Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
I was in a boarding house full of rented rooms. The building was built on the same kind of plan as a brownstone, but it was a lot bigger. The walls, floor, and stairs were all made out of old, but well-kept and polished wood.
The place was packed full of rented rooms. The rooms were all so crammed together that many of them didn't even feel divided from each other. The rooms themselves also appeared to be a mess, with crooked walls, bunk beds in disarray, and clutter everywhere.
I lived in one of these rooms. But at the moment I was on the ground floor, speaking with a couple of people who acted as superintendents or supervisors for the operations here. They were both young men, tall, white, kind of muscular, with shaggy hair, and wearing t-shirts and jeans.
The young men told me that I had to leave the building. I got the sense that the men themselves didn't like me, and that they had gotten permission from their manager to kick me out of the building. But the excuse the young men were giving me was that since I had "brown skin," the rest of the guys in the building, who were white, didn't like me and were planning to cause trouble for me. The two young men suggested that my neighbors might even break into my room and take my stuff, just because they didn't like me. I was told that I had to leave the building by the end of the day, if not sooner.
I didn't think it was right that I had to leave my building just because I wasn't white. But I didn't see how I could argue against the young men. It seemed like, even though they didn't like me, they were thinking about my safety. So I prepared to leave. Somehow my room was now the same room that I had been in with the two young men. It now just looked like a bedroom, my bedroom, with all my belongings in it.
As I was preparing to leave, I started hearing a conversation with a lawyer in my head. The lawyer was telling me that I was protected, and that if I wanted to sue this building for kicking me out based on my race, I definitely could. I thought that I probably would sue the building. I took a little bit of pleasure in this thought. The two young men had thought they were really pulling one over on me by kicking me out and making an excuse for doing so. But now I had the ability to get back at them.
I had been doing something like folding clothes or blankets at my bed. Now I was standing at a table that was full of clutter, trying to sort through it all. A lot of the clutter may have been cigarette packs.
One of the young men came into the room. He said he was leaving for the evening. It was 5 PM (even though it looked black as night outside -- though I don't know how I knew this). I told the young man that I was still working on packing. He was already walking out of the room and down the hallway.
I called after the young man, telling him that I'd do my best to be out of here in two hours. The young man replied, in a kind of pitying tone, like he was sorry for what I'd been put through, that I could take as long as I wanted to get out of the place. I could tell that the young man meant I could even stay here overnight.
I wondered why the young man was feeling so sorry all of the sudden. I figured that he had already been contacted by my lawyer. In that case, the young man now knew that he and the other management people in the building were in trouble. The young man would then be trying to make up for his part in the acts against me by giving me extra time, maybe even indefinite time, in the building. But I also had the idea that maybe he'd realized what he'd done and that he now truly felt sorry for it.
Dream #2
I was outside my apartment building, heading to get my mail. The mail was in big boxes that were stacked high and wide on metal poles that stood about waist-high. I went to my box. The box, it seemed had been left unlocked. It was open just a tiny bit. I was worried that someone had gotten into my mail.
I opened my box and pulled out my mail, expecting to see a copy of a weekly newspaper I receive, the Denver Business Journal. The newspaper wasn't there. But there was a big, hefty envelope of documentation. I pulled the envelope out of my mailbox.
I walked around the large unit of mailboxes clockwise, looking at the package. I thought it must have been special, and that I must have been special for receiving it: it was hefty, full of documentation, and labeled with a very official looking U.S. Postal Service label.
But somehow, seeing into other people's mailboxes, I saw the same kind of envelope. I understood that everybody, actually, had received an envelope like this. Far from being special, this envelope really wasn't anything other than glorified junk mail.
Showing posts with label theft. Show all posts
Showing posts with label theft. Show all posts
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Thursday, October 11, 2012
depression elevator; "child" applebee's; nuclear theater; spinach jar; child in bedroom
Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
I was in a hotel elevator. The elevator may have been going directly upward at first. But then it shifted its direction, going upward and forward at the same time, like an escalator. Eventually the elevator had a completely open front. I could see that the elevator box was traveling along a track very much like the track of an escalator.
The elevator dropped me off at the twenty-ninth floor. As I was easing my way up to the floor, a computer voice from somewhere began to tell me that, because of the fees I'd paid to stay at the hotel, I was only granted a limited amount of access to the hotel. My room was on the twenty-ninth floor, and I was not allowed to travel to certain other floors without permission.
I knew this had something to do with the Great Depression. It was like I was in the year 1929 in America, and that the Great Depression had begun. Hotels were giving people like me special discounts, so they could still patronize the hotels. But the discounts included restricted access to other parts of the building, like the restrictions I was receiving.
But one of my friends was actually staying on the fifteenth floor -- one of the restricted floors. I knew I'd have to ask my friend to give me permission to come down and visit him/her. I was walking around in the hotel hallway. But it was also like I was already talking with my friend on the phone.
I was now in a hotel room, with either a young man, maybe my brother, or an attractive, young, Asian woman. I was trying to explain to this person why I needed permission to come down. Of course, it was obvious that I already had permission from the person. We were friends. But I needed to make the permission official. But even this seemed like a moot point to me now. I may already have been in this friend's room -- this may have been the friend's room, not mine.
I looked down at a vanity that was built into the wall. On the vanity's countertop were some makeup kits and other beauty supplies, as well as some wet washcloths.
Dream #2
A young woman, maybe in her early twenties, was joking with me about the restaurant Applebee's. It was like the woman and I were part of some business that had Applebee's as an account: like we were advertisers or maybe some large shopping complex where Applebee's had had a restaurant.
But the woman was joking that everybody now called Applebee's "'child' Applebee's." This derisive name was due to the fact that Applebee's had canceled its account with our company. The cancellation had occurred, actually, because of an issue that our company did not feel was a big deal, but which Applebee's did feel was a big deal: a woman over the age of eighteen, having an affair with a woman under the age of eighteen, was found taking the girl out for dinner at an Applebee's.
I now saw a paper. I probably thought it was a newspaper, but it was really just a sheet of paper. It gave the story of the two girls having the affair. Both of the girls were from France. The older girl, who was twenty-three years old, was probably the daughter of some high-level French official, like a French ambassador. The girl's lover was sixteen years old.
There may actually have been some rule in France that said a girl over the age of sixteen was considered to be of the age of consent. So the two girls weren't really breaking the law, in France, by having an affair with each other. The Applebee's they may have been caught eating at may even have been in France. But it may have been in America.
Either way, girls over the age of eighteen taking girls under the age of eighteen out to dinner was against Applebee's policy, either in America or in France. A stuffy waiter, a lot like a French waiter, asked the two girls to leave the Applebee's. The two girls must have caused some sort of a fuss in reaction to the request to leave.
The whole issue became really big news. Some people supported Applebee's decision. But the company I worked for did not support it. So Applebee's canceled its account with my company. And, to make fun of Applebee's, everybody at my company called it "'child' Applebee's."
Dream #3
I had a view of the deck of a war ship, like I was seeing the ship on a television show, but also like I was actually floating, disembodied, over the ship. The deck was itself like a stage, rather than like a real war ship's deck. There was definitely a crowd, like a theater crowd, somewhere beyond the edge of the deck. And there were a few men in naval outfits on either side of the deck, standing still, like a chorus.
A door opened at the back of the deck/stage. From out of a yellow-lit passageway walked Mikhail Gorbachev, the former President of the Soviet Union -- though I might have taken him in my dream for Russian President Vladimir Putin. Gorbachev/Putin was visibly angry. Apparently the United States had taken a stand that Russia did not agree with. This decision was pushing Russian statesmen to the brink of considering war with the United States.
Gorbachev/Putin began a speech. He quickly got even angrier as he spoke. His eyes began bugging out of his head. It seemed, even as he spoke, that he was considering escalating the conflict immediately to nuclear war.
Gorbachev/Putin began trying to insinuate this without coming right out and saying it. But he stuttered as he tried to come up with subtle ways of threatening nuclear war. Eventually he had a model of a nuclear bomb, like the old 1940s/1950s style nuclear bombs, in his arms. The model was about two meters long. It was lightweight, maybe made of plastic, and it had a dull, gold color.
Gorbachev/Putin eventually flung this bomb across the stage. The model bomb landed in a pig pen. There were two or three men in sailor outfits standing around in the pen. The model bomb clattered around at the men's feet.
Now the whole thing was like a comedy, or at least like some kind of stage production, rather than anything that would become a reality. Gorbachev, who was now probably only Gorbachev, was standing flanked on either side by a sailor. The sailors seemed to be there to support Gorbachev in case he got weak. Gorbachev was wearing some kind of wooden, cubic frame around his head. This frame was supposed to symbolize a space helmet or oxygen helmet or something.
Gorbachev was acting like he was visiting an area which had just been struck by a nuclear bomb. This area was probably supposed to be in America -- another "subtle" indication of what Russian officials were planning. But when Gorbachev took off his helmet to see what America looked like, he was stricken with sorrow. The audience could all tell that all Gorbachev could "see" was desolation.
Gorbachev, carrying out this act even further, began to cry. But now the radiation poisoning was getting to him. He was beginning to faint. The sailors on either side of Gorbachev were holding him up. Gorbachev had something like an oxygen tube, a white, plastic tube, running into his mouth. Gorbachev's eyes rolled up into the back of his head.
I took all of this to mean that Gorbachev could see that starting a nucelar war would lead to the destruction of too many lives, and that Gorbachev had decided not to start a nuclear war with the United States after all.
Dream #4
I was in the living room of "my family's house." The living room looked unfinished, like it had the shape of a living room, my great grandmother's old living room, in fact, but like there were no carpets or plaster walls. Everything seemed to be made out of a dingy, greenish stone. My mom was standing up at some counter, taking care of something. I was laying, stomach-down, on the floor. There were other people wandering about.
I was staring at a huge jar of what I called spinach. The jar was the shape of a pickle jar. But it was about 75cm tall. It was filled with water and what looked like long-stalked wildflowers. The flowers had very small, dull-colored blossoms, like the flower was fading out. But the stalks, stuck down all the way into the water, were lush, dark green, and flowing with leafs.
The water was beginning to heat up from the bottom and center of the jar. I knew this actually had something to do with the vegetation. The jar was packed full of these wildflowers. And the wildflowers acted in such a way that, when they reached a certain density and mass, they would heat up greatly. If the wildflowers were put into water, therefore, they could cause the water to boil, thus allowing the flowers to boil themselves.
I knew this "spinach" was being prepared by my mother for a meal that I was expected to partake in. But I didn't want to eat this meal. I didn't want to have to eat a meal that had been prepared in the unsanitary conditions of this house.
Dream #5
I was in some room like a living room. I may have been sitting or laying on the floor. I looked off to my right, down a hallway. I saw that the doorway to "my bedroom" was open. Someone must have found a way to get past the lock on my door and get into my room.
I was a bit panicked. I stood up and walked into the room. My room was full of all kinds of brightly colored junk. It was a complete mess. But apparently I had left it this way. I began looking around my room. I wanted to make sure nothing was missing. But in all this disorganization, I realized that something was, in fact, missing from my room. Now I knew someone had gotten into my room.
I was pretty sure that the person who'd gotten into my room was still in my room. So I hunted around in all the clutter for that person. I'd been near my bed. Now I walked to the other side of my room, to a closet that was wide open, with no doors, packed full of clutter.
Something behind me got my attention. I now saw that a little, Asian boy (?) was sitting atop a bunch of clutter, actually sitting inside a drawer that had been pulled out of a dresser and had been laying empty atop the pile of clutter.
I walked over to the little boy. All this time, I'd had a feeling that one of my younger relatives, maybe a nephew, had been the one to get into my room. Now my suspicion was confirmed (even though I didn't actually know this boy). The little boy was darling and cute, so I didn't really bother him. I treated him nicely, figuring I'd just make sure he didn't have anything of mine and then get him out of my room.
But somehow my attention got distracted by something up and off to my left. It was like DVD cases for anime shows were flashing up in that corner of my vision. I started looking at the DVD cases. There were a lot of different animes. I remembered some of them. Others were unfamiliar. Most of them looked interesting.
I may have begun talking about the various animes, as if I were talking to the little boy. But the boy was now gone. I was in the room by myself. But I was still carrying on this anime conversation, as if I were having an actual back and forth conversation with someone in my head.
The conversation actually turned to a contentious point. I can't remember what the point was. But my argument against the point was that if somebody had a wide knowledge of anime, they could name the shows they were talking about. But, I also argued, if somebody didn't have a wide knowledge of anime, they could still probably bring up certain shows as examples of something, because they'd like things enough or be familiar enough with themes that they'd know what kind of shows to look for as examples.
Dream #1
I was in a hotel elevator. The elevator may have been going directly upward at first. But then it shifted its direction, going upward and forward at the same time, like an escalator. Eventually the elevator had a completely open front. I could see that the elevator box was traveling along a track very much like the track of an escalator.
The elevator dropped me off at the twenty-ninth floor. As I was easing my way up to the floor, a computer voice from somewhere began to tell me that, because of the fees I'd paid to stay at the hotel, I was only granted a limited amount of access to the hotel. My room was on the twenty-ninth floor, and I was not allowed to travel to certain other floors without permission.
I knew this had something to do with the Great Depression. It was like I was in the year 1929 in America, and that the Great Depression had begun. Hotels were giving people like me special discounts, so they could still patronize the hotels. But the discounts included restricted access to other parts of the building, like the restrictions I was receiving.
But one of my friends was actually staying on the fifteenth floor -- one of the restricted floors. I knew I'd have to ask my friend to give me permission to come down and visit him/her. I was walking around in the hotel hallway. But it was also like I was already talking with my friend on the phone.
I was now in a hotel room, with either a young man, maybe my brother, or an attractive, young, Asian woman. I was trying to explain to this person why I needed permission to come down. Of course, it was obvious that I already had permission from the person. We were friends. But I needed to make the permission official. But even this seemed like a moot point to me now. I may already have been in this friend's room -- this may have been the friend's room, not mine.
I looked down at a vanity that was built into the wall. On the vanity's countertop were some makeup kits and other beauty supplies, as well as some wet washcloths.
Dream #2
A young woman, maybe in her early twenties, was joking with me about the restaurant Applebee's. It was like the woman and I were part of some business that had Applebee's as an account: like we were advertisers or maybe some large shopping complex where Applebee's had had a restaurant.
But the woman was joking that everybody now called Applebee's "'child' Applebee's." This derisive name was due to the fact that Applebee's had canceled its account with our company. The cancellation had occurred, actually, because of an issue that our company did not feel was a big deal, but which Applebee's did feel was a big deal: a woman over the age of eighteen, having an affair with a woman under the age of eighteen, was found taking the girl out for dinner at an Applebee's.
I now saw a paper. I probably thought it was a newspaper, but it was really just a sheet of paper. It gave the story of the two girls having the affair. Both of the girls were from France. The older girl, who was twenty-three years old, was probably the daughter of some high-level French official, like a French ambassador. The girl's lover was sixteen years old.
There may actually have been some rule in France that said a girl over the age of sixteen was considered to be of the age of consent. So the two girls weren't really breaking the law, in France, by having an affair with each other. The Applebee's they may have been caught eating at may even have been in France. But it may have been in America.
Either way, girls over the age of eighteen taking girls under the age of eighteen out to dinner was against Applebee's policy, either in America or in France. A stuffy waiter, a lot like a French waiter, asked the two girls to leave the Applebee's. The two girls must have caused some sort of a fuss in reaction to the request to leave.
The whole issue became really big news. Some people supported Applebee's decision. But the company I worked for did not support it. So Applebee's canceled its account with my company. And, to make fun of Applebee's, everybody at my company called it "'child' Applebee's."
Dream #3
I had a view of the deck of a war ship, like I was seeing the ship on a television show, but also like I was actually floating, disembodied, over the ship. The deck was itself like a stage, rather than like a real war ship's deck. There was definitely a crowd, like a theater crowd, somewhere beyond the edge of the deck. And there were a few men in naval outfits on either side of the deck, standing still, like a chorus.
A door opened at the back of the deck/stage. From out of a yellow-lit passageway walked Mikhail Gorbachev, the former President of the Soviet Union -- though I might have taken him in my dream for Russian President Vladimir Putin. Gorbachev/Putin was visibly angry. Apparently the United States had taken a stand that Russia did not agree with. This decision was pushing Russian statesmen to the brink of considering war with the United States.
Gorbachev/Putin began a speech. He quickly got even angrier as he spoke. His eyes began bugging out of his head. It seemed, even as he spoke, that he was considering escalating the conflict immediately to nuclear war.
Gorbachev/Putin began trying to insinuate this without coming right out and saying it. But he stuttered as he tried to come up with subtle ways of threatening nuclear war. Eventually he had a model of a nuclear bomb, like the old 1940s/1950s style nuclear bombs, in his arms. The model was about two meters long. It was lightweight, maybe made of plastic, and it had a dull, gold color.
Gorbachev/Putin eventually flung this bomb across the stage. The model bomb landed in a pig pen. There were two or three men in sailor outfits standing around in the pen. The model bomb clattered around at the men's feet.
Now the whole thing was like a comedy, or at least like some kind of stage production, rather than anything that would become a reality. Gorbachev, who was now probably only Gorbachev, was standing flanked on either side by a sailor. The sailors seemed to be there to support Gorbachev in case he got weak. Gorbachev was wearing some kind of wooden, cubic frame around his head. This frame was supposed to symbolize a space helmet or oxygen helmet or something.
Gorbachev was acting like he was visiting an area which had just been struck by a nuclear bomb. This area was probably supposed to be in America -- another "subtle" indication of what Russian officials were planning. But when Gorbachev took off his helmet to see what America looked like, he was stricken with sorrow. The audience could all tell that all Gorbachev could "see" was desolation.
Gorbachev, carrying out this act even further, began to cry. But now the radiation poisoning was getting to him. He was beginning to faint. The sailors on either side of Gorbachev were holding him up. Gorbachev had something like an oxygen tube, a white, plastic tube, running into his mouth. Gorbachev's eyes rolled up into the back of his head.
I took all of this to mean that Gorbachev could see that starting a nucelar war would lead to the destruction of too many lives, and that Gorbachev had decided not to start a nuclear war with the United States after all.
Dream #4
I was in the living room of "my family's house." The living room looked unfinished, like it had the shape of a living room, my great grandmother's old living room, in fact, but like there were no carpets or plaster walls. Everything seemed to be made out of a dingy, greenish stone. My mom was standing up at some counter, taking care of something. I was laying, stomach-down, on the floor. There were other people wandering about.
I was staring at a huge jar of what I called spinach. The jar was the shape of a pickle jar. But it was about 75cm tall. It was filled with water and what looked like long-stalked wildflowers. The flowers had very small, dull-colored blossoms, like the flower was fading out. But the stalks, stuck down all the way into the water, were lush, dark green, and flowing with leafs.
The water was beginning to heat up from the bottom and center of the jar. I knew this actually had something to do with the vegetation. The jar was packed full of these wildflowers. And the wildflowers acted in such a way that, when they reached a certain density and mass, they would heat up greatly. If the wildflowers were put into water, therefore, they could cause the water to boil, thus allowing the flowers to boil themselves.
I knew this "spinach" was being prepared by my mother for a meal that I was expected to partake in. But I didn't want to eat this meal. I didn't want to have to eat a meal that had been prepared in the unsanitary conditions of this house.
Dream #5
I was in some room like a living room. I may have been sitting or laying on the floor. I looked off to my right, down a hallway. I saw that the doorway to "my bedroom" was open. Someone must have found a way to get past the lock on my door and get into my room.
I was a bit panicked. I stood up and walked into the room. My room was full of all kinds of brightly colored junk. It was a complete mess. But apparently I had left it this way. I began looking around my room. I wanted to make sure nothing was missing. But in all this disorganization, I realized that something was, in fact, missing from my room. Now I knew someone had gotten into my room.
I was pretty sure that the person who'd gotten into my room was still in my room. So I hunted around in all the clutter for that person. I'd been near my bed. Now I walked to the other side of my room, to a closet that was wide open, with no doors, packed full of clutter.
Something behind me got my attention. I now saw that a little, Asian boy (?) was sitting atop a bunch of clutter, actually sitting inside a drawer that had been pulled out of a dresser and had been laying empty atop the pile of clutter.
I walked over to the little boy. All this time, I'd had a feeling that one of my younger relatives, maybe a nephew, had been the one to get into my room. Now my suspicion was confirmed (even though I didn't actually know this boy). The little boy was darling and cute, so I didn't really bother him. I treated him nicely, figuring I'd just make sure he didn't have anything of mine and then get him out of my room.
But somehow my attention got distracted by something up and off to my left. It was like DVD cases for anime shows were flashing up in that corner of my vision. I started looking at the DVD cases. There were a lot of different animes. I remembered some of them. Others were unfamiliar. Most of them looked interesting.
I may have begun talking about the various animes, as if I were talking to the little boy. But the boy was now gone. I was in the room by myself. But I was still carrying on this anime conversation, as if I were having an actual back and forth conversation with someone in my head.
The conversation actually turned to a contentious point. I can't remember what the point was. But my argument against the point was that if somebody had a wide knowledge of anime, they could name the shows they were talking about. But, I also argued, if somebody didn't have a wide knowledge of anime, they could still probably bring up certain shows as examples of something, because they'd like things enough or be familiar enough with themes that they'd know what kind of shows to look for as examples.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
room broken into; poorly written men's ads
Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
I was out somewhere. I was on my phone with someone, possibly with my mother. I had possibly been living back at home again. I had a room down in the basement. Apparently I had a lock on my door down there.
But somebody else who lived with us, a person I knew through a connection at my job, also lived there. My mom was now explaining to me that this guy, AV, had "removed the lock" on my door. He had taken the entire lock, latch and all, from off my door.
AV had been suspicious of me. So he'd decided to get into my room, to see if I had anything that would justify his suspicions. Once he was in my room, though, he took a number of things.
I was back in my room, looking through my stuff and trying to figure out what had been taken. My mom was somewhere nearby. I told my mom that she needed to tell AV he needed to put the lock back on my door. But I didn't think it would matter. Either AV wouldn't listen to her, or else, if he did, he'd just keep taking it off and putting it back on. And now that he'd taken a little of my stuff, he'd just keep taking more and more.
Dream #2
I was in a movie theatre, walking in front of the front row, from the left side of the theatre to the right. The theatre had pretty steep seating. The light was dim, as if the show were still a few minutes away from starting.
The theatre was pretty full of people. Everybody was talking kind of randomly, as if waiting for the movie to start. But there was also a feeling that whatever the "show" was these people were here for, it was alrady in progress. Through all the random talking there was a pervasive feeling of attention, as if the audience were already attending to a show.
I was probably getting ready to walk out of this movie theatre and to another theatre, where a movie I wanted to watch was about to begin. I had a feeling that the show I was going to was not going to be very popular. It was probably an old and important, but independent and experimental, film.
Either some woman, maybe in her thirties, nice-looking, and kind of wealthy-looking, was either near and behind me, or else I was imagining talking to the woman. She may even have been in one of the seats.
I was telling this woman about something that had been done to make a little sensation in the theatre I was heading to. I told the woman that the only reason it had been done was to get more people into that theatre. As I told the woman this, I saw a strange-looking woman in a small, turban-like headdress and big, white-rimmed sunglasses, and a shaggy dog whose fur had something wet and electric about it.
I knew that the movie I was heading to might have very few people in it. I worried that if too few people came to the show, that the theatre people might just close down the show. But I also thought that maybe they would just run the show regardless.
I felt kind of bad. I imagined that if I was one of only two or three people in the theatre, the show would, in effect, be run largely for my sake. I didn't want people to feel obligated to run something just for my sake. But I also knew that the show was really important, and that it wasn't something I wanted to miss. So if it ran, I'd probably have to see it.
I may now have "woken up," or lifted myself out of some kind of reverie. I was sitting in another movie theatre. I was sitting in the middle of the seating area. But the seating area was very strange. There were all kinds of different levels. Blocks of seats may have been set in different directions, though everything vaguely seemed to face the screen. I couldn't see the screen, but I knew it was there.
As I had "woken up," the film that had been playing had ended, and the tail end of some final advertisement had been playing. I knew that the ad had been for solar panels, or for a company that built huge solar arrays. But either the logo of the company or the solar cells themselves had something of the look of Duracell batteries.
As the advertisement ended, and the lights had come back up, people were booing the ad. Some of my friends, a few overweight, Latino guys, were seated behind me. They hadn't been booing. But now they were kind of joking that everybody had been booing because they hated solar power.
I looked down at my hands. I considered how I had been really involved with the solar power industry in the past. I thought I couldn't just stand by and let people insult the solar industry. If people were booing because they didn't like the solar industry, then I needed to stand up and defend the solar industry.
I may have heard a few people getting a final few boos in. So I walked up to them and asked them, "Were you guys booing because you don't like solar power?"
The people I was speaking with were a few rows away, up, and behind me. But they had a wide, open space in front of them, so that it was easy for me to stand in front of them while I spoke with them. The people were white, young, and good-looking, probably a little wealthy.
One of the people, a pretty, blonde woman, said, "No. We weren't booing solar power. We were booing the commercial. It was supposed to be all about men, and manly themes. But everything the men were saying in the ad sounded like something a woman would say. It's obvious the writers were either all women or men who had no experience with the manly stuff they were writing about."
I thought this was pretty true. And, for some reason, I could see somebody's arms at a keyboard, as their hands were getting ready to type out the copy for the ad. The person was wearing a bunch of huge, thin, metallic bracelets on each arm. I kept wanting to call these bracelets "bangles" as I stood in front of the people I'd confronted. But I couldn't say it, for some reason.
As I remembered, the bracelets didn't even fit on the arms. I thought that as soon as the person tried writing, the bracelets would just clank of the person's arms and all over the place. Something about this made laughable the thought that this person (who may have been a man) was trying to write a manly ad.
But I also remembered another ad. I tried to tell the people about this ad, too. But I couldn't seem to do this, either. So I just remembered the ad. This one had the theme of some guy in prison, writing to family members or very close friends. The theme of his letter was supposed to be the goodness of some product or service. But the letter of this apparently manly prison man was written and spoken with such a flouncing, effeminate attitude, that I had found the whole ad laughable.
My view shifted from the memory of this ad, to myself talking on a cell phone in an environment very much like that of the ad, to a kind of empty apartment, through which I was walking as I spoke on the cell phone. I was probably speaking about the advertisement to the person on the phone with me.
The rooms of the apartment were all aligned, like in a railroad apartment. The rooms all had dark walls and a dark, stage-like floor. As I reached the far end of the apartment, I saw something on the floor. It looked to me like pyrite -- fool's gold -- except that it was silvery. It seemed to have a fibery kind of texture to it, too. Somehow, playing with a hard, plastic cup, like a Yahtzee cup, with my feet, I managed to trap the chunk of rock underneath the cup.
I was now walking back through the rooms of the apartment. I was now talking on the phone about trying to find an apartment. I spoke about some place I'd gone to see. The person I'd met at the apartment had sounded really nice over the phone. But when I'd gotten to the place to meet him, he turned out to be some snivelling, little jerk from one of my old jobs, a guy who always messed up my name on purpose, to make it sound like some confused version of a girl's name.
So I was looking for another apartment. The person I'd been on the phone with (I was apparently no longer on the phone) had left me a stack of rental ad sections from the newspaper. I thought this was kind of silly, as I'd already gotten rental sections of my own. But I didn't want to seem unappreciative or impolite. So looked through the ads.
I picked up one paper and began walking out of the room I was in. This room was the only lit, furnished room in the apartment. It was lit with a gentle, incandescent light. I'd stood in front of a kind of short, but wide and full, bed at first. The ads had all been on the bed or on the floor in front of the bed. Now I was walking towards the exit of the room, and passing a wooden bookshelf.
The newspaper I was looking at it had a big, rectangular section cut out of the upper left (?) corner, as if a few good ads had been clipped and saved. I was about to discard this paper by throwing it onto the bookshelves. But either before or as I did, one ad caught my eye. It was for apartments in "Astoria" (in Queens?). The apartments were running for $685 a month. I thought this was a good deal.
Dream #1
I was out somewhere. I was on my phone with someone, possibly with my mother. I had possibly been living back at home again. I had a room down in the basement. Apparently I had a lock on my door down there.
But somebody else who lived with us, a person I knew through a connection at my job, also lived there. My mom was now explaining to me that this guy, AV, had "removed the lock" on my door. He had taken the entire lock, latch and all, from off my door.
AV had been suspicious of me. So he'd decided to get into my room, to see if I had anything that would justify his suspicions. Once he was in my room, though, he took a number of things.
I was back in my room, looking through my stuff and trying to figure out what had been taken. My mom was somewhere nearby. I told my mom that she needed to tell AV he needed to put the lock back on my door. But I didn't think it would matter. Either AV wouldn't listen to her, or else, if he did, he'd just keep taking it off and putting it back on. And now that he'd taken a little of my stuff, he'd just keep taking more and more.
Dream #2
I was in a movie theatre, walking in front of the front row, from the left side of the theatre to the right. The theatre had pretty steep seating. The light was dim, as if the show were still a few minutes away from starting.
The theatre was pretty full of people. Everybody was talking kind of randomly, as if waiting for the movie to start. But there was also a feeling that whatever the "show" was these people were here for, it was alrady in progress. Through all the random talking there was a pervasive feeling of attention, as if the audience were already attending to a show.
I was probably getting ready to walk out of this movie theatre and to another theatre, where a movie I wanted to watch was about to begin. I had a feeling that the show I was going to was not going to be very popular. It was probably an old and important, but independent and experimental, film.
Either some woman, maybe in her thirties, nice-looking, and kind of wealthy-looking, was either near and behind me, or else I was imagining talking to the woman. She may even have been in one of the seats.
I was telling this woman about something that had been done to make a little sensation in the theatre I was heading to. I told the woman that the only reason it had been done was to get more people into that theatre. As I told the woman this, I saw a strange-looking woman in a small, turban-like headdress and big, white-rimmed sunglasses, and a shaggy dog whose fur had something wet and electric about it.
I knew that the movie I was heading to might have very few people in it. I worried that if too few people came to the show, that the theatre people might just close down the show. But I also thought that maybe they would just run the show regardless.
I felt kind of bad. I imagined that if I was one of only two or three people in the theatre, the show would, in effect, be run largely for my sake. I didn't want people to feel obligated to run something just for my sake. But I also knew that the show was really important, and that it wasn't something I wanted to miss. So if it ran, I'd probably have to see it.
I may now have "woken up," or lifted myself out of some kind of reverie. I was sitting in another movie theatre. I was sitting in the middle of the seating area. But the seating area was very strange. There were all kinds of different levels. Blocks of seats may have been set in different directions, though everything vaguely seemed to face the screen. I couldn't see the screen, but I knew it was there.
As I had "woken up," the film that had been playing had ended, and the tail end of some final advertisement had been playing. I knew that the ad had been for solar panels, or for a company that built huge solar arrays. But either the logo of the company or the solar cells themselves had something of the look of Duracell batteries.
As the advertisement ended, and the lights had come back up, people were booing the ad. Some of my friends, a few overweight, Latino guys, were seated behind me. They hadn't been booing. But now they were kind of joking that everybody had been booing because they hated solar power.
I looked down at my hands. I considered how I had been really involved with the solar power industry in the past. I thought I couldn't just stand by and let people insult the solar industry. If people were booing because they didn't like the solar industry, then I needed to stand up and defend the solar industry.
I may have heard a few people getting a final few boos in. So I walked up to them and asked them, "Were you guys booing because you don't like solar power?"
The people I was speaking with were a few rows away, up, and behind me. But they had a wide, open space in front of them, so that it was easy for me to stand in front of them while I spoke with them. The people were white, young, and good-looking, probably a little wealthy.
One of the people, a pretty, blonde woman, said, "No. We weren't booing solar power. We were booing the commercial. It was supposed to be all about men, and manly themes. But everything the men were saying in the ad sounded like something a woman would say. It's obvious the writers were either all women or men who had no experience with the manly stuff they were writing about."
I thought this was pretty true. And, for some reason, I could see somebody's arms at a keyboard, as their hands were getting ready to type out the copy for the ad. The person was wearing a bunch of huge, thin, metallic bracelets on each arm. I kept wanting to call these bracelets "bangles" as I stood in front of the people I'd confronted. But I couldn't say it, for some reason.
As I remembered, the bracelets didn't even fit on the arms. I thought that as soon as the person tried writing, the bracelets would just clank of the person's arms and all over the place. Something about this made laughable the thought that this person (who may have been a man) was trying to write a manly ad.
But I also remembered another ad. I tried to tell the people about this ad, too. But I couldn't seem to do this, either. So I just remembered the ad. This one had the theme of some guy in prison, writing to family members or very close friends. The theme of his letter was supposed to be the goodness of some product or service. But the letter of this apparently manly prison man was written and spoken with such a flouncing, effeminate attitude, that I had found the whole ad laughable.
My view shifted from the memory of this ad, to myself talking on a cell phone in an environment very much like that of the ad, to a kind of empty apartment, through which I was walking as I spoke on the cell phone. I was probably speaking about the advertisement to the person on the phone with me.
The rooms of the apartment were all aligned, like in a railroad apartment. The rooms all had dark walls and a dark, stage-like floor. As I reached the far end of the apartment, I saw something on the floor. It looked to me like pyrite -- fool's gold -- except that it was silvery. It seemed to have a fibery kind of texture to it, too. Somehow, playing with a hard, plastic cup, like a Yahtzee cup, with my feet, I managed to trap the chunk of rock underneath the cup.
I was now walking back through the rooms of the apartment. I was now talking on the phone about trying to find an apartment. I spoke about some place I'd gone to see. The person I'd met at the apartment had sounded really nice over the phone. But when I'd gotten to the place to meet him, he turned out to be some snivelling, little jerk from one of my old jobs, a guy who always messed up my name on purpose, to make it sound like some confused version of a girl's name.
So I was looking for another apartment. The person I'd been on the phone with (I was apparently no longer on the phone) had left me a stack of rental ad sections from the newspaper. I thought this was kind of silly, as I'd already gotten rental sections of my own. But I didn't want to seem unappreciative or impolite. So looked through the ads.
I picked up one paper and began walking out of the room I was in. This room was the only lit, furnished room in the apartment. It was lit with a gentle, incandescent light. I'd stood in front of a kind of short, but wide and full, bed at first. The ads had all been on the bed or on the floor in front of the bed. Now I was walking towards the exit of the room, and passing a wooden bookshelf.
The newspaper I was looking at it had a big, rectangular section cut out of the upper left (?) corner, as if a few good ads had been clipped and saved. I was about to discard this paper by throwing it onto the bookshelves. But either before or as I did, one ad caught my eye. It was for apartments in "Astoria" (in Queens?). The apartments were running for $685 a month. I thought this was a good deal.
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