluttered and dim, though there was a light coming from some other room -- apparently a tiny staircase that went up into an attic -- off to my right.

I realized this was my old friend Y's bedroom. I don't know if Y went on vacation for a little while or went to live somewhere for a longer time. But she'd left a lot of stuff here. She had a bunch of old movies, books, and music that I was either familiar with and liked a lot or that I'd been curious about but had never gotten a chance to check out.

There was a bookshelf along the left wall. I went as close to it as I could -- it seemed to be blocked off by a bunch of haphazardly placed and stacked furniture -- cushiony, upholstered with some kind of fake, blue suede or crushed velvet material. But I could reach over the furniture to one of the upper shelves.

I pulled down a few DVD cases. The DVDs were anime DVDs. The titles all seemed almost, but not quite, familiar to me. It was like they were all series based very closely on series I was familiar with, but with just a few odd, unsettling differences. The titles also seemed to be like that -- almost familiar, but with weird, unsettling differences.

One of the DVD cases showed a tall, long-legged woman with short brown hair, and wearing a short, yellow tank top and tiny, yellow shorts, leaning her bottom against the left side of the DVD case and carrying a fancy parasol in one of her hands.

I was interested in one of the DVDs. I thought I'd play it. I was now watching it -- probably in my mind's eye, although my mind's eye had expanded into my full view. The cartoon dealt with a young demon character. The character was young and naive, but he looked old, almost like Cherry in Urusei Yatsura. There was another demon who looked like the young demon, except that he was much older, purple, more demon-like, and naked.

The setting was some big, empty, wooden room, like some kind of traditional Japanese room. But it was apparently supposed to be used for washing dishes. The young demon had made a mistake and had broken a dish. The older demon knew how to play on the young demon's sense of guilt. He wanted to young demon to go away. So he was trying to make the young demon feel like the broken dish would put him in a very dangerous, or at least shameful, situation with the master.

The young demon believed this and was about to leave the master's residence. But some accident occurred. It was like, without the young demon's will, the young demon's magic created, or at least assisted, the situation. Every plate in the room was swept up, broken, shattered into tiny, tiny pieces of dust. The plate dust spun and spun around the room, like a cyclone, eventually whirling in purple clouds against the walls.

The young demon himself was pushed back against the walls. It was almost like the cloud of plate dust was pulverizing him into the wall, integrating him into the wall. But eventually the cloud of plate dust subsided. Everything seemed to be okay. Either all the plates were fixed, or else all the plates had reconfigured themselves into something that was enough value to replace the plates as they had been before.

The young demon stepped out from the wall. He now looked like the older demon. He was purple, more demon-like than human, more featureless, with purple wings coming off his back, and naked. He now understood -- or at least the audience understood -- that the older demon had been playing around with the young demon this whole time. The one dish the young demon had broken didn't matter. The older demon had made a lot more mistakes than that in his life. And now the older demon was paying for all his tricks.

The young demon looked over to a doorway that was on the wall to his right. The wall around the doorway now looked like a tree trunk. And now, embedded in the wall, where the canopy of this tree would have been, was a gigantic plate. The plate was veined over with tree roots, but other than that it was whole, embedded into the wall. The young demon understood that that was what had happened, either to the plates that had been in the plate dust cyclone, or else to the plates that the old demon had broken.

And now the young demon saw the older demon's face printed onto the giant plate, drawn onto it like one of Leonardo's old drawings. The young demon knew that the older demon was trapped on the plate forever. The older demon looked angry. The young demon knew that if the older demon could ever escape, he would try to find a way to hurt the young demon. But the young demon knew that the older demon would never escape.

There was now a strange scene, showing, somehow, the torture the older demon was going through. There was a close up on the demon's face. It pulled closer and closer in, until it got up to the demon's eye. Then, inside the demon's eye, the demon's face reappeared. The view pulled closer and closer to that demon's eye. Then the demon's face appeared in that eye. This tunnel effect happened again and again, until finally the view approached an eye that was shut. The eye opened -- and it was blank!

The cartoon faded to black. I now realized I was watching, not a DVD, but a VCR tape. The cartoon I'd been watching had been dubbed onto this tape by my friend Y. I now waited to see what the next thing was that my friend Y had dubbed onto this tape.

An experimental film faded into view. I knew that the film was by an experimental filmmaker both Y and I liked quite a bit. The basic theme of the film was showing the filmmaker's daughters. There would be an old, black and white photo of one of the daughters as a child. Then a superimposed, color film image of the daughter would fade into view. The daughter would be moving, probably doing some sort of repetitive motion that the filmmaker was accustomed to see her doing.

The film may have shown one older daughter and then the youngest daughter. As the film showed the youngest daughter, I reflected on how pretty the girl had been as a little girl. Although she was pretty as she'd gotten older, something about her face had changed. She wasn't overweight. But something about her face had made her seem overweight. (I'm sorry for the shallow thought.)

The film now faded away and I was looking at the youngest daughter in real life. She was in some bathroom in some apartment or hotel on some high floor. I stood just outside the bathroom, looking up to the woman, more as if I were a small child than myself.

The woman was maybe nineteen or twenty years old. She was tall, with tan skin, a kind of athletic build, and short, blonde and brown hair in a squarish, boyish style. She wore a white tank top, maybe with another, colored, tank top beneath it.

The woman was putting on blue eye shadow and practicing making sexy faces in the mirror. I had the idea that the woman was making sexy faces in hopes of seducing a woman. I felt like the woman really didn't like boys. But the way she was making sexy faces was really turning me on. I had to talk to her.

So, hoping to start out neutral and see how far I could get from there, I asked the woman something about film making. The woman, instead of facing the mirror, was now standing behind the bathroom counter, in the spot where the mirror had been. She was really dressed up, and now her hair was long, probably done up in an upward style, She wore a mask that looked like blue eyeshadow, except that it went straight up, like her eyelids were poking all the way up to the top of her forehead.

The woman could tell that I was only talking innocent to get some sort of starting point with her, and that I was really looking to seduce her. So, in order to throw me off and make me understand she didn't and wouldn't like me, she told me, "I'm a virgin star!"

I understood and left the woman alone, although I did seem to be impressed that someone as sexy as she was could be a virgin star. We were now heading out of the hotel or apartment building, walking toward the front doors through a airy and bright, but rather empty, foyer. I stopped about halfway through the foyer and watched as the woman met up with a few of her friends -- male and female. The friends all looked tall, well-dressed, and well-off. I still felt as tiny as a child, maybe only about 75cm tall.

At some point everybody in the group turned around to look at me. Either one of the group asked me something about David Bowie, or I asked the group something about David Bowie. It immediately became apparent that I knew David Bowie. And now, because of this, I went from being totally ignored to being paid attention to by everybody in the group.