Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
I was probably in the cockpit of a small airliner, taxiing down the runway. The runway seemed to be in some kind of military base. The runway may have been cluttered, or it may have been bordered by a lot of clutter. I was involved with whatever operations took place at the base. I was in the cockpit with someone else who worked at the base. This person may have been piloting the airplane. I was acting as more of a passenger.
We were trying to get up to a part of the runway where we'd be able to lift off. But there was some delay up ahead. I felt kind of inconvenienced, but I tried not to. I knew that the delay up ahead was being caused by something I'd normally be in awe of.
We now approached what I thought may have been the cause of delay. It was a gigantic aircraft. The gigantic aircraft moved along on an awkward set of wheels that looked like stilts made out of chrome bars, like the chrome frames of a hospital bed, at the bottom of which were smallish (for such a large aircraft) wheels. The body of the aircraft was beautiful: like a mix between an F-117, a B-2, and an SR-71. But it was a gigantic craft.
At first I thought we were going to taxi our airliner underneath the aircraft. I was a little afraid to do this, but I also wanted to do it. But we turned off to the right and worked our way over to a runway that almost sent us back in the direction we had come from.
As we taxied away, I heard or understood that the gigantic aircraft was an F-XXX (can't remember the number, maybe something like 149). I was a little surprised. I'd thought the craft was a B-2. I was a little ashamed of myself for having thought the craft could have had the name "B-2." I really thought the craft was what I knew as a B-2, and that I had just mistakenly concocted the name "B-2." I couldn't believe I had gotten the model name so wrong.
We may eventually have ended up flying. While in the air, we may have seen one or two other strange aircraft. We then landed. I, as well as a number of other pilots who had been out flying today, was walking through a hallway like a school hallway, to get to a classroom where I, and the others, would apparently review the day's flights.
I walked into the classroom, holding a few photos with me. I may have been disappointed in myself. Perhaps I hadn't remembered certain aspects of my flight. Perhaps I had gotten so afraid at one point during my flight that I'd closed my eyes or blocked my perception out in some other way. Whatever had happened, I felt like I had missed some aspect of my flight, and I was disappointed. But I was also trying, somehow, to prove that I actually hadn't missed anything from my flight.
I shuffled through the photos in my hands. The photos were glossy and about the size of a standard sheet of paper. Either I had taken the photos or the photos had been taken from the airplane I had been in. The photos were of an X-15 rocket.
The photos mainly showed the X-15 right as and just after it had lifted off the ground (although, in actuality, X-15s, as far as I know, never lifted off the ground but were dropped from the wings of a larger plane at about 45,000 feet altitude, where they would begin flying on their own).
I was disappointed with myself for having been so close to an X-15 in action but either not having remembered it or having been so afraid of whatever flight patterns my own craft was going through that I had blocked out all my perception, including my perception of the X-15. I may have looked closer at the photos, hoping to see something that would spark a living memory in my head.
But now I began to doubt that the vehicle in the photos was even an X-15 at all. It had a strange shape for an X-15. It was broad and triangular instead of thin and stub-winged. It actually reminded me of (what I would have recognized in waking life as) an F-35. But I began to justify the shape to myself, saying that, of course, I'd only seen the X-15 from a couple different angles and that, at angles I wasn't familiar with, the X-15 might look kind of awkward to me.
Dream #2
I was in an office. I had come into this part of the office to take care of some kind of work that I usually didn't have to take care of. The part of the office I was first in may have been dim and grey, like all the lights were off and the only light was coming from a window in a separate room or a part of this room that was blocked off from my part of the room by a big partition.
Some guy, or a few guys, in the office had always been following me around, trying to prove that I was doing something illegal. But this place was an area I didn't usually go to. The guys following me didn't expect me to come here. I was all by myself in the room for a moment. But soon I could feel the guys coming after me, to stalk and skulk around behind me. I got the image of the guys being little, bug-eyed semi-humans enshrouded in trench coats and massive fedoras.
Feeling followed again, I immediately decided to walk somewhere else, at least to throw the guys off my trail for a moment or two. I was also hoping that, if I went somewhere totally unusual and the guys were following me even to that place, that I could really prove to myself that I was being stalked. I could then hopefully do something about it. But, more than that, I just simply wanted to throw the guys off my trail and be by myself.
I was outside, walking on a sidewalk like the sidewalk that runs along a street along the top of the slope outside my old elementary school. My aunt M was there, putting a little baby and her car seat into the front seat of a shiny, red SUV.
When my aunt saw me she called to me, insisting that I take a ride with her. I really didn't want to take a ride with her. I was afraid that since she smoked her car would smell like smoke, which was kind of disgusting to me. I also wasn't too interested in listening to my aunt M talk during a car ride.
I tried to make up some polite excuse for not riding with my aunt. But as I approached her car, she continued to insist that I ride with her. She was even already moving the baby and car seat out of the front seat and into the backseat.
I resigned myself to the fact that I'd have to ride with my aunt. I got into the car and tried to act happy, hoping there was something happy and distracting I could immediately get talking about with my aunt, in order to mask the fact that I didn't want to be here at all.
Dream #3
I was in "my bedroom," possibly with one or more of my family members. My bedroom may have had two cheap-looking beds in it. The room was, otherwise, pretty barren. I lay on my left side on the floor, looking underneath my bed while my family member(s) probably sat in a chair (or chairs).
A man came into the room. He had been here to check out some problem I'd been having in my house. Immediately he went to the wall next to the bed I was facing. The man pointed out a big gap running along the bottom of the wall and said, "Oh. Yep. I knew it. There it is, right there."
The gap looked like an even strip of space that normally would have been covered up by something, maybe a floorboard. It was like it was customary for the drywall of the wall ended about half an inch from the floor, and that a strip of floorboard -- or something else -- was customarily installed to cover up the gap. But whatever had been there was now gone, either torn off, worn away, or something.
The man said, "Yep. That's just what the mice are getting through." I now had a vague memory of having suspected, without actually having seen, mice in my room. But now the man confirmed it with me. I had a mouse problem. I looked for some other evidence of this. In the shadows under the bed I searched for mouse droppings. I thought I saw a little sliver of something that could either have been a scraping of dirt from my shoes or a (very large) mouse dropping.
The man somehow (the bed was still, as far as I know, pushed flush against the wall, so that nobody could get between the bed and the wall) ran his finger along the wall, pointing out the gap. He said, "I had a suspicion, because your next door neighbor is also having mouse problems. And, you see, the mice come in through the walls. Then they use this gap, on both sides, to go into your place and his."
I tried to see how my room was connected to my neighbor's room by this gap. I thought I should be able to see into my neighbor's room if both our rooms were connected. But I couldn't see into his room. Instead, just beyond the gap was another layer of drywall that went securely down all the way to the floor, thus sealing off my room from my neighbor's room.
Dream #4
I was in physical therapy room in a hospital, watching my mom do physical therapy. My mom had recently gotten done with some kind of operation. But she seemed to be progressing well. Her performance during physical therapy, though it wasn't phenomenal, seemed to show that she would be able to get released from the hospital and go home soon.
I walked out of the physical therapy room and down the hallway. I may possibly have been planning to meet my mom in her hospital room. I may even have been planning to get my mom ready to be released and go home.
The room my mom was in may have seemed a lot like an intensive care room in a hospital, cluttered with a lot of life support and monitoring machinery. The room may have held two beds, with a curtain separating one bed area from the other.
I was surprised to find my mom's bed empty. I had been expecting my mom to get back to the room before I did. I had a bad feeling that this meant something wasn't good with my mom's health and that my mom wouldn't be able to get out of the hospital today.
Now a group of doctors and nurses rushed my mom into the room and laid her on her bed. My mom looked pale and sweaty. Her hospital gown was almost hanging off her chest, almost exposing her right breast. I had a bad feeling about my mom, like she had suddenly taken a turn for the worst.
The doctors and nurses left the room. The room also changed a bit. My mom's bed was the only bed in the room. The bed was almost in the center of the room. The bed was turned so the head faced the door. My mom was in a half-sitting position on the bed, so it was like her back was to the door. The room was a lot dimmer than before. The only light coming into the room was hallway light that came in from a window to my mom's left. The window was shaded by half-turned Venetian blinds.
My mom must have felt like she was going to die. She began reflecting on her life, talking to me about the things she felt she should be proud of. She felt that the way she had lived her life was very unique. The uniqueness came, my mom felt, from the fact that she had made choices with her heart, because she had cared about people.
My mom then said, "And I'm the only person in my whole family who graduated from high school. Nobody else did that." That statement kind of scattered my brains for a moment. After reflecting for a moment, I knew that my mom meant that between herself, her sister, her father, and her mother, my mom was the only one to have graduated from high school.
I considered my mom's life for a moment. I thought that, given all her life's difficulties, she actually had been able to do a lot of things that she should be proud of.
Showing posts with label organized stalking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label organized stalking. Show all posts
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Sunday, September 9, 2012
wasurete/divorce; tempting garbage; handbox; murder-ring a suicide
Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
I was with a woman. The woman may have been my girlfriend. We were moving through a series of locations, something like rooms in a museum. But each location had to do a different rock song, maybe always a Japanese pop song. The locations were all mostly dark, with electronic imagery spreading through the darkness.
In one location, the woman and I were sitting in seats like movie theater seats and listening to a song ("Wasurenai kara?") by the artist Gack't. Overhead spanned a dark beam, like the underside of a bridge. In the distance was a red city skyline.
I found the scene very beautiful, but I wondered whether the woman was feeling bored. Maybe this kind of journey wasn't her thing. Maybe the woman found me boring and resented the fact that she had chosen me for a boyfriend.
I suddenly realized that I may have had to attend some sort of class. I stood up and turned toward the woman, who remained seated. I told the woman not to worry, that I'd be right back. I had to go check whether I needed to take a class right now. But, I told the woman, if I needed to take the class, I'd make sure to come back and get her, so that she could be in the class with me.
I walked down a dark hallway to a lit room where a class was in progress. Most of the people in the class were women. They were all talking in a semi-irreverent, exaggeratedly down-to-earth way. The class was basically a class on how to carry out a divorce most effectively. I was mainly coming to this class because I was trying to help someone through the divorce process.
As I listened to the teacher, who was the most exaggeratedly down-to-earth of all the people, I realized that the woman I'd been journeying through the locations with would think this class was really helpful. So I went to look for her.
But as I was looking around in ----- (the red zone, with the movie seats?), I heard the voice of JS, one of my professional seniors and a person I consider to be a mentor and role model, calling, "Preemie. Preemie! Preemie, wherever you are, get your rear end down here!"
I was so panicked on hearing JS sounding so insistent and disappointed in me that I floated downwards through the floor and down through a huge room, like a fancy bar, where JS sat at a couch and coffee table with a number of other women. JS, seeing me float downward from the high ceiling, asked, "Do you have your divorce report finished? Everybody would like to see it."
I landed and knelt on the ground before the coffee table. I pulled out a stack of papers and began working through them. All the ladies gathered around me, looking over the papers I'd pulled out. I could feel that JS now felt bad about being overly insistent, and that she was now trying to make up for it by being gentle and attentive to my report. I felt like I had put a lot of effort into the report, and I felt like JS could see that.
Dream #2
I was with my mom. We were on something like a bicycle, riding down a slope inside a concrete structure that looked like a mix between a parking lot and the underpass of a highway. We were trying to get to a final destination, but we may have been finding the going pretty difficult.
We were now behind a garbage truck. My mom told me, "If we latch onto the back of the truck, we can let it carry us down the slope. That will make the effort a lot easier on us."
I tried to argue with my mom that latching on the back of the truck, especially while we were going downhill, would only put us in danger. For instance, if the truck stopped, we wouldn't be able to control ourselves, and we'd crash right into the truck.
I could tell my mom was upset about the arguments I was making. But thankfully I didn't have to make them anymore. The garbage truck curved around a stairwell and drove away along some flat stretch of concrete. I knew that my mom and I needed to go down the stairwell. So we wouldn't be able to follow the garbage truck.
I lifted the bicycle up onto my left shoulder and began walking down the steps. The concrete floor had been strewn with some kind of fragmented, glass-like litter. But the steps were even more cluttered with this litter, and the litter was kind of grimy.
I didn't pay it much attention, though. I began speaking to my mom, who I thought was behind me. I told my mom that she'd find she was much happier now that we'd done things the right way. We may have put in an extra effort. But I was shouldering most of the effort for her. I asked her, was she feeling overstrained?
But my mom didn't answer. I realized my mom wasn't behind me. I had no idea where she was. I got to the bottom of the steps and into another huge, concrete room. My mom was standing a few meters away, looking at furniture. There were furniture and rugs all laid out, well-spaced, in this huge room, like exhibits in a museum.
I walked up to my mom and asked her something. She may have asked me something as well, like asking me to remember to do something for my family on her behalf.
Dream #3
I was sitting in a sandbox as big as a public swimming pool. My second oldest nephew sat outside the edge of that sandbox, flinging sand from the edge further in, as if he were splashing water in a pool. My nephew may have been speaking to me about something.
A friend of my nephew now came up. My nephew introduced me to his friend. The friend came into the sandbox. I shook the boy's hand. When the boy took back his hand, he seemed a little panicked. I began to wonder whether my hand had been bleeding and I'd gotten blood on the boy's hand. I felt like this must have been what had happened to make the boy skittish.
I asked the boy what was wrong. He acted like nothing was wrong. But he then showed me a few bruises and healed cuts on his hand. I understood that the boy thought highly of these wounds, so I treated them like they were a really big deal. I realized I also had wounds on my hand, so I showed them to the boy.
The boy began talking about people's hands. He mentioned how some people's hands have an extra little nub of flesh on them. The boy himself may have had this extra nub of flesh. I knew I did. The boy began talking about the different shapes the extra flesh could take on a hand. He mentioned one type which was very much like chicken skin. I thought that must have been my type. I began to feel very ashamed of myself.
Dream #4
I walked into a room with my mom. My second oldest nephew was in the room, holding a flower. My nephew, upon seeing me, got a little teary-eyed and complained to me about how I don't spend as much time with everybody as I should. I felt really bad about this, and I avoided my nephew's eyes.
I looked at the flower. Like an onion, it was bulbous, purple at the base and white at the top. But it also seemed to be folding open into slender, almost orchid-like, but thick, petals.
I was now walking up through the stairwell of a big building. I reached some high up floor. I went up into an apartment which was temporarily mine. It was like I was on some kind of extended business trip or project, and that I'd been given the apartment during the project. Possibly my mom had gotten this apartment for me. I had just come back from a business meeting. This was the first time I'd actually seen the apartment.
There was a huge industrial vent right in the room, near the door. The vent pointed toward the wall, away from the rest of the room. I knew the vent was connected, under the floor, to a much larger system in a small room on the other side of the wall from my apartment.
I knew this larger system at least partly served as a chiller. I had the idea that if the chiller exploded, it would blow open the wall of my apartment. It could possibly even kill me. I wondered whether it had been a bad idea for me to be put into this apartment. I even wondered whether I'd been put into the apartment on purpose, so I would be in constant danger. But I eventually dismissed the whole thing as not being so dangerous after all.
There were huge windows all along the left wall of the apartment. I knew all the windows had been closed while I was away. But now I looked over and saw that one of the windows was open. I couldn't quite believe my eyes at first. But I looked again to see that the window was open.
I went over to the window to close it. But looking out the window, where before I'd just seen a city skyline, I now saw that something like a garden embedded in concrete connected this floor of my building to the corresponding floor of the building next door. The windows in that apartment were open as well. The garden connecting the two buildings was mostly filled with desert soil and plants.
I now began to wonder -- did somebody from across the way come into my apartment? If they did, did they take anything? Or were they still in my apartment? Had they been sent, perhaps, to hurt or kill me?
I reflected that I couldn't really do much about the lack of security before this moment. But right now I could take steps to secure my apartment. I would close and lock my windows right now. I looked down along my wall of windows. I now realized that almost every single window along the wall was open! Somebody must have come in here!
I went into a reverie. I began hearing two people speak. Both of the people were Equity Research analysts. I may have known one of them as CU, an analyst I'd been friends with at my last research job. The other analyst asked CU whether he'd had his report out yet. CU said he hadn't, but that it was basically ready.
The other analyst asked whether he'd read the other reports put out by the other analysts so far. CU said he hadn't, but that his report was probably pretty up-to-date anyway. CU said he could show the other analyst what he had so far.
I now saw what CU had: a whole stack of blue and red construction paper. On each piece of paper was pasted a white piece of paper with black, psychedelic-wavy-style lettering printed all the way down it. This "report" was giving some sort of eulogy for a fellow analyst who had been found dead -- maybe in the very apartment in which I was currently staying.
The thing was, and I could see this as I read CU's "report," that CU was giving very broad, general information about the analyst's death. Not only was the information about the analyst and his death so general that it wouldn't be telling anybody anything they hadn't already heard; it had also missed some of the latest developments surrounding the investigation into the death, so that it was even misleading. I thought this report was almost insulting to the analyst who had died.
I thought that CU must have known the analyst personally. But now, reading the report, I had my doubts. CU's report spoke kindly of the man. But it almost seemed to disavow that CU had ever known the man personally. The details of the man were like details out of a press release.
Apparently the man had also had a little fantasy of being a movie star. He'd even had some little roles in a few movies. The role for which he was most famous was a bit role, where he was carrying a box of Marlboro cigarettes on his right shoulder as he walked down the street. The man was a tall, blonde man with muscular features and a deep tan. The man had a very 1950s style about him.
The joke of the scene was, apparently, that the man, as he walked down the street, past a woman (the main character of the film) who was sitting on the curb, commented about how wonderful and delicious Marlboro cigarettes were. This was a joke because the industry the analyst had covered was the Food, Beverage, and Tobacco industry. So he was basically pushing his own industry.
But CU's report made it seem like this joke was actually some kind of noble effort. The analyst, the report said, had been standing up for one of the best companies he covered. And he covered that company well. The company deserved great coverage, the report seemed to say, because it was one of the world's most noble companies.
I thought that was going a bit overboard. Besides, I could think of a more independent film in which the analyst had had a much larger role, and in which he'd performed much better. But I couldn't remember the name of the film, or even what had happened in it. I only remembered it being very dark.
Now, looking along my windows, I wondered how the man had died. Early reports had been that the man had been murdered. But now I saw in my mind's eye a Facebook-like grid of photos. Early reports implied that these photos were of people who, possibly through a social media platform, had organized to carry out the murder of this analyst.
But now reports were going back on this previous opinion. One headline I saw in my mind's eye said, "Murder-Ring Now Considered a Suicide." So the man had not been murdered, but had committed suicide. The other analysts knew this, and their reports reflected it. But CU's report still did not reflect this fact. In fact, CU's report spoke very assuredly of the analyst having been murdered. I thought this was kind of silly on CU's part.
Dream #1
I was with a woman. The woman may have been my girlfriend. We were moving through a series of locations, something like rooms in a museum. But each location had to do a different rock song, maybe always a Japanese pop song. The locations were all mostly dark, with electronic imagery spreading through the darkness.
In one location, the woman and I were sitting in seats like movie theater seats and listening to a song ("Wasurenai kara?") by the artist Gack't. Overhead spanned a dark beam, like the underside of a bridge. In the distance was a red city skyline.
I found the scene very beautiful, but I wondered whether the woman was feeling bored. Maybe this kind of journey wasn't her thing. Maybe the woman found me boring and resented the fact that she had chosen me for a boyfriend.
I suddenly realized that I may have had to attend some sort of class. I stood up and turned toward the woman, who remained seated. I told the woman not to worry, that I'd be right back. I had to go check whether I needed to take a class right now. But, I told the woman, if I needed to take the class, I'd make sure to come back and get her, so that she could be in the class with me.
I walked down a dark hallway to a lit room where a class was in progress. Most of the people in the class were women. They were all talking in a semi-irreverent, exaggeratedly down-to-earth way. The class was basically a class on how to carry out a divorce most effectively. I was mainly coming to this class because I was trying to help someone through the divorce process.
As I listened to the teacher, who was the most exaggeratedly down-to-earth of all the people, I realized that the woman I'd been journeying through the locations with would think this class was really helpful. So I went to look for her.
But as I was looking around in ----- (the red zone, with the movie seats?), I heard the voice of JS, one of my professional seniors and a person I consider to be a mentor and role model, calling, "Preemie. Preemie! Preemie, wherever you are, get your rear end down here!"
I was so panicked on hearing JS sounding so insistent and disappointed in me that I floated downwards through the floor and down through a huge room, like a fancy bar, where JS sat at a couch and coffee table with a number of other women. JS, seeing me float downward from the high ceiling, asked, "Do you have your divorce report finished? Everybody would like to see it."
I landed and knelt on the ground before the coffee table. I pulled out a stack of papers and began working through them. All the ladies gathered around me, looking over the papers I'd pulled out. I could feel that JS now felt bad about being overly insistent, and that she was now trying to make up for it by being gentle and attentive to my report. I felt like I had put a lot of effort into the report, and I felt like JS could see that.
Dream #2
I was with my mom. We were on something like a bicycle, riding down a slope inside a concrete structure that looked like a mix between a parking lot and the underpass of a highway. We were trying to get to a final destination, but we may have been finding the going pretty difficult.
We were now behind a garbage truck. My mom told me, "If we latch onto the back of the truck, we can let it carry us down the slope. That will make the effort a lot easier on us."
I tried to argue with my mom that latching on the back of the truck, especially while we were going downhill, would only put us in danger. For instance, if the truck stopped, we wouldn't be able to control ourselves, and we'd crash right into the truck.
I could tell my mom was upset about the arguments I was making. But thankfully I didn't have to make them anymore. The garbage truck curved around a stairwell and drove away along some flat stretch of concrete. I knew that my mom and I needed to go down the stairwell. So we wouldn't be able to follow the garbage truck.
I lifted the bicycle up onto my left shoulder and began walking down the steps. The concrete floor had been strewn with some kind of fragmented, glass-like litter. But the steps were even more cluttered with this litter, and the litter was kind of grimy.
I didn't pay it much attention, though. I began speaking to my mom, who I thought was behind me. I told my mom that she'd find she was much happier now that we'd done things the right way. We may have put in an extra effort. But I was shouldering most of the effort for her. I asked her, was she feeling overstrained?
But my mom didn't answer. I realized my mom wasn't behind me. I had no idea where she was. I got to the bottom of the steps and into another huge, concrete room. My mom was standing a few meters away, looking at furniture. There were furniture and rugs all laid out, well-spaced, in this huge room, like exhibits in a museum.
I walked up to my mom and asked her something. She may have asked me something as well, like asking me to remember to do something for my family on her behalf.
Dream #3
I was sitting in a sandbox as big as a public swimming pool. My second oldest nephew sat outside the edge of that sandbox, flinging sand from the edge further in, as if he were splashing water in a pool. My nephew may have been speaking to me about something.
A friend of my nephew now came up. My nephew introduced me to his friend. The friend came into the sandbox. I shook the boy's hand. When the boy took back his hand, he seemed a little panicked. I began to wonder whether my hand had been bleeding and I'd gotten blood on the boy's hand. I felt like this must have been what had happened to make the boy skittish.
I asked the boy what was wrong. He acted like nothing was wrong. But he then showed me a few bruises and healed cuts on his hand. I understood that the boy thought highly of these wounds, so I treated them like they were a really big deal. I realized I also had wounds on my hand, so I showed them to the boy.
The boy began talking about people's hands. He mentioned how some people's hands have an extra little nub of flesh on them. The boy himself may have had this extra nub of flesh. I knew I did. The boy began talking about the different shapes the extra flesh could take on a hand. He mentioned one type which was very much like chicken skin. I thought that must have been my type. I began to feel very ashamed of myself.
Dream #4
I walked into a room with my mom. My second oldest nephew was in the room, holding a flower. My nephew, upon seeing me, got a little teary-eyed and complained to me about how I don't spend as much time with everybody as I should. I felt really bad about this, and I avoided my nephew's eyes.
I looked at the flower. Like an onion, it was bulbous, purple at the base and white at the top. But it also seemed to be folding open into slender, almost orchid-like, but thick, petals.
I was now walking up through the stairwell of a big building. I reached some high up floor. I went up into an apartment which was temporarily mine. It was like I was on some kind of extended business trip or project, and that I'd been given the apartment during the project. Possibly my mom had gotten this apartment for me. I had just come back from a business meeting. This was the first time I'd actually seen the apartment.
There was a huge industrial vent right in the room, near the door. The vent pointed toward the wall, away from the rest of the room. I knew the vent was connected, under the floor, to a much larger system in a small room on the other side of the wall from my apartment.
I knew this larger system at least partly served as a chiller. I had the idea that if the chiller exploded, it would blow open the wall of my apartment. It could possibly even kill me. I wondered whether it had been a bad idea for me to be put into this apartment. I even wondered whether I'd been put into the apartment on purpose, so I would be in constant danger. But I eventually dismissed the whole thing as not being so dangerous after all.
There were huge windows all along the left wall of the apartment. I knew all the windows had been closed while I was away. But now I looked over and saw that one of the windows was open. I couldn't quite believe my eyes at first. But I looked again to see that the window was open.
I went over to the window to close it. But looking out the window, where before I'd just seen a city skyline, I now saw that something like a garden embedded in concrete connected this floor of my building to the corresponding floor of the building next door. The windows in that apartment were open as well. The garden connecting the two buildings was mostly filled with desert soil and plants.
I now began to wonder -- did somebody from across the way come into my apartment? If they did, did they take anything? Or were they still in my apartment? Had they been sent, perhaps, to hurt or kill me?
I reflected that I couldn't really do much about the lack of security before this moment. But right now I could take steps to secure my apartment. I would close and lock my windows right now. I looked down along my wall of windows. I now realized that almost every single window along the wall was open! Somebody must have come in here!
I went into a reverie. I began hearing two people speak. Both of the people were Equity Research analysts. I may have known one of them as CU, an analyst I'd been friends with at my last research job. The other analyst asked CU whether he'd had his report out yet. CU said he hadn't, but that it was basically ready.
The other analyst asked whether he'd read the other reports put out by the other analysts so far. CU said he hadn't, but that his report was probably pretty up-to-date anyway. CU said he could show the other analyst what he had so far.
I now saw what CU had: a whole stack of blue and red construction paper. On each piece of paper was pasted a white piece of paper with black, psychedelic-wavy-style lettering printed all the way down it. This "report" was giving some sort of eulogy for a fellow analyst who had been found dead -- maybe in the very apartment in which I was currently staying.
The thing was, and I could see this as I read CU's "report," that CU was giving very broad, general information about the analyst's death. Not only was the information about the analyst and his death so general that it wouldn't be telling anybody anything they hadn't already heard; it had also missed some of the latest developments surrounding the investigation into the death, so that it was even misleading. I thought this report was almost insulting to the analyst who had died.
I thought that CU must have known the analyst personally. But now, reading the report, I had my doubts. CU's report spoke kindly of the man. But it almost seemed to disavow that CU had ever known the man personally. The details of the man were like details out of a press release.
Apparently the man had also had a little fantasy of being a movie star. He'd even had some little roles in a few movies. The role for which he was most famous was a bit role, where he was carrying a box of Marlboro cigarettes on his right shoulder as he walked down the street. The man was a tall, blonde man with muscular features and a deep tan. The man had a very 1950s style about him.
The joke of the scene was, apparently, that the man, as he walked down the street, past a woman (the main character of the film) who was sitting on the curb, commented about how wonderful and delicious Marlboro cigarettes were. This was a joke because the industry the analyst had covered was the Food, Beverage, and Tobacco industry. So he was basically pushing his own industry.
But CU's report made it seem like this joke was actually some kind of noble effort. The analyst, the report said, had been standing up for one of the best companies he covered. And he covered that company well. The company deserved great coverage, the report seemed to say, because it was one of the world's most noble companies.
I thought that was going a bit overboard. Besides, I could think of a more independent film in which the analyst had had a much larger role, and in which he'd performed much better. But I couldn't remember the name of the film, or even what had happened in it. I only remembered it being very dark.
Now, looking along my windows, I wondered how the man had died. Early reports had been that the man had been murdered. But now I saw in my mind's eye a Facebook-like grid of photos. Early reports implied that these photos were of people who, possibly through a social media platform, had organized to carry out the murder of this analyst.
But now reports were going back on this previous opinion. One headline I saw in my mind's eye said, "Murder-Ring Now Considered a Suicide." So the man had not been murdered, but had committed suicide. The other analysts knew this, and their reports reflected it. But CU's report still did not reflect this fact. In fact, CU's report spoke very assuredly of the analyst having been murdered. I thought this was kind of silly on CU's part.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
stalkers and john malkovich; a lesbian duck?; the greatest of all time; afraid of love
Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
It was night. I was probably in a huge pickup truck that my mom was driving. We'd come from out in the country, and we were driving through rolling fields of grass.
I don't know what we'd been doing out in the country. But my mom was now telling me how she used to take my nephews out to this area with their sheep -- apparently the family used to own sheep. The family would actually take cows and sheep down to this area. The cows were sold as food.
The sheep actually carried the cows on their backs. I saw in my mind's eye how this was done. A cow would be cut open and have its guts hollowed out. Then the empty carcass of the cow was sat over the sheep's back, so that it looked like the sheep was giving the cow a ride. It would have looked playful, had the cow not been all bloody.
Something about the sheep was also sold, but I don't know what. The main thing my mom spoke about regarding the sheep was how my family had gotten the sheep to eat so well. The sheep must originally have had a hard time grazing while they were out in the country. But my family got the sheep trained to eat out on the rolling pastures, and to eat the grass in such an orderly way that they'd create huge, even, smooth-lined squares of eaten grass.
I had been noticing a big, green pickup truck following our truck for some time. I could see the guy in the truck: he was a young, blonde man who looked like he lived in my apartment complex. I told my mom that that man had been set on me to follow me in the past. He had now been set on following me again today.
Somehow the green pickup truck got in front of us. There were three big, white semi-trucks in front of us. The green pickup wedged itself in between the second and third semis. So there were two trucks in front of the pickup, one truck behind it, and then my mom's pickup.
I told my mom, "Now watch. The truck didn't mean to get in front of us. But now that it did, it will find the perfect opportunity to get back behind us. It's been following me all day today. I have people following me all the time."
Without my noticing it my mom and I shifted into a public bus. We sat side by side in a seat. The bus was relatively empty. The daylight in the bus seemed a bit brighter and whiter than usual. The light inside the bus may actually have been bright and white.
I told my mom, "The same thing used to happen in Brooklyn. People used get set on me, to follow me around. It's just a different set of people. Out here in Denver they have a group of blonde haired, blue eyed guys following me around. People set these kids on me, to follow me wherever I go."
Suddenly some guy sitting in front of us looked back. He was sitting in some weird way, either like he was in a sideways seat, or like he was crouched on the floor, facing so that his right profile faced me and my mom.
But now that he looked straight at us, I could see that he was John Malkovich. But he was all done up in camouflage. He wore a mainly white, tan, and brown camo design on his pants, shirt, and even on a woolen skullcap. He had the design painted onto his face and hands as well. His eyes were also bugging out, like he was insane.
John Malkovich asked me something about the stalkers. He then took one or both of my hands with both of his hands and began stroking them while he made a weird kind of blowing "O" with his mouth. He started giving me some advice about the stalkers. But he then ran back to the back of the bus.
The back of the bus tiered up into a platform of seats. In the first row on that platform was an Hispanic man who looked drunk and passed out. Malkovich sat beside that guy and started almost cuddling his head against him. He then began telling the man about me, like Malkovich was actually a stalker himself, and like he was passing off information to the man, who was only pretending to be drunk and passed out.
Malkovich then ran back to me and started telling me things about stalkers. It all sounded kind of crazy, and I don't remember any of it.
Dream #2
A woman had been taking care of a white swan, which I probably called a duck in my dream. The woman was a really beautiful, copper skinned woman with dark black hair. At first when the woman had cared for the duck, the duck would always bite the woman. The duck may have bit the woman all over her body, but I think one place the duck always bit the woman was on the mouth. It would hurt really bad. The woman even got to a point where she wanted to kill or get rid of the duck.
But then the woman taught the duck how to read and write. The duck had apparently been biting the woman because she didn't know how to communicate with the woman. But now that she could read and write, her life was a lot more open and free and a lot more frustrating.
The duck was now writing something on a pad of paper and showing it to my view, as if my view were actually a camera filming some kind of documentary. The view may have been set in a small bathroom, where the duck and the woman were standing close together. The duck may have been up on some kind of pedestal, so that her head was even with the woman's head.
The writing pad said something about how grateful the duck was to the woman, and how the duck would show her gratitude to the woman by giving her a kiss. So the duck stretched out her neck and "kissed" the woman by biting her softly on the upper lip.
This shocked the woman. It hurt her a little bit, though not as much as the previous bites had hurt. But the woman started to wonder whether the duck was getting violent again. She had given only a soft bite this time. But what if the bites got harder and harder? The woman would be in pain all over again.
My view panned down toward the bottom of the duck, then down toward the top section of the pedestal, where it kind of halted, just looking at the blank space of the pedestal. I was a little worried, as well, about the sudden biting of the duck. But I also considered the fact that the duck had "kissed" the woman. What it the kisses between the duck and the woman got more passionate? Would the duck and the woman eventually become lesbian lovers?
Dream #3
I was at some job which was like a mix of my most recent job with the duties of a lot of my past jobs. I had been set on some task. But I was wearing really dirty clothes. I may also have been wearing women's clothes, maybe even just women's lingerie. I really needed to change my clothes before I got to work on my task.
So I walked into the living room of some townhome or ground level apartment unit. The living room was small and well furnished, but also cluttered with a bunch of neglected belongings. I had a backpack full of clothes.
I began trying to pull clothes out of the backpack. But every time I began to pull something out, I'd hesitate. I had pairs of men's underwear, but they all seemed to be dirty and sour in really gross ways. Some may even have been hard with filth. I had a bad feeling I'd just have to wear one of these pairs of dirty underwear. I'd hope nobody would smell or see or notice in some other way how disgusting my underwear was.
My emotions or focus shifted, and suddenly I was just getting ready to walk out the door, like I was fully dressed and ready to go. I slung my backpack over my right shoulder. As I headed toward the door, opened it, and looked down at some turned-off lamp on an end table next to the door, I had some conversation in my head.
The conversation seemed to be partly me talking to myself about a conversation and partly the actual conversation, which involved a group of people who studied mysticism with Carlos Castaneda. These people were saying that Castaneda was the greatest magician of all time. But that qualification would get mixed up with saying that Castaneda was the greatest Research Analyst of all time. And that statement would get mixed up with my co-workers saying that I was the greatest Research Analyst of all time.
Dream #4
I was looking at a catalog that was kind of done up like a porn magazine. But it was really something like a monthly who's who of sex and fetish in every state in the United States. The pages were a brick red kind of color, and there were grids of photos on each page. Most of the photos showed attractive women wearing lingerie or bikinis. The women were usually sitting, but in very seductive poses. Below each photo was a description of the woman and her particular fetish. At the top of each page was yellow, script-like writing in a kind of "California cool" style.
I flipped to the Colorado section, hoping to find a woman who would be into transvestites or adult babies. But, for some reason, the more I looked through the Colorado section, the more afraid I got. I felt some sense of danger regarding the women. I can't remember what the sense of danger came from. I may have seen or thought that some of the women were actually men dressed as women.
But there was something else I was afraid of -- like contacting any of these women would lead either to my personal information being stolen, or to scandalous information about me being shared on a wide scale. I even began to feel like just looking at the pictures of the women and men would somehow "transmit" my information to whatever place was ready to hurt me.
I quickly flipped to some other section of the catalog. I think I allowed myself to feel attracted to the girls in this section of the catalog. But I think that after a moment, I may have become bored with the catalog and put it away.
Dream #1
It was night. I was probably in a huge pickup truck that my mom was driving. We'd come from out in the country, and we were driving through rolling fields of grass.
I don't know what we'd been doing out in the country. But my mom was now telling me how she used to take my nephews out to this area with their sheep -- apparently the family used to own sheep. The family would actually take cows and sheep down to this area. The cows were sold as food.
The sheep actually carried the cows on their backs. I saw in my mind's eye how this was done. A cow would be cut open and have its guts hollowed out. Then the empty carcass of the cow was sat over the sheep's back, so that it looked like the sheep was giving the cow a ride. It would have looked playful, had the cow not been all bloody.
Something about the sheep was also sold, but I don't know what. The main thing my mom spoke about regarding the sheep was how my family had gotten the sheep to eat so well. The sheep must originally have had a hard time grazing while they were out in the country. But my family got the sheep trained to eat out on the rolling pastures, and to eat the grass in such an orderly way that they'd create huge, even, smooth-lined squares of eaten grass.
I had been noticing a big, green pickup truck following our truck for some time. I could see the guy in the truck: he was a young, blonde man who looked like he lived in my apartment complex. I told my mom that that man had been set on me to follow me in the past. He had now been set on following me again today.
Somehow the green pickup truck got in front of us. There were three big, white semi-trucks in front of us. The green pickup wedged itself in between the second and third semis. So there were two trucks in front of the pickup, one truck behind it, and then my mom's pickup.
I told my mom, "Now watch. The truck didn't mean to get in front of us. But now that it did, it will find the perfect opportunity to get back behind us. It's been following me all day today. I have people following me all the time."
Without my noticing it my mom and I shifted into a public bus. We sat side by side in a seat. The bus was relatively empty. The daylight in the bus seemed a bit brighter and whiter than usual. The light inside the bus may actually have been bright and white.
I told my mom, "The same thing used to happen in Brooklyn. People used get set on me, to follow me around. It's just a different set of people. Out here in Denver they have a group of blonde haired, blue eyed guys following me around. People set these kids on me, to follow me wherever I go."
Suddenly some guy sitting in front of us looked back. He was sitting in some weird way, either like he was in a sideways seat, or like he was crouched on the floor, facing so that his right profile faced me and my mom.
But now that he looked straight at us, I could see that he was John Malkovich. But he was all done up in camouflage. He wore a mainly white, tan, and brown camo design on his pants, shirt, and even on a woolen skullcap. He had the design painted onto his face and hands as well. His eyes were also bugging out, like he was insane.
John Malkovich asked me something about the stalkers. He then took one or both of my hands with both of his hands and began stroking them while he made a weird kind of blowing "O" with his mouth. He started giving me some advice about the stalkers. But he then ran back to the back of the bus.
The back of the bus tiered up into a platform of seats. In the first row on that platform was an Hispanic man who looked drunk and passed out. Malkovich sat beside that guy and started almost cuddling his head against him. He then began telling the man about me, like Malkovich was actually a stalker himself, and like he was passing off information to the man, who was only pretending to be drunk and passed out.
Malkovich then ran back to me and started telling me things about stalkers. It all sounded kind of crazy, and I don't remember any of it.
Dream #2
A woman had been taking care of a white swan, which I probably called a duck in my dream. The woman was a really beautiful, copper skinned woman with dark black hair. At first when the woman had cared for the duck, the duck would always bite the woman. The duck may have bit the woman all over her body, but I think one place the duck always bit the woman was on the mouth. It would hurt really bad. The woman even got to a point where she wanted to kill or get rid of the duck.
But then the woman taught the duck how to read and write. The duck had apparently been biting the woman because she didn't know how to communicate with the woman. But now that she could read and write, her life was a lot more open and free and a lot more frustrating.
The duck was now writing something on a pad of paper and showing it to my view, as if my view were actually a camera filming some kind of documentary. The view may have been set in a small bathroom, where the duck and the woman were standing close together. The duck may have been up on some kind of pedestal, so that her head was even with the woman's head.
The writing pad said something about how grateful the duck was to the woman, and how the duck would show her gratitude to the woman by giving her a kiss. So the duck stretched out her neck and "kissed" the woman by biting her softly on the upper lip.
This shocked the woman. It hurt her a little bit, though not as much as the previous bites had hurt. But the woman started to wonder whether the duck was getting violent again. She had given only a soft bite this time. But what if the bites got harder and harder? The woman would be in pain all over again.
My view panned down toward the bottom of the duck, then down toward the top section of the pedestal, where it kind of halted, just looking at the blank space of the pedestal. I was a little worried, as well, about the sudden biting of the duck. But I also considered the fact that the duck had "kissed" the woman. What it the kisses between the duck and the woman got more passionate? Would the duck and the woman eventually become lesbian lovers?
Dream #3
I was at some job which was like a mix of my most recent job with the duties of a lot of my past jobs. I had been set on some task. But I was wearing really dirty clothes. I may also have been wearing women's clothes, maybe even just women's lingerie. I really needed to change my clothes before I got to work on my task.
So I walked into the living room of some townhome or ground level apartment unit. The living room was small and well furnished, but also cluttered with a bunch of neglected belongings. I had a backpack full of clothes.
I began trying to pull clothes out of the backpack. But every time I began to pull something out, I'd hesitate. I had pairs of men's underwear, but they all seemed to be dirty and sour in really gross ways. Some may even have been hard with filth. I had a bad feeling I'd just have to wear one of these pairs of dirty underwear. I'd hope nobody would smell or see or notice in some other way how disgusting my underwear was.
My emotions or focus shifted, and suddenly I was just getting ready to walk out the door, like I was fully dressed and ready to go. I slung my backpack over my right shoulder. As I headed toward the door, opened it, and looked down at some turned-off lamp on an end table next to the door, I had some conversation in my head.
The conversation seemed to be partly me talking to myself about a conversation and partly the actual conversation, which involved a group of people who studied mysticism with Carlos Castaneda. These people were saying that Castaneda was the greatest magician of all time. But that qualification would get mixed up with saying that Castaneda was the greatest Research Analyst of all time. And that statement would get mixed up with my co-workers saying that I was the greatest Research Analyst of all time.
Dream #4
I was looking at a catalog that was kind of done up like a porn magazine. But it was really something like a monthly who's who of sex and fetish in every state in the United States. The pages were a brick red kind of color, and there were grids of photos on each page. Most of the photos showed attractive women wearing lingerie or bikinis. The women were usually sitting, but in very seductive poses. Below each photo was a description of the woman and her particular fetish. At the top of each page was yellow, script-like writing in a kind of "California cool" style.
I flipped to the Colorado section, hoping to find a woman who would be into transvestites or adult babies. But, for some reason, the more I looked through the Colorado section, the more afraid I got. I felt some sense of danger regarding the women. I can't remember what the sense of danger came from. I may have seen or thought that some of the women were actually men dressed as women.
But there was something else I was afraid of -- like contacting any of these women would lead either to my personal information being stolen, or to scandalous information about me being shared on a wide scale. I even began to feel like just looking at the pictures of the women and men would somehow "transmit" my information to whatever place was ready to hurt me.
I quickly flipped to some other section of the catalog. I think I allowed myself to feel attracted to the girls in this section of the catalog. But I think that after a moment, I may have become bored with the catalog and put it away.
Monday, July 30, 2012
stalker and sniper; david bowie in pandora's box; la derniere 3
Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
I was riding in a big, white, 1970s style car with some other person. I'm not sure, but I think the driver was a man. I was mainly in the backseat, on the passenger side, though I think I was also sometimes in the front seat on the passenger side. We were driving through some area that was like the outskirts of a town, with hills and forested areas. But there was also a huge parking lot for some shopping center. It was probably late afternoon, and the day may have felt a little cold.
Somehow the person who was driving had figured out that another car in front of us was actually stalking us. The driver of the car may have been a woman in her fifties or sixties, still in pretty good shape, but a little worn-out looking, with shaggy, pale blonde hair that was black at the roots. The woman was driving a more modern car than our car. It may have been more of a 1990s style, with a roundish, but long, body. But I think it was also white.
I knew (I don't think the driver told me) that the driver had figured out that this woman had been keeping a steady pace in front of us the whole time, always gauging where we were going to turn and then turning in that direction. I may also have known that this woman was working for a man who was about her age, and that the two people were working for some larger group of people who assigned people to stalk other people.
We were nearing the parking lot to the shopping center (or a Walmart?). The driver told me we were going to make it look like we were heading into the shopping center. As soon as the woman had gotten fully pulled into the shopping center, we were just going to drive away. This way, even if we didn't lose the woman, we could still know for sure that she was stalking us when she started following us from behind.
So we lost the woman in the parking lot. The parking lot was on a slope. We drove up the slope, then turned right. On our left side was forested area. On our right was the slope leading down to the shopping center. We drove a ways farther, then turned right again. We headed back down the slope, still driving alongside the shopping center.
At the bottom of the slope we continued forward. I think we had been planning to go somewhere in particular. But we'd had to throw the stalker off our trail first. Even though we seemed to have done that, the driver still thought it was a good idea for us to drive around in a diverted path before we'd headed to the place we had to head to, just to make sure nobody else was following us and would be led to wherever we were trying to go.
So we drove straight forward, into a neighborhood that the driver said was really bad. A couple blocks into the neighborhood we turned left. We drove through a neighborhood of two- or three-story apartment complexes. The sun had gone down over the horizon, and everything in the neighborhood looked grey-blue. But some of the apartments actually were a worn-out, faded shaded of turquoise, which looked even worse in the evening dimness. The trees were possibly barren, like it was late autumn.
The driver told me there were snipers in the neighborhood. I don't remember how the driver knew this. The driver may have seen a sniper in one of the buildings, or we may actually have gotten shot at. I think I could see a sniper in my mind's eye. The driver may have told me to keep cover as well as I could. I crouched down low onto the floor of the backseat, though still keeping my head peeped just a little above the backseat. I was really scared.
Dream #2
I was part of a play. The play may have been just a two-person play. At first, I may have thought that I was part of a rehearsal. For some reason, as part of this rehearsal, I had to be under a dark green sheet. The stage was small, and not elevated too high from the ground. I lay crouched on all fours under this sheet. The other actor sat beside me, addressing the crowd.
The other actor had some long monologue. I knew that I also had lines. But I'm not sure when I was supposed to say them. But as the other actor continued his monologue, he somehow gave me signs that I was supposed to emerge slowly from under the sheet. At this point I saw that the actor beside me was David Bowie. He looked kind of young. He was pale, and he had red-dyed hair.
I think that as I slowly emerged from the sheet I'd come to understand that I hadn't really been under the sheet as part of the play. David Bowie/the actor had actually kept me under the sheet as some kind of protection for me. It was like he didn't think I could stand to see the audience or something.
I looked out at the audience. This wasn't a rehearsal. It was an actual performance, and there was a full audience. The audience sat about five meters away from the stage. The stage was just a small, black square set against a black wall, on a platform maybe 25cm tall. Between the stage and the audience was just bare, black floor. The audience sat in folding chairs in somewhat steeply tiered rows of bleachers. The spotlights on the stage reflected out on the audience, so I could dimly see the people out there.
I stopped uncovering myself when I had the sheet just below my shoulders. I was in some awkward half-laying, half-crouching position, leaned sideways, with my head pointed toward David Bowie. There may have been more dark green sheets nearby.
Bowie continued with his monologue. I knew I had lines. But I didn't know when Bowie would actually cue me to say them. In fact, I was getting the feeling he was expressly not having me say my lines. My old friend R was in the audience. (When I thought of R I saw a balding, heavyset man in the audience.) If I spoke, R would know I was the character beside Bowie. He would then be jealous of me and try to ruin the show to spite me. So Bowie kept me quiet. In fear of being discovered, I had actually started chewing on the green sheet. But I still wanted to say my lines.
But now the play was over. Bowie asked everybody in the audience to give a critique of the play. One man, an older, balding white man, kind of wealthy looking, with a thin, slightly leathery and wrinkly face, and wearing a blazer, cardigan, and tie, was the only person to speak. As he spoke, I got a closer and closer view of his face. It was like his chair was right in front of the stage. But then it was like I saw his face in full closeup. At that point, all the wrinkles of his face were highlighted by something like black pencil or marker.
The man said something like, "You know, after all, this is 'Pandora's Box.' And there's a theme to this story. You should at least keep to the theme. There are things that happen in the story, and there are characters involved in the story. But you didn't have any of that.
"And... I know, maybe it's just the Hollywood style, but... you made the whole thing about sex. If you just took out the focus on sex and you just made the story fit with what the real story of Pandora's Box is all about, it might make a lot more sense to people."
I felt vindicated that the man had criticized the play. I was still bitter about not having been able to speak my lines. Any criticism of Bowie seemed like a blow in favor of the idea that I should have been allowed to speak my lines. But the man hadn't really mentioned me, or the fact that I should have been allowed to speak. I had to admit that. I also had an idea that the man would have criticized us no matter what. He just seemed to enjoy tearing people down.
We were now standing backstage. I stood off by myself, staring down at a dancer's balance pole, one of the horizontal bars fastened to a wall, usually accompanied by a wall-length mirror, so a dancer can watch their movements and balance herself as she practices. But as I looked at the pole, it became a long, green object, like a huge leaf, elongated to the size of a balance bar. The leaf was curled up in half. Along the bottom, inner side of the leaf things were written in pen. The one thing I remember was the year "1825."
I now turned to look at the rest of the room. It was a kind of big room. Off to my left, along the same wall with the balance bar, was a door leading outside. A lot of performers were walking out that door -- as if our play had actually used a whole lot of performers, some of them young females in black leotards and tight hairdos, like dancers. Across the way from that door was a dim doorway into some other room, like a seldom used prop-room.
David Bowie walked out of that room. He now stood before the man who'd criticized our performance. But now Bowie was short, maybe coming up only to the man's shoulders. He was kind of muscly and stocky, too. And his skin was all painted a greasy dark blue! His hair, a wiry, dusty-tan color, was done in a spiky flat-top on top. But the back of his hair was done in a thin braid that reached all the way down his back. Bowie wore no shirt, only a pair of shorts.
Bowie walked up to the man. He explained something to the man about the year 1825. In that year, Bowie explained, a very influential artist (someone specific, maybe a pre-Raphaelite, but I can't remember who) had decided that all artists should strip themselves of past influences. In doing so, artists would find ways to express themselves truly and purely, without bogging themselves down with cultural references.
Bowie explained how he came directly from that school. He said the title of his show, "Pandora's Box," was simply meant as an inspiration to the drama of his show. The drama wasn't supposed to coincide with Pandora's Box at all. And the show was supposed to be sexual, because Bowie felt that sexuality was true expression.
Bowie was saying all of this in a matter-of-fact, but apologetic, manner. The man was listening patiently and indifferently, as if he were by this time rather used to listening to artists justify themselves.
Dream #3
I was walking down a hallway in a movie theater. The hallway had orange or yellow walls and orange carpet. I headed down into a smaller hallway, just outside the theater where the movie I had come to see was playing.
A man and woman stood outside the theater. The man asked the woman about whether she'd seen certain movie. The woman said no. The man kind of bragged about how good the movie was (to make the woman feel bad she hadn't seen it). The man then said, "But what's crazy about it, is that the movie was so good, and already they're on the third movie of the series. In fact, that's what's playing in this theater. La Derniere 3."
I don't think I'd known -- or questioned! -- what movie I was heading to. But now that I heard that this theater was playing a film called La Derniere 3, I wondered whether I'd wanted to come to see it. It sounded like an action film. In fact, just over the door was a strip with the movie's title and an image from the movie poster. The image showed a contemporary woman riding on the back of a man who was shooting a big handgun as he swung on a rope away from a big explosion.
I decided to head into the movie anyway. I don't think I knew where else I could have gone. My view then shifted to a different movie. A young, blonde man with tan skin and shaggy hair walked into his family's house. His mother was in the house. The man and his mother were in a kitchen or a sun room. Either way, the room was very airy and filled with natural light, like there were windows all over the place, and there seemed to be plants everywhere.
The young man somehow let his mother know that he had been attacked and drugged by a group of people. He seemed to be afraid of the consequences of having been drugged. Either he was afraid he'd been drugged with something really addictive, so he'd have to go through a painful withdrawal, or else he was going to take some kind of drug test, and he was worried that the results of the test would be bad. The young man was ashamed to talk to his mom about all this, but he knew he had to.
The mom said the best way to tell if the young man would be alright would be to look at the young man's eyes. The young man's eyes were all scratchy and yellow. At first this didn't seem like a good sign. The man was really worried. I was worried, too. But on second glance, I think the mother decided that everything would likely be okay.
***
UPDATE: Added drawing to dream #2, July 30, 2012, 2:12 PM, Mountain Standard Time.
Dream #1
I was riding in a big, white, 1970s style car with some other person. I'm not sure, but I think the driver was a man. I was mainly in the backseat, on the passenger side, though I think I was also sometimes in the front seat on the passenger side. We were driving through some area that was like the outskirts of a town, with hills and forested areas. But there was also a huge parking lot for some shopping center. It was probably late afternoon, and the day may have felt a little cold.
Somehow the person who was driving had figured out that another car in front of us was actually stalking us. The driver of the car may have been a woman in her fifties or sixties, still in pretty good shape, but a little worn-out looking, with shaggy, pale blonde hair that was black at the roots. The woman was driving a more modern car than our car. It may have been more of a 1990s style, with a roundish, but long, body. But I think it was also white.
I knew (I don't think the driver told me) that the driver had figured out that this woman had been keeping a steady pace in front of us the whole time, always gauging where we were going to turn and then turning in that direction. I may also have known that this woman was working for a man who was about her age, and that the two people were working for some larger group of people who assigned people to stalk other people.
We were nearing the parking lot to the shopping center (or a Walmart?). The driver told me we were going to make it look like we were heading into the shopping center. As soon as the woman had gotten fully pulled into the shopping center, we were just going to drive away. This way, even if we didn't lose the woman, we could still know for sure that she was stalking us when she started following us from behind.
So we lost the woman in the parking lot. The parking lot was on a slope. We drove up the slope, then turned right. On our left side was forested area. On our right was the slope leading down to the shopping center. We drove a ways farther, then turned right again. We headed back down the slope, still driving alongside the shopping center.
At the bottom of the slope we continued forward. I think we had been planning to go somewhere in particular. But we'd had to throw the stalker off our trail first. Even though we seemed to have done that, the driver still thought it was a good idea for us to drive around in a diverted path before we'd headed to the place we had to head to, just to make sure nobody else was following us and would be led to wherever we were trying to go.
So we drove straight forward, into a neighborhood that the driver said was really bad. A couple blocks into the neighborhood we turned left. We drove through a neighborhood of two- or three-story apartment complexes. The sun had gone down over the horizon, and everything in the neighborhood looked grey-blue. But some of the apartments actually were a worn-out, faded shaded of turquoise, which looked even worse in the evening dimness. The trees were possibly barren, like it was late autumn.
The driver told me there were snipers in the neighborhood. I don't remember how the driver knew this. The driver may have seen a sniper in one of the buildings, or we may actually have gotten shot at. I think I could see a sniper in my mind's eye. The driver may have told me to keep cover as well as I could. I crouched down low onto the floor of the backseat, though still keeping my head peeped just a little above the backseat. I was really scared.
Dream #2
I was part of a play. The play may have been just a two-person play. At first, I may have thought that I was part of a rehearsal. For some reason, as part of this rehearsal, I had to be under a dark green sheet. The stage was small, and not elevated too high from the ground. I lay crouched on all fours under this sheet. The other actor sat beside me, addressing the crowd.
The other actor had some long monologue. I knew that I also had lines. But I'm not sure when I was supposed to say them. But as the other actor continued his monologue, he somehow gave me signs that I was supposed to emerge slowly from under the sheet. At this point I saw that the actor beside me was David Bowie. He looked kind of young. He was pale, and he had red-dyed hair.
I think that as I slowly emerged from the sheet I'd come to understand that I hadn't really been under the sheet as part of the play. David Bowie/the actor had actually kept me under the sheet as some kind of protection for me. It was like he didn't think I could stand to see the audience or something.
I looked out at the audience. This wasn't a rehearsal. It was an actual performance, and there was a full audience. The audience sat about five meters away from the stage. The stage was just a small, black square set against a black wall, on a platform maybe 25cm tall. Between the stage and the audience was just bare, black floor. The audience sat in folding chairs in somewhat steeply tiered rows of bleachers. The spotlights on the stage reflected out on the audience, so I could dimly see the people out there.
I stopped uncovering myself when I had the sheet just below my shoulders. I was in some awkward half-laying, half-crouching position, leaned sideways, with my head pointed toward David Bowie. There may have been more dark green sheets nearby.
Bowie continued with his monologue. I knew I had lines. But I didn't know when Bowie would actually cue me to say them. In fact, I was getting the feeling he was expressly not having me say my lines. My old friend R was in the audience. (When I thought of R I saw a balding, heavyset man in the audience.) If I spoke, R would know I was the character beside Bowie. He would then be jealous of me and try to ruin the show to spite me. So Bowie kept me quiet. In fear of being discovered, I had actually started chewing on the green sheet. But I still wanted to say my lines.
But now the play was over. Bowie asked everybody in the audience to give a critique of the play. One man, an older, balding white man, kind of wealthy looking, with a thin, slightly leathery and wrinkly face, and wearing a blazer, cardigan, and tie, was the only person to speak. As he spoke, I got a closer and closer view of his face. It was like his chair was right in front of the stage. But then it was like I saw his face in full closeup. At that point, all the wrinkles of his face were highlighted by something like black pencil or marker.
The man said something like, "You know, after all, this is 'Pandora's Box.' And there's a theme to this story. You should at least keep to the theme. There are things that happen in the story, and there are characters involved in the story. But you didn't have any of that.
"And... I know, maybe it's just the Hollywood style, but... you made the whole thing about sex. If you just took out the focus on sex and you just made the story fit with what the real story of Pandora's Box is all about, it might make a lot more sense to people."
I felt vindicated that the man had criticized the play. I was still bitter about not having been able to speak my lines. Any criticism of Bowie seemed like a blow in favor of the idea that I should have been allowed to speak my lines. But the man hadn't really mentioned me, or the fact that I should have been allowed to speak. I had to admit that. I also had an idea that the man would have criticized us no matter what. He just seemed to enjoy tearing people down.
We were now standing backstage. I stood off by myself, staring down at a dancer's balance pole, one of the horizontal bars fastened to a wall, usually accompanied by a wall-length mirror, so a dancer can watch their movements and balance herself as she practices. But as I looked at the pole, it became a long, green object, like a huge leaf, elongated to the size of a balance bar. The leaf was curled up in half. Along the bottom, inner side of the leaf things were written in pen. The one thing I remember was the year "1825."
I now turned to look at the rest of the room. It was a kind of big room. Off to my left, along the same wall with the balance bar, was a door leading outside. A lot of performers were walking out that door -- as if our play had actually used a whole lot of performers, some of them young females in black leotards and tight hairdos, like dancers. Across the way from that door was a dim doorway into some other room, like a seldom used prop-room.
David Bowie walked out of that room. He now stood before the man who'd criticized our performance. But now Bowie was short, maybe coming up only to the man's shoulders. He was kind of muscly and stocky, too. And his skin was all painted a greasy dark blue! His hair, a wiry, dusty-tan color, was done in a spiky flat-top on top. But the back of his hair was done in a thin braid that reached all the way down his back. Bowie wore no shirt, only a pair of shorts.
Bowie walked up to the man. He explained something to the man about the year 1825. In that year, Bowie explained, a very influential artist (someone specific, maybe a pre-Raphaelite, but I can't remember who) had decided that all artists should strip themselves of past influences. In doing so, artists would find ways to express themselves truly and purely, without bogging themselves down with cultural references.
Bowie explained how he came directly from that school. He said the title of his show, "Pandora's Box," was simply meant as an inspiration to the drama of his show. The drama wasn't supposed to coincide with Pandora's Box at all. And the show was supposed to be sexual, because Bowie felt that sexuality was true expression.
Bowie was saying all of this in a matter-of-fact, but apologetic, manner. The man was listening patiently and indifferently, as if he were by this time rather used to listening to artists justify themselves.
Dream #3
I was walking down a hallway in a movie theater. The hallway had orange or yellow walls and orange carpet. I headed down into a smaller hallway, just outside the theater where the movie I had come to see was playing.
A man and woman stood outside the theater. The man asked the woman about whether she'd seen certain movie. The woman said no. The man kind of bragged about how good the movie was (to make the woman feel bad she hadn't seen it). The man then said, "But what's crazy about it, is that the movie was so good, and already they're on the third movie of the series. In fact, that's what's playing in this theater. La Derniere 3."
I don't think I'd known -- or questioned! -- what movie I was heading to. But now that I heard that this theater was playing a film called La Derniere 3, I wondered whether I'd wanted to come to see it. It sounded like an action film. In fact, just over the door was a strip with the movie's title and an image from the movie poster. The image showed a contemporary woman riding on the back of a man who was shooting a big handgun as he swung on a rope away from a big explosion.
I decided to head into the movie anyway. I don't think I knew where else I could have gone. My view then shifted to a different movie. A young, blonde man with tan skin and shaggy hair walked into his family's house. His mother was in the house. The man and his mother were in a kitchen or a sun room. Either way, the room was very airy and filled with natural light, like there were windows all over the place, and there seemed to be plants everywhere.
The young man somehow let his mother know that he had been attacked and drugged by a group of people. He seemed to be afraid of the consequences of having been drugged. Either he was afraid he'd been drugged with something really addictive, so he'd have to go through a painful withdrawal, or else he was going to take some kind of drug test, and he was worried that the results of the test would be bad. The young man was ashamed to talk to his mom about all this, but he knew he had to.
The mom said the best way to tell if the young man would be alright would be to look at the young man's eyes. The young man's eyes were all scratchy and yellow. At first this didn't seem like a good sign. The man was really worried. I was worried, too. But on second glance, I think the mother decided that everything would likely be okay.
***
UPDATE: Added drawing to dream #2, July 30, 2012, 2:12 PM, Mountain Standard Time.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
stalker plane; mom gives me money
Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
It was night. I had just come from somewhere else, doing something else. I was now walking along a sidewalk. I was either waiting for someone to come give me a new task, or I was waiting to walk to a place where I would be given a new task.
I didn't know what the task would be. But I must have had some idea. I told myself that it would be good preparation for the task if I would practice some flying.
I was walking past wide, leafy tree. Under the canopy of the tree, along the sidewalk, were a few stray rocks, each maybe about 15cm wide and 8cm tall. I stepped onto one of these rocks to get some kind of launching momentum. I then lifted up off the sidewalk.
I flew up to about the top of the tree canopy. I then flew around the tree, moving counterclockwise. Around the back end of the tree, the side not facing the sidewalk, there were a lot of other trees. I felt a little closed in.
Flying back around toward the sidewalk, I considered flying higher. I figured I'd fly away and explore some places. But I told myself not to. I landed on the sidewalk, telling myself I was worried about my task, and that my task was something different from flying. Maybe my task wouldn't even have anything to do with flying.
I turned up toward my right, opposite the direction I'd been heading in before I'd started flying. It was now like I was heading home for the evening.
But I now saw, up a small slope from me, and near some railroad tracks, a group of four guys. Some of the guys may have been young. But the ones I could see clearly looked like they were in their forties or fifties. They didn't look transient, but they were shabbily dressed. It was more like their dress was part of a look they gave themselves, in order to hide themselves from view.
I realized this group of guys may have been a group of stalkers. These stalkers may have been assigned to follow me around. They may even have been set up so they were living in my apartment building.
I decided to see whether these guys were really following me. I turned around and walked in the opposite direction. I walked a ways, then quickly turned around. Two of the guys definitely were following me. The other two seemed to be standing up near the railroad tracks, as if they were stationed there to wait for me to make any moves back toward the apartment.
I got really angry. I went charging at the two men who were following me. Somehow I made it clear to the men that I knew they were following me. I also made it clear that if they followed me anymore, I'd hurt them. Both the men, up close, were kind of afraid of me. They decided that they'd just keep walking in the direction they'd been following me in.
I continued up the slope. I kept a look over my shoulder the whole time, waiting for the men to start following me again.
I walked into an airplane cabin, which I may have thought of at first as a train car. I knew I got onto this airplane all the time. I knew the men probably knew it, too. So I still wanted to keep an eye out for them.
I got into a window seat on the left side of the cabin, about midway through the cabin. Somehow I had made it so that these seats sat up really high. It was like all the seats in the cabin were sliding seats that you could slide up or down the wall. I slid mine as far up as I could. This way, I told myself, I could look all the way up and down the cabin, always having a bird's eye view, to see whether the men were coming after me.
A pretty, though kind of boyish-looking, female flight attendant walked in front of me. The woman had short, brown hair and olive-colored skin. She had dark eyes, and she wore a bit of mascara. Her face was a little round and chubby. She wore a red vest, a white shirt, and black slacks. I thought she was cute.
Before, I had had seats in front of me. But now it was like I didn't have any seats in front of me. I faced some kind of wall with a window-like hole in it. Beyond the window-like hole was some area like a little locker room or storage area for all the flight attendants' things. It may also have been like a break area for the flight attendants.
The woman walked past me, then around the wall and into the break area. She put down a compact disc player Walkman and headphones. Along with the CD Walkman, the girl had a few CDs. I was trying to see what CDs she had. I figured I could either learn some new bands from the girl, or else strike up a conversation about some of the bands we may both have liked.
Dream #2
I was somewhere, I'm not sure where, but possibly at my family's house, or possibly at some house. I had probably been standing outside the house with some other people, most likely my immediate family members. But now everybody was heading inside.
But my mom stopped me before I headed inside. My mom and I were now the only ones outside. My mom handed me either one or two stacks of money. The stacks were each pretty big, and densely piled with paper money bills. The bills may have been huge, too, like fake novelty money rather than real money.
My mom told me that she wanted me to hold on to all this money. She had plans for all this money, but she couldn't carry out her plans for the money until she had a little more saved up. But she wasn't good enough at saving. So I'd have to save for her. So could I please hold on to all this money for her?
But there was also something about the money, as if she were giving it to me because she owed it to me. That seemed kind of odd. As far as I could remember, she didn't owe me any money. Quite the opposite. she'd paid for me to come back home when I'd been penniless in New York. I'd been paying her back for my travel expenses home. I didn't have any plans of stopping giving her money any time soon.
But I took the money, and my mom and I headed inside.
Dream #1
It was night. I had just come from somewhere else, doing something else. I was now walking along a sidewalk. I was either waiting for someone to come give me a new task, or I was waiting to walk to a place where I would be given a new task.
I didn't know what the task would be. But I must have had some idea. I told myself that it would be good preparation for the task if I would practice some flying.
I was walking past wide, leafy tree. Under the canopy of the tree, along the sidewalk, were a few stray rocks, each maybe about 15cm wide and 8cm tall. I stepped onto one of these rocks to get some kind of launching momentum. I then lifted up off the sidewalk.
I flew up to about the top of the tree canopy. I then flew around the tree, moving counterclockwise. Around the back end of the tree, the side not facing the sidewalk, there were a lot of other trees. I felt a little closed in.
Flying back around toward the sidewalk, I considered flying higher. I figured I'd fly away and explore some places. But I told myself not to. I landed on the sidewalk, telling myself I was worried about my task, and that my task was something different from flying. Maybe my task wouldn't even have anything to do with flying.
I turned up toward my right, opposite the direction I'd been heading in before I'd started flying. It was now like I was heading home for the evening.
But I now saw, up a small slope from me, and near some railroad tracks, a group of four guys. Some of the guys may have been young. But the ones I could see clearly looked like they were in their forties or fifties. They didn't look transient, but they were shabbily dressed. It was more like their dress was part of a look they gave themselves, in order to hide themselves from view.
I realized this group of guys may have been a group of stalkers. These stalkers may have been assigned to follow me around. They may even have been set up so they were living in my apartment building.
I decided to see whether these guys were really following me. I turned around and walked in the opposite direction. I walked a ways, then quickly turned around. Two of the guys definitely were following me. The other two seemed to be standing up near the railroad tracks, as if they were stationed there to wait for me to make any moves back toward the apartment.
I got really angry. I went charging at the two men who were following me. Somehow I made it clear to the men that I knew they were following me. I also made it clear that if they followed me anymore, I'd hurt them. Both the men, up close, were kind of afraid of me. They decided that they'd just keep walking in the direction they'd been following me in.
I continued up the slope. I kept a look over my shoulder the whole time, waiting for the men to start following me again.
I walked into an airplane cabin, which I may have thought of at first as a train car. I knew I got onto this airplane all the time. I knew the men probably knew it, too. So I still wanted to keep an eye out for them.
I got into a window seat on the left side of the cabin, about midway through the cabin. Somehow I had made it so that these seats sat up really high. It was like all the seats in the cabin were sliding seats that you could slide up or down the wall. I slid mine as far up as I could. This way, I told myself, I could look all the way up and down the cabin, always having a bird's eye view, to see whether the men were coming after me.
A pretty, though kind of boyish-looking, female flight attendant walked in front of me. The woman had short, brown hair and olive-colored skin. She had dark eyes, and she wore a bit of mascara. Her face was a little round and chubby. She wore a red vest, a white shirt, and black slacks. I thought she was cute.
Before, I had had seats in front of me. But now it was like I didn't have any seats in front of me. I faced some kind of wall with a window-like hole in it. Beyond the window-like hole was some area like a little locker room or storage area for all the flight attendants' things. It may also have been like a break area for the flight attendants.
The woman walked past me, then around the wall and into the break area. She put down a compact disc player Walkman and headphones. Along with the CD Walkman, the girl had a few CDs. I was trying to see what CDs she had. I figured I could either learn some new bands from the girl, or else strike up a conversation about some of the bands we may both have liked.
Dream #2
I was somewhere, I'm not sure where, but possibly at my family's house, or possibly at some house. I had probably been standing outside the house with some other people, most likely my immediate family members. But now everybody was heading inside.
But my mom stopped me before I headed inside. My mom and I were now the only ones outside. My mom handed me either one or two stacks of money. The stacks were each pretty big, and densely piled with paper money bills. The bills may have been huge, too, like fake novelty money rather than real money.
My mom told me that she wanted me to hold on to all this money. She had plans for all this money, but she couldn't carry out her plans for the money until she had a little more saved up. But she wasn't good enough at saving. So I'd have to save for her. So could I please hold on to all this money for her?
But there was also something about the money, as if she were giving it to me because she owed it to me. That seemed kind of odd. As far as I could remember, she didn't owe me any money. Quite the opposite. she'd paid for me to come back home when I'd been penniless in New York. I'd been paying her back for my travel expenses home. I didn't have any plans of stopping giving her money any time soon.
But I took the money, and my mom and I headed inside.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
stormy beach stalker; spitting on trees; lobotomy girl
Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
It was an electric grey day, with dark, low hanging clouds in the sky. I was out on a long, straight road in some residential neighborhood, possibly like Far Rockaway. The street was wide, with big, grassy medians running down it. I was heading to a beach at the end of this long street.
I walked along some sidewalk on the left side of the street. The sidewalk had scaffolding maybe seven or eight meters tall built over it like a tunnel. I wasn't quite in the tunnel of scaffolding, I think, even though I could see into it.
Hanging out in the scaffolding tunnel was a tall man with dark brown skin and frizzy, golden-red-brown hair done in small, fro-like spikes. The man wore a white adidas jacket with green stipes running down the sides of the sleeves.
The man had at first been laying in the scaffolding tunnel. But when he saw me he started, like he was going to harass me if I passed him. I decided to get as far away from the tunnel as I could. I crossed over to the right side of the street, on the other side of the grassy medians.
The man followed me. But I had managed to get moved across the street quickly while he was still getting up. So he was a good distance behind me. I thought that if I could just get to the beach I'd be safe.
But now I saw down the street, about two blocks away -- about two hundred meters away -- a man in a wheelchair. He was white, kind of overweight, and he had a bald crown with long, white hair on the sides and a long, white beard. He wore black clothes and black sunglasses. He may also have worn a vest or jacket that somehow indicated he'd been in the Vietnam War. He seemed to be using a motorized wheelchair.
The man at first seemed to be all by himself, just rolling around in his motorized wheelchair in the middle of the street. But then there was another person with him, someone who may have looked like the man who was following me.
I realized that perhaps that the man who was following me from behind was in league with the man in the wheelchair and his friend. Somehow news had been passed along that I was walking down this street. Now there were a bunch of guys out on the street, getting ready to follow me around. I was under suspicion of something by some group. So whenever I passed within range of that group, I would be followed by its members.
I managed to pass the man in the wheelchair easily. But the man in the white jacket was still following me. He seemed to be walking even more quickly now.
But I was much closer to the beach. The street ended in something like a culdesac. A short concrete path ran between the houses at the end of the culdesac. The beach was on the other side of that culdesac.
But the man seemed to be closing in on me. I thought he was planning to attack me on the concrete path, where fewer people could see me. So when I got to the concrete path, I actually ran across it, getting onto the beach as soon as I could.
Out on the beach, the clouds were even heavier. There was also a bit of a breeze. But there were also a decent amount of people out on the beach. It mostly seemed like mothers and their little daughters. They all seemed to be up at the back of the beach, instead of out near the water.
The man hurried out onto the beach. But when he saw the other people out there, he stopped running. He was standing right by a group of a couple of mothers and daughters. He didn't see me for a moment. He looked left and right.
I turned and stared directly at the man. I knew something about my stare would alert the mothers to the fact that I knew this guy was stalking me. The mothers took some sort of unspoken attitude toward the man. The man began to feel that he was in a bad environment for pursuing me. So he acted like he wasn't concerned with me. He turned off to the left and began walking away.
I turned off to the right and began walking in the other direction. It seemed like, in my direction, there were no people at all.
Dream #2
I was walking down a number of sidewalks in a suburban, but really busy, area. There were trees along a lot of curbs. I had the task of spitting on the trees. I had to spit on the trees right at their bases, where the root ground pushes above the ground. Something about my doing this would benefit the trees.
In some instances I got really close to the trees as I spat on them. This was just because the trees were close. But I wondered if spitting on the trees from so close was beneficial. I thought I might have to spit from farther away.
But later I was walking up some kind of slope. There were a lot of cars all around. It seemed to be late afternoon, in cool, grey-blue light, just after the sun had set. I was on the corner of some street with a parking lot for some small office complex.
On the corner of the block was a big tree. But the way the sidewalk and tree were set into the curb and relative to each other, I had no other choice but to spit on the tree from a far distance. I wondered if that would help the tree or be bad for it.
I also may have begun to wonder whether people would think I was being really gross and inappropriate for walking all over town, spitting on trees. I myself may have wondered whether I was really doing something good, or whether I had actually just decided at some point earlier on to be lewd by spitting on every tree I passed.
Dream #3
The face of a woman took up almost my entire field of view. The woman was young, with fair, white skin and brown hair. She had pale, blue eyes, which were open very wide.
Some man out of my view, either myself or some other man, spoke to the woman. I could hear the man's voice, but it was like I was hearing it through plugged up ears, like when I have a really bad head cold.
The man asked the woman if she thought that her getting a lobotomy was a good idea. The woman said, "Yes."
Dream #1
It was an electric grey day, with dark, low hanging clouds in the sky. I was out on a long, straight road in some residential neighborhood, possibly like Far Rockaway. The street was wide, with big, grassy medians running down it. I was heading to a beach at the end of this long street.
I walked along some sidewalk on the left side of the street. The sidewalk had scaffolding maybe seven or eight meters tall built over it like a tunnel. I wasn't quite in the tunnel of scaffolding, I think, even though I could see into it.
Hanging out in the scaffolding tunnel was a tall man with dark brown skin and frizzy, golden-red-brown hair done in small, fro-like spikes. The man wore a white adidas jacket with green stipes running down the sides of the sleeves.
The man had at first been laying in the scaffolding tunnel. But when he saw me he started, like he was going to harass me if I passed him. I decided to get as far away from the tunnel as I could. I crossed over to the right side of the street, on the other side of the grassy medians.
The man followed me. But I had managed to get moved across the street quickly while he was still getting up. So he was a good distance behind me. I thought that if I could just get to the beach I'd be safe.
But now I saw down the street, about two blocks away -- about two hundred meters away -- a man in a wheelchair. He was white, kind of overweight, and he had a bald crown with long, white hair on the sides and a long, white beard. He wore black clothes and black sunglasses. He may also have worn a vest or jacket that somehow indicated he'd been in the Vietnam War. He seemed to be using a motorized wheelchair.
The man at first seemed to be all by himself, just rolling around in his motorized wheelchair in the middle of the street. But then there was another person with him, someone who may have looked like the man who was following me.
I realized that perhaps that the man who was following me from behind was in league with the man in the wheelchair and his friend. Somehow news had been passed along that I was walking down this street. Now there were a bunch of guys out on the street, getting ready to follow me around. I was under suspicion of something by some group. So whenever I passed within range of that group, I would be followed by its members.
I managed to pass the man in the wheelchair easily. But the man in the white jacket was still following me. He seemed to be walking even more quickly now.
But I was much closer to the beach. The street ended in something like a culdesac. A short concrete path ran between the houses at the end of the culdesac. The beach was on the other side of that culdesac.
But the man seemed to be closing in on me. I thought he was planning to attack me on the concrete path, where fewer people could see me. So when I got to the concrete path, I actually ran across it, getting onto the beach as soon as I could.
Out on the beach, the clouds were even heavier. There was also a bit of a breeze. But there were also a decent amount of people out on the beach. It mostly seemed like mothers and their little daughters. They all seemed to be up at the back of the beach, instead of out near the water.
The man hurried out onto the beach. But when he saw the other people out there, he stopped running. He was standing right by a group of a couple of mothers and daughters. He didn't see me for a moment. He looked left and right.
I turned and stared directly at the man. I knew something about my stare would alert the mothers to the fact that I knew this guy was stalking me. The mothers took some sort of unspoken attitude toward the man. The man began to feel that he was in a bad environment for pursuing me. So he acted like he wasn't concerned with me. He turned off to the left and began walking away.
I turned off to the right and began walking in the other direction. It seemed like, in my direction, there were no people at all.
Dream #2
I was walking down a number of sidewalks in a suburban, but really busy, area. There were trees along a lot of curbs. I had the task of spitting on the trees. I had to spit on the trees right at their bases, where the root ground pushes above the ground. Something about my doing this would benefit the trees.
In some instances I got really close to the trees as I spat on them. This was just because the trees were close. But I wondered if spitting on the trees from so close was beneficial. I thought I might have to spit from farther away.
But later I was walking up some kind of slope. There were a lot of cars all around. It seemed to be late afternoon, in cool, grey-blue light, just after the sun had set. I was on the corner of some street with a parking lot for some small office complex.
On the corner of the block was a big tree. But the way the sidewalk and tree were set into the curb and relative to each other, I had no other choice but to spit on the tree from a far distance. I wondered if that would help the tree or be bad for it.
I also may have begun to wonder whether people would think I was being really gross and inappropriate for walking all over town, spitting on trees. I myself may have wondered whether I was really doing something good, or whether I had actually just decided at some point earlier on to be lewd by spitting on every tree I passed.
Dream #3
The face of a woman took up almost my entire field of view. The woman was young, with fair, white skin and brown hair. She had pale, blue eyes, which were open very wide.
Some man out of my view, either myself or some other man, spoke to the woman. I could hear the man's voice, but it was like I was hearing it through plugged up ears, like when I have a really bad head cold.
The man asked the woman if she thought that her getting a lobotomy was a good idea. The woman said, "Yes."
Friday, June 8, 2012
diapered and pole walking; looking for quarters
Good morning, everybody
Dream #1
I was out in some area, maybe something like a parking lot or some kind of vacant lot with a really big ditch in it -- but I'm not sure. I think I felt like it was some kind of common social area, maybe even some place like a shopping plaza.
I was now turning back from this place, heading across the street to my apartment, which was in a tall complext of red brick buildings. It was dim, like it was late afternoon, and the air was damp and quiet.
A group of young people were heading in toward the ditch area as I was heading out of it. I may suddenly have noticed something really embarrassing about myself, like I was naked, or I was only wearing a diaper.
I felt like the young people, who all had a scrawny, kind of hungry look, were looking directly at me for one moment. I worried that they would get angry at me for wearing a diaper. In fact, they turned around and followed me back to the apartments. I knew they lived there, too.
Just past the first building in the complex was a big courtyard, surrounded by all the buildings. The courtyard was mostly made of concrete. It had multiple levels, all joined by wide, shallow staircases. There may have been picnic tables and barbequeque pits in places. The whole area, as well as the stairwells and balconies of the buildings, looked pretty run down. There were a lot of young people hanging around.
The young people behind me now passed me up. I had been a little worried that they'd been following me, stalking me so they could hurt me once they'd seen I'd been wearing a diaper. Even after they passed me, I was afraid of them. I thought they were just acting like they'd stopped stalking me, but that they would keep an eye on me, for the perfect time to hurt me.
They all walked so fast. I was afraid that they were far more physically fit than I was. One of the boys, a kind of scraggly-curly haired blonde boy wearing blue jeans and a Superman t-shirt, even jumped up from the concrete of the courtyard up to a second story balcony. I couldn't quite believe it. I had looked away. But when I looked again, he was still up there.
I was afraid and jealous. I tried to convince myself that I had that level of physical strength.
I walked past the courtyard. I was now in some back area, just past the back apartment buildings. I may have been heading to my apartment. The back area was very shaded, as if some highway overpass ran right next to the apartments and blocked the sky's light.
A black boy in his mid to late teens, very skinny, wearing a baggy, white shirt and baggy, tan pants, walked up to me. He was talking to me about one thing. But I knew he was just prepping me to talk about getting me involved in something else, something that could get me in trouble, like drugs.
We walked up some concrete, steel-railed staircase off to my left. I let the boy know, in the least offensive way possible, that I wasn't really looking to get involved in anything with anybody at the moment. I was afraid that the boy would want to hurt me from now on.
I suddenly jumped high up, onto some big, metal railing, like the railing that serves as barrier poles for highway edges. There seemed to be one road to my left, a ways below me, and then either one or two roads up above me. But I was in the open light, the light of grey midday, I think. I was balancing on the pole, walking along. I was surprised that I could jump like that. And I was surprised I could balance.
Dream #2
I was in my bedroom in my apartment. I was thinking I should do laundry, even though it was a weekday, and I usually did laundry on the weekends. But I thought I didn't have any quarters for the laundry machines. I didn't want to go out just to grab change. I hoped I could just find some change in my apartment.
I knelt down in my closet and saw that on the floor, right where the back wall met the floor. I had a stack of three or four quarters. I was really happy. This, added to the quarters I already knew I had, was almost enough for the laundry. But either it still wasn't quite enough, or else I felt like I should have more quarters, just to be on the safe side.
When I looked a bit farther to my left, about 20cm from the stack of quarters, I saw one or two stray quarters. I thought this might be enough for me to do my laundry with. I went to grab the quarters, when suddenly I heard a tapping on my ceiling.
Monday, March 5, 2012
nuclear saucers; doctoral speech stalker; cherry fire; cherry fire 2
Good morning, everybody.
Dream #1
I was in a house with my family. It was daytime, and the house was filled with yellowish natural light. I may have been in the kitchen. All the surfaces in the room were white, tinged yellow with the sunlight.
I may have heard, or I may have been thinking about having heard, some announcement on the radio that there was going to be a nuclear war. Something about the announcement made it seem like nuclear war was inevitable, and that it was going to happen soon, but that it wasn't going to happen now, and it wasn't going to happen without plenty of warning.
But now my oldest nephew ran into the kitchen. He said, "The nuclear war is beginning! They just made the announcement! The missiles are on their way!" My nephew ran through the kitchen and down a stairwell that led to the basement. My mom was down in the basement,and my nephew was going to give my mom the warning, too.
I thought for a moment. How could we escape the blast of a nuclear bomb? Perhaps just staying in the basement would be a good idea. Maybe the basement was deep enough to shield us. But I didn't feel like that was right at all.
After some more reflection, I decided that if the bomb were to hit, we'd all just be screwed. The best thing wasn't to hide. It was just not to act afraid when the final moments came.
But I kept thinking that maybe my nephew was kidding. Maybe he just wanted to play a game on us and panic us. Or maybe he'd heard the news wrong, or heard a bad piece of news.
I looked out the back window. I looked way down, as if I were in a ten-story building, to a valley in the mountains. The valley was like the backyard for this house. But I could feel now that the house was all by itself.
Down in the valley was a flying saucer. It was silvery, and it looked a bit like computer animation. I knew that my nephew had run down into the flying saucer. He was going to fly it, apparently. This showed me he'd been serious about the nuclear missile attack. He was going to fly away and warn everybody he could about our impending doom.
The saucer floated up into the air, wobbling back and forth a little as it rose. It then rather quickly flew off toward the horizon of the yellow sky. But I suddenly realized that I was controlling the flight of the saucer, either with my thoughts or with a machine, as if I were watching a movie.
I kept on rewinding and playing the flight of the saucer, watching it fly away, then pulling it back. I think I even saw glitchy, little lines in my field of view, as if I were watching a VCR tape and had it on pause. I'd convinced myself through this manipulation that all the panic I'd experienced up to this point was just a movie, nothing more.
Dream #2
I was going to see a friend give a speech. My friend's speech was for her doctorate. I don't know whether the speech was so she could get her doctorate, or so she could get into a class that would get her her doctorate.
The room my friend was to give a speech in was about the size of a small classroom. It was really nice, with tall, narrow windows letting in plenty of yellowy sunlight. The room was packed with professional and academic looking people.
Sometimes my friend stood near me, and sometimes I saw her standing and talking to some people. She looked like Julie Potratz, the star of a couple of films by Laurel Nakadate.
An older, Asian woman may have been in charge of everything going on here. Apparently there were going to be a number of speeches given. It was hard for me to tell whether my friend would actually be giving a speech. It seemed like a lot of people were going to give speeches about her work. And one person was even going to give a speech that had been written by my friend. But I couldn't tell whether my friend was going to give a speech herself.
The first speech had begun. My friend and I were standing at our chairs in one of the rows near the front of the audience. But everybody else was standing, and they all seemed so much bigger than we. It was hard to see the podium. I felt crowded in, hidden from everything.
My friend stood to my left. She seemed to be annoyed at me for some reason. To my right stood an Asian woman. She said to my friend, "I know you wished you could stay here. Too bad you have to go in order to catch your flight. You won't have time enough to give your speech after all, it seems."
Some time had passed, and the event had possibly ended. Everybody was now clearing out of the room. I was either myself or my friend. A young man came into the room and asked me if I knew somebody from my past named MA. I said I did. The young man said that that man was part of a group that had been organized to stalk me. The young man was coming clean with the info. He'd been a part of the whole thing. But now he felt I should stop it, if I could.
Either the man had told me or I had just known that MA, or somebody associated with MA, was out in the hallway. I walked outside, into a lobby-like hallway. Right in the hallway was a small, stage-like platform that was about knee-high.
MA sat on the platform, leaning against a column, with his legs stretched out along the platform. He was totally relaxed and complacent. I confronted him and asked him why he'd been stalking me. He just didn't answer.
I got up on the stage and knelt over MA. I began punching him. But he didn't seem to care. I told him that if he wasn't going to stop stalking me, I was going to destroy him physically, right now.
I was still either myself or my female friend. But now MA also looked a lot like my female friend. But I had bashed her face in. She was totally mutilated. I said something to her like, "See? This is what I can do to you if you don't stop!"
By this time I was no longer mad. It was more like I was illustrating something to MA. I pulled some photos out and showed them to her. They were black and white photos of some blonde movie star with her face completely disfigured. In one case, one of her cheeks was missing, exposing her gums -- most of her teeth were gone -- to the camera.
MA stood up and walked away. I was calling after him, talking to him about the photos. Now that I thought about the photos a little, I hoped that I hadn't actually done anything to MA. I hadn't really had proof that MA had been stalking me. Even if I'd had proof, should I really have done something like that to him?
Dream #3
Something about a fire somewhere. The fire had something to do with the name "le.i. revolution" or "le.i. cherry." A woman had given the news out about the fire. She'd been wearing a lot of mascara. Now her eyes had huge, black circles around them. But it wasn't like she'd been crying. It was more like she'd sustained some injury, and been through some kind of flood of water, that had caused her eyes to act in this way.
Dream #4
I was out on the edge of a lake at night. A fire truck that actually looked like a 1950s-style tow truck, was positioned above the water somehow.
The woman was on the roof of the truck, laying on it, stomach down, and clutching to it. Behind her, in the bed of the truck, were all kinds of old, rusty, metal objects. The woman was the same woman from the previous dream: young, blonde, pale, and kind of punky looiking. Her mascara wasn't running all over the place now, though.
The woman had told some man up above her that the "le.i. cherry" or "le.i. revolution" fire had occurred. It had affected the truck in some way. So now the truck was too damaged to use anymore. In fact, it may even have been possible that the truck itself was going to catch fire at any minute.
So the woman was having the man lower the truck down into the lake. The truck was attached by a thick, kind of rusty chain to some huge crane, which was dropping it into the water. The woman clung to the truck's roof, looking back up to the man and saying goodbye to him. The man was kind of fat and old, with a mustache and stubble. But it was plain the woman loved the man and was telling him goodbye.
I yelled to the woman, "Why do you need to die? Why do you even need to drop the truck into the lake? The truck might still work? Why don't you work on the truck and see if you can fix it, instead of just giving up on it?"
The woman said, "No, no. We don't do that. When a ship's going down, a captain goes down with his ship."
I could now see that both the woman and the man were holding to the top of the truck as it was being lowered into the lake. They were both planning to drown themselves with their fire truck. The fact that both the man and the woman were going to kill themselves made me feel less upset about the whole situation.
Dream #1
I was in a house with my family. It was daytime, and the house was filled with yellowish natural light. I may have been in the kitchen. All the surfaces in the room were white, tinged yellow with the sunlight.
I may have heard, or I may have been thinking about having heard, some announcement on the radio that there was going to be a nuclear war. Something about the announcement made it seem like nuclear war was inevitable, and that it was going to happen soon, but that it wasn't going to happen now, and it wasn't going to happen without plenty of warning.
But now my oldest nephew ran into the kitchen. He said, "The nuclear war is beginning! They just made the announcement! The missiles are on their way!" My nephew ran through the kitchen and down a stairwell that led to the basement. My mom was down in the basement,and my nephew was going to give my mom the warning, too.
I thought for a moment. How could we escape the blast of a nuclear bomb? Perhaps just staying in the basement would be a good idea. Maybe the basement was deep enough to shield us. But I didn't feel like that was right at all.
After some more reflection, I decided that if the bomb were to hit, we'd all just be screwed. The best thing wasn't to hide. It was just not to act afraid when the final moments came.
But I kept thinking that maybe my nephew was kidding. Maybe he just wanted to play a game on us and panic us. Or maybe he'd heard the news wrong, or heard a bad piece of news.
I looked out the back window. I looked way down, as if I were in a ten-story building, to a valley in the mountains. The valley was like the backyard for this house. But I could feel now that the house was all by itself.
Down in the valley was a flying saucer. It was silvery, and it looked a bit like computer animation. I knew that my nephew had run down into the flying saucer. He was going to fly it, apparently. This showed me he'd been serious about the nuclear missile attack. He was going to fly away and warn everybody he could about our impending doom.
The saucer floated up into the air, wobbling back and forth a little as it rose. It then rather quickly flew off toward the horizon of the yellow sky. But I suddenly realized that I was controlling the flight of the saucer, either with my thoughts or with a machine, as if I were watching a movie.
I kept on rewinding and playing the flight of the saucer, watching it fly away, then pulling it back. I think I even saw glitchy, little lines in my field of view, as if I were watching a VCR tape and had it on pause. I'd convinced myself through this manipulation that all the panic I'd experienced up to this point was just a movie, nothing more.
Dream #2
I was going to see a friend give a speech. My friend's speech was for her doctorate. I don't know whether the speech was so she could get her doctorate, or so she could get into a class that would get her her doctorate.
The room my friend was to give a speech in was about the size of a small classroom. It was really nice, with tall, narrow windows letting in plenty of yellowy sunlight. The room was packed with professional and academic looking people.
Sometimes my friend stood near me, and sometimes I saw her standing and talking to some people. She looked like Julie Potratz, the star of a couple of films by Laurel Nakadate.
An older, Asian woman may have been in charge of everything going on here. Apparently there were going to be a number of speeches given. It was hard for me to tell whether my friend would actually be giving a speech. It seemed like a lot of people were going to give speeches about her work. And one person was even going to give a speech that had been written by my friend. But I couldn't tell whether my friend was going to give a speech herself.
The first speech had begun. My friend and I were standing at our chairs in one of the rows near the front of the audience. But everybody else was standing, and they all seemed so much bigger than we. It was hard to see the podium. I felt crowded in, hidden from everything.
My friend stood to my left. She seemed to be annoyed at me for some reason. To my right stood an Asian woman. She said to my friend, "I know you wished you could stay here. Too bad you have to go in order to catch your flight. You won't have time enough to give your speech after all, it seems."
Some time had passed, and the event had possibly ended. Everybody was now clearing out of the room. I was either myself or my friend. A young man came into the room and asked me if I knew somebody from my past named MA. I said I did. The young man said that that man was part of a group that had been organized to stalk me. The young man was coming clean with the info. He'd been a part of the whole thing. But now he felt I should stop it, if I could.
Either the man had told me or I had just known that MA, or somebody associated with MA, was out in the hallway. I walked outside, into a lobby-like hallway. Right in the hallway was a small, stage-like platform that was about knee-high.
MA sat on the platform, leaning against a column, with his legs stretched out along the platform. He was totally relaxed and complacent. I confronted him and asked him why he'd been stalking me. He just didn't answer.
I got up on the stage and knelt over MA. I began punching him. But he didn't seem to care. I told him that if he wasn't going to stop stalking me, I was going to destroy him physically, right now.
I was still either myself or my female friend. But now MA also looked a lot like my female friend. But I had bashed her face in. She was totally mutilated. I said something to her like, "See? This is what I can do to you if you don't stop!"
By this time I was no longer mad. It was more like I was illustrating something to MA. I pulled some photos out and showed them to her. They were black and white photos of some blonde movie star with her face completely disfigured. In one case, one of her cheeks was missing, exposing her gums -- most of her teeth were gone -- to the camera.
MA stood up and walked away. I was calling after him, talking to him about the photos. Now that I thought about the photos a little, I hoped that I hadn't actually done anything to MA. I hadn't really had proof that MA had been stalking me. Even if I'd had proof, should I really have done something like that to him?
Dream #3
Something about a fire somewhere. The fire had something to do with the name "le.i. revolution" or "le.i. cherry." A woman had given the news out about the fire. She'd been wearing a lot of mascara. Now her eyes had huge, black circles around them. But it wasn't like she'd been crying. It was more like she'd sustained some injury, and been through some kind of flood of water, that had caused her eyes to act in this way.
Dream #4
I was out on the edge of a lake at night. A fire truck that actually looked like a 1950s-style tow truck, was positioned above the water somehow.
The woman was on the roof of the truck, laying on it, stomach down, and clutching to it. Behind her, in the bed of the truck, were all kinds of old, rusty, metal objects. The woman was the same woman from the previous dream: young, blonde, pale, and kind of punky looiking. Her mascara wasn't running all over the place now, though.
The woman had told some man up above her that the "le.i. cherry" or "le.i. revolution" fire had occurred. It had affected the truck in some way. So now the truck was too damaged to use anymore. In fact, it may even have been possible that the truck itself was going to catch fire at any minute.
So the woman was having the man lower the truck down into the lake. The truck was attached by a thick, kind of rusty chain to some huge crane, which was dropping it into the water. The woman clung to the truck's roof, looking back up to the man and saying goodbye to him. The man was kind of fat and old, with a mustache and stubble. But it was plain the woman loved the man and was telling him goodbye.
I yelled to the woman, "Why do you need to die? Why do you even need to drop the truck into the lake? The truck might still work? Why don't you work on the truck and see if you can fix it, instead of just giving up on it?"
The woman said, "No, no. We don't do that. When a ship's going down, a captain goes down with his ship."
I could now see that both the woman and the man were holding to the top of the truck as it was being lowered into the lake. They were both planning to drown themselves with their fire truck. The fact that both the man and the woman were going to kill themselves made me feel less upset about the whole situation.
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