Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
I was in a house, and then I was outside on a road in a suburban neighborhood. In the house, I was probably in my body. Outside the house my view may just have been floating, bodiless, along the road. The road bowed out to the right and then back to the left. One area of the road seemed to have a row of tall cypress trees.
All this time, I was making up and singing some punk-sounding song. The song sounded really original to me.
Dream #2
I was in a bedroom, standing over a bed. I was putting lifting up large paper cut-outs of action figures, mostly robot-like figures or armored figures, like Samus from Metroid. The paper cut-outs weren't actually put together. They were still flat, and I could still see the tabs sticking off of their bodies.
All this time, I was making up and singing some kind of song. I may have thought the song was punk-sounding. But it really wasn't.
Dream #3
I was at a fast food restaurant. The restaurant seemed a little bigger than normal, and it felt empty: either empty of people or empty of chairs and tables. The light coming in from the window walls was bright grey and somehow sterile, although the place also had a somewhat grimy feel to it.
I was reading a John D. MacDonald novel, either from a book or on my phone. The novel had the feel of Barrier Island and Condominium, though I'm pretty sure its subject was outside the field of real estate. I had reached a point in the novel where an over-assured man was planning to go get aggressive with another man who had put him in a compromising position.
Feeling the suspense of this moment I put down my book/mobile device and chuckled, "Whoa, no!" I knew already that, if this book followed the usual structure of a MacDonald novel, the man would get himself in trouble through his over-assuredness. Either he or the man he was out for would get killed, when all the man likely intended to do was cause a little scare and end the problem.
As I walked along and pondered this whole thing, I saw an older man sitting and eating. He looked to me just like a character I'd imagine out of a MacDonald novel: a little short, kind of dumpy, but tough-looking, probably well-off, and someone you wouldn't want to mess with in general.
I walked down a short hallway. There were probably bathroom doors on the right wall. At the end of the hallway I found myself in a coffee shop, possibly a Starbucks. I may already have placed my order, so that now I was just waiting for it.
The man at the cash register, a young, skinny, black man, handed me my coffee. Apparently I was waiting for something else. The young man gave me an easygoing assurance that my other item would be here in a moment.
In the meantime, I figured I'd fix my coffee. I took the lid off my coffee. I wanted to stir in some sugar, but I didn't have a spoon. I was going to reach for a spoon, but the young man planned to give me one instead. He was a couple meters away, doing something else. He spun around, away from me, still looking more concerned with the other thing he was doing, while he threw a white plastic spoon toward me from behind his back.
The spoon lilted steeply up into the air, then dashed lightly downward. It all took me by surprise, but I still reached out to grab the spoon. I had to stretch a bit to get at the spoon. I caught the spoon, but I managed to fumble it and let it drop to the floor.
I picked up the spoon. I didn't want to look like I was rejecting the young man's offer of the spoon. But I figured I'd just grab my own spoon, a clean one that hadn't touched the floor. I'd just look like I was using the spoon the young man had thrown to me. But I then figured that I didn't even want to use a spoon at all before washing my hands. I'd touched the floor in grabbing the spoon. So my hands were just as dirty, now, as the dirty spoon was.
Dream #4
I was in a bedroom with my ex-girlfriend H, sitting on the floor. H had a bunch of stuff all pulled out of paper shopping bags, like bags from really nice clothing boutiques. The stuff was strewn all over the floor in between us.
H was concerned with something, maybe with packing up so she could go on a trip somewhere. But she was making remarks that I thought were kind of stupid. I may also have felt offended by the remarks, like she was making them to make me feel bad about myself.
I got frustrated with H's remarks and said something that I thought would shock H into being reasonable. I then picked up one of the paper bags. The bag was full of items, mostly brightly colored bands of the same material as elastic-fabric hairbands, but really large, maybe 15cm in diameter.
I took the bands out of the bag and began arranging them on the floor. I then kept some of the arranged bands out and put others back in the bag. I then organized the rest of the materials that were inside the bag. The bag looked really well-organized now. I was pretty proud of myself, and I thought H would be impressed.
But when I looked back up at H, she had her face turned away from me. She held her hand in front of her face as well. I could tell that H was trying to hide the fact that she was crying. I felt really bad. I could tell that the remarks I'd made had sounded a lot meaner than I'd expected them to. I also knew that I'd made these kinds of remarks so many times before that H was finally getting sick of it, and of me. I had a feeling that H would finally stop liking me and would leave me.
Dream #5
I sat at a long table, like a table in an elementary school's cafeteria. Across the table from me sat a woman and two children, maybe a boy and a girl. The woman was drawing with the two children. Papers were scattered all over the table.
I was trying to draw the woman as she drew with the children. The woman was wearing a big, flat, black hat with a bit of a fishnet veil hanging down from it. It obscured most of her face. But I could still see enough of her cheeks and mouth to get an expression.
But when I looked down at my drawing, I was disappointed to see that I'd drawn the woman with far less of her face showing! There was almost no expression at all! I looked back up to the woman, thinking that I'd re-draw her, this time making sure I got all of the visible part of her face.
But when I looked back up at the woman, I noticed that she'd shifted her head so that very little of her face was visible from under the hat. I may have shifted my view a bit by leaning downward at a really odd angle. I may have seen more of the woman's face that way. But I knew I couldn't draw and hold my head at that weird angle. I had no idea how I was going to get a good view of the woman's face for my drawing.
Dream #6
I was walking toward a classroom. I was apparently taking a few classes like therapy classes. I was just about to graduate from one cycle of classes. But there was another cycle of classes that had preceded this one. I thought I had already graduated from that cycle. But I'd actually needed to complete one last class. Without completing this one last class, I wouldn't be considered as having passed the second cycle of classes once I'd completed it.
I was a little afraid, going into the last class of the first cycle. I had a feeling that somebody, maybe the teacher, wouldn't like me, and would try to find some way to fail me in the last class, so that I wouldn't pass the first cycle, and I wouldn't be considered as having passed the second cycle.
Showing posts with label drawing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drawing. Show all posts
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Friday, October 5, 2012
drawings prove i'm crazy; dancing with the stars; parking space; eagle/crow
Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
I was sitting outside a building with a young, attractive woman with olive skin and long, brown hair. The area we sat in was kind of narrow and run down. The woman was something like a doctor or a psychologist. She had spoken with me a bit about some problems I had. These problems were highlighted by certain things I'd said to her.
Then we turned to a notebook full of drawings I'd made. These were all line drawings of sexual situations, many involving girls. The woman said that these drawings definitely indicated that I had problems I needed to deal with.
A third of the way through, the notebook became blank. The woman and I kept flipping through the blank pages. I was relieved that there were no other drawings that would make the woman think I was crazy. But toward the end of the notebook the drawings came back. And they were even more intensely sexual. The men in the drawings had extremely huge penises. I had a feeling I'd really be in trouble for these drawings.
Dream #2
I was in "my house," which was a nice, quaint, little suburban house. It was early in the evening. My house was lit with bright, pale incandescent light. I had some music turned on and I was dancing to it. I got so into the music that I danced out of my house and into the street. It may have seemed to me at this point that my whole house was floored with linoleum, like the floor of a kitchen. It may also have seemed to me that I was a woman with curlers in my hair -- even though I quickly became myself again.
I continued dancing in the middle of the street. The sky was colored red and purple, but it also had a dim, glassy, watery tinge of yellow to it. All down the block were houses like mine, packed pretty closely together.
I had the idea that this was some famous road in Hollywood, and that a lot of movie stars lived here. I couldn't figure out why movie stars would live in such small houses. But I came up with some justification for that. I also couldn't figure out why I was living among all these movie stars. But I wasn't going to worry about that. I was just going to keep dancing. If one of the movie stars saw me dancing, she might think I was a good enough performer to be put in a movie.
So I kept dancing. At one point, while I was dancing, I twisted my right leg around my left leg. I somehow got my legs jammed in that position. I couldn't untwist my right leg! I got a little panicked. But then I managed to untwist my leg. I worried for a little while whether people would think I was an incompetent dancer. But now I seemed to be dancing pretty well. But now I began to worry that maybe my dancing was really monotonous, so that people would think I wasn't a creative enough dancer to use in a movie.
All this time, to my right, there was some huge, metallic structure, like a military tank.
Dream #3
I was in a parking lot with my mom. The parking lot was kind of small. It was fenced off from the road. It may have served only one small building. My mom had parked in the last open space in the lot.
Now a woman who looked like Amy Poehler walked up to us. She said she had her car a block or so away, but that she wanted to park her car in here. It was like she was expecting my mom to move her car. But my mom wasn't going to move her car.
I felt bad at first, when I thought of how the woman would have to be parked at a distance from this place. But then I remembered that my mom was sick, and that she needed the space she parked in, while the woman was probably healthy enough to walk.
I told the woman that there was another parking lot for this building. I told her it was on 72nd and XXXXX. That was a few blocks away from here, I knew. It was down a long, tree-lined road, kind of nestled into a park-like area.
But, as a compromise, I told the woman that I would walk with her to her car and help her find the lot so she could park her car there. Then I'd walk back with the woman. I kind of felt inconvenienced. I knew this was going way out of my way. But I hoped it would appease the woman.
Dream #4
I was flying over some desert hills. I black crow flew down before me. But I think I thought the crow was an eagle. The crow/eagle flew to and fro in front of me. I had the idea that the crow wanted to be my friend. I held out my right hand to the crow, pointing my index finger out gently. The crow gently bit my index finger, then turned his head away from me, so that my finger brushed his head, like he was making me pet him.
I began descending. I may have been imagining telling two kind of overweight Mexican men about what I'd experienced. I'd thought I'd seen an eagle. But what kind of eagle was as small as a crow? How could such a small eagle impress the two men.
But now, as I was descending, the eagle/crow, descending with me, began to grow and grow. It soon transformed into an eagle.
Dream #1
I was sitting outside a building with a young, attractive woman with olive skin and long, brown hair. The area we sat in was kind of narrow and run down. The woman was something like a doctor or a psychologist. She had spoken with me a bit about some problems I had. These problems were highlighted by certain things I'd said to her.
Then we turned to a notebook full of drawings I'd made. These were all line drawings of sexual situations, many involving girls. The woman said that these drawings definitely indicated that I had problems I needed to deal with.
A third of the way through, the notebook became blank. The woman and I kept flipping through the blank pages. I was relieved that there were no other drawings that would make the woman think I was crazy. But toward the end of the notebook the drawings came back. And they were even more intensely sexual. The men in the drawings had extremely huge penises. I had a feeling I'd really be in trouble for these drawings.
Dream #2
I was in "my house," which was a nice, quaint, little suburban house. It was early in the evening. My house was lit with bright, pale incandescent light. I had some music turned on and I was dancing to it. I got so into the music that I danced out of my house and into the street. It may have seemed to me at this point that my whole house was floored with linoleum, like the floor of a kitchen. It may also have seemed to me that I was a woman with curlers in my hair -- even though I quickly became myself again.
I continued dancing in the middle of the street. The sky was colored red and purple, but it also had a dim, glassy, watery tinge of yellow to it. All down the block were houses like mine, packed pretty closely together.
I had the idea that this was some famous road in Hollywood, and that a lot of movie stars lived here. I couldn't figure out why movie stars would live in such small houses. But I came up with some justification for that. I also couldn't figure out why I was living among all these movie stars. But I wasn't going to worry about that. I was just going to keep dancing. If one of the movie stars saw me dancing, she might think I was a good enough performer to be put in a movie.
So I kept dancing. At one point, while I was dancing, I twisted my right leg around my left leg. I somehow got my legs jammed in that position. I couldn't untwist my right leg! I got a little panicked. But then I managed to untwist my leg. I worried for a little while whether people would think I was an incompetent dancer. But now I seemed to be dancing pretty well. But now I began to worry that maybe my dancing was really monotonous, so that people would think I wasn't a creative enough dancer to use in a movie.
All this time, to my right, there was some huge, metallic structure, like a military tank.
Dream #3
I was in a parking lot with my mom. The parking lot was kind of small. It was fenced off from the road. It may have served only one small building. My mom had parked in the last open space in the lot.
Now a woman who looked like Amy Poehler walked up to us. She said she had her car a block or so away, but that she wanted to park her car in here. It was like she was expecting my mom to move her car. But my mom wasn't going to move her car.
I felt bad at first, when I thought of how the woman would have to be parked at a distance from this place. But then I remembered that my mom was sick, and that she needed the space she parked in, while the woman was probably healthy enough to walk.
I told the woman that there was another parking lot for this building. I told her it was on 72nd and XXXXX. That was a few blocks away from here, I knew. It was down a long, tree-lined road, kind of nestled into a park-like area.
But, as a compromise, I told the woman that I would walk with her to her car and help her find the lot so she could park her car there. Then I'd walk back with the woman. I kind of felt inconvenienced. I knew this was going way out of my way. But I hoped it would appease the woman.
Dream #4
I was flying over some desert hills. I black crow flew down before me. But I think I thought the crow was an eagle. The crow/eagle flew to and fro in front of me. I had the idea that the crow wanted to be my friend. I held out my right hand to the crow, pointing my index finger out gently. The crow gently bit my index finger, then turned his head away from me, so that my finger brushed his head, like he was making me pet him.
I began descending. I may have been imagining telling two kind of overweight Mexican men about what I'd experienced. I'd thought I'd seen an eagle. But what kind of eagle was as small as a crow? How could such a small eagle impress the two men.
But now, as I was descending, the eagle/crow, descending with me, began to grow and grow. It soon transformed into an eagle.
Monday, August 6, 2012
emotional drawing; i owe $283,000???
Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
My view was floating somewhere, maybe over the passengers of a kind of large tour bus, maybe from the front of the bus to the back of the bus. My mother and I may have been on the bus somewhere, although I may have been a pretty, young, copper skinned woman with black hair.
I was hearing a discussion in my head between myself and a woman, possibly my mother. We were talking about how, when you draw characters, if you draw characters using a grey cloak, you don't have to give them any personality. This didn't just have to do with the color grey. It was like the character was actually wearing some kind of cloak of grey that zipped over its entire body. I thought this cloak made drawing easier, because it erased personality and emotion from the character.
But I then realized I was wrong. The grey cloak didn't erase any personality or emotion from the character. No matter whether I drew the characters in full color or with the cloak over them, I still had to use personality and emotion.
Dream #2
I walked into a place I supposed was a movie theatre, even though it looked like a really big classroom. The room was dark, but maybe with disco ball stars spinning around the room. At the front of the room, high up on the wall, was a rectangle of light, coming from a projection room high up on the back wall.
There were a lot of rows of desks. And all the desks seemed to be filled with old friends of mine. At the back of the room was some long table that sold items related to the event taking place: maybe some kind of film festival. A lot of people still seemed to be coming into the room and filtering up into the desks.
I had read the program for the event. A lot of films by Pedro Almodovar were going to be shown. I was excited about that. I pointed out the fact to one of my female friends. My friend said, "Oh, yeah. Almodovar is one of the top three directors ever in Spain."
My friend named some director I'd never heard of as being the best director in Spain. The director had worked alongside Almodovar in the 1980s, and his films from that time period were apparently incredible.
I was walking up, trying to find a seat. Somebody up ahead of me mentioned the third director in the group. Even though I hadn't seen any films by the director, I at least knew his name. So I called it out, something like "Ittryia" or "Attyra."
I was already ashamed that I hadn't known the first director. So I just pretended to know about Ittryia. I said a fact I'd known about him: that he'd worked as a kind of assistant to Almodovar on a number of films in the 1980s, but that he'd then gone on to make his own films. I then mentioned one of his films, which was playing here, and even though I'd never seen it before, I went off on how good it was.
Even still, I wasn't happy with myself. People knew Almodovar, and people who knew film adored the first director. But Ittryia was really obscure and not of great interest to many people at all. So, even lying about what I knew, I knew I wasn't really impressing anybody, or even giving them information they'd wanted.
I now sat down in one of the seats and began talking with some of my friends. But my view suddenly shifted. I was laying on my back in bed. Somebody like a combination of a police officer and a postal worker barged into my room. He threw an envelope at my stomach, said that I'd better pay attention to it, and stomped away.
I picked up the envelope and looked at it. Through the cellophane window on the front of the envelope I could see that the contents were a bill that actually looked something like a paycheck. The right side of the bill had the figure of $750 on it.
I could faintly remember owing that amount of money. Maybe I'd had to go to the hospital for something, like I'd been taken into the hospital because I'd been too drunk (which happened to me in 1997 and 2006). Or maybe I'd even been arrested for something that I couldn't remember.
I could faintly remember a police officer telling me that people often get stuck with fines because, even though their crime or stupid action wasn't bad, they needed to pay a lot of money to remember never to do something like that again.
But now I looked over to the left side of the window. As I passed along the window, I'd gotten the feeling that I'd actually owed the $750 for a while now, and that I was now getting in trouble for never having paid it. On the left side of the window was another figure: $283,000.
$283,000? How could that be? For some reason, something about the figure reminded me of the speed of light. It was too much money! But the sum came, I knew, from interest fees as well as exorbitant fines that the police put on late payments -- ostensibly with the goal of getting people to pay.
But I couldn't pay. And I think the police counted on that in most of the cases like mine. The letter was really a subpoena, so that I'd have to appear in court regarding the $283,000 I owed. And I'd probably be sent to jail.
Dream #1
My view was floating somewhere, maybe over the passengers of a kind of large tour bus, maybe from the front of the bus to the back of the bus. My mother and I may have been on the bus somewhere, although I may have been a pretty, young, copper skinned woman with black hair.
I was hearing a discussion in my head between myself and a woman, possibly my mother. We were talking about how, when you draw characters, if you draw characters using a grey cloak, you don't have to give them any personality. This didn't just have to do with the color grey. It was like the character was actually wearing some kind of cloak of grey that zipped over its entire body. I thought this cloak made drawing easier, because it erased personality and emotion from the character.
But I then realized I was wrong. The grey cloak didn't erase any personality or emotion from the character. No matter whether I drew the characters in full color or with the cloak over them, I still had to use personality and emotion.
Dream #2
I walked into a place I supposed was a movie theatre, even though it looked like a really big classroom. The room was dark, but maybe with disco ball stars spinning around the room. At the front of the room, high up on the wall, was a rectangle of light, coming from a projection room high up on the back wall.
There were a lot of rows of desks. And all the desks seemed to be filled with old friends of mine. At the back of the room was some long table that sold items related to the event taking place: maybe some kind of film festival. A lot of people still seemed to be coming into the room and filtering up into the desks.
I had read the program for the event. A lot of films by Pedro Almodovar were going to be shown. I was excited about that. I pointed out the fact to one of my female friends. My friend said, "Oh, yeah. Almodovar is one of the top three directors ever in Spain."
My friend named some director I'd never heard of as being the best director in Spain. The director had worked alongside Almodovar in the 1980s, and his films from that time period were apparently incredible.
I was walking up, trying to find a seat. Somebody up ahead of me mentioned the third director in the group. Even though I hadn't seen any films by the director, I at least knew his name. So I called it out, something like "Ittryia" or "Attyra."
I was already ashamed that I hadn't known the first director. So I just pretended to know about Ittryia. I said a fact I'd known about him: that he'd worked as a kind of assistant to Almodovar on a number of films in the 1980s, but that he'd then gone on to make his own films. I then mentioned one of his films, which was playing here, and even though I'd never seen it before, I went off on how good it was.
Even still, I wasn't happy with myself. People knew Almodovar, and people who knew film adored the first director. But Ittryia was really obscure and not of great interest to many people at all. So, even lying about what I knew, I knew I wasn't really impressing anybody, or even giving them information they'd wanted.
I now sat down in one of the seats and began talking with some of my friends. But my view suddenly shifted. I was laying on my back in bed. Somebody like a combination of a police officer and a postal worker barged into my room. He threw an envelope at my stomach, said that I'd better pay attention to it, and stomped away.
I picked up the envelope and looked at it. Through the cellophane window on the front of the envelope I could see that the contents were a bill that actually looked something like a paycheck. The right side of the bill had the figure of $750 on it.
I could faintly remember owing that amount of money. Maybe I'd had to go to the hospital for something, like I'd been taken into the hospital because I'd been too drunk (which happened to me in 1997 and 2006). Or maybe I'd even been arrested for something that I couldn't remember.
I could faintly remember a police officer telling me that people often get stuck with fines because, even though their crime or stupid action wasn't bad, they needed to pay a lot of money to remember never to do something like that again.
But now I looked over to the left side of the window. As I passed along the window, I'd gotten the feeling that I'd actually owed the $750 for a while now, and that I was now getting in trouble for never having paid it. On the left side of the window was another figure: $283,000.
$283,000? How could that be? For some reason, something about the figure reminded me of the speed of light. It was too much money! But the sum came, I knew, from interest fees as well as exorbitant fines that the police put on late payments -- ostensibly with the goal of getting people to pay.
But I couldn't pay. And I think the police counted on that in most of the cases like mine. The letter was really a subpoena, so that I'd have to appear in court regarding the $283,000 I owed. And I'd probably be sent to jail.
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