mom is claiming me; kurt cobain's sculpture garden

Dream #1

I was at some house, possibly my family's house. My mom seemed to be getting her taxes in order so she could file them. I had apparently been getting my taxes in order, too.

But now my mom asked me to give her one of my W2s. She said she needed it for her forms, as she was claiming me on her taxes. I realized I had been spending time living with her over the past year. But it had been less than three months. I didn't think that was enough time for her to be able to claim me on her tax form.

But my mom insisted. She showed me her tax forms. They were like long, green pieces of construction paper with writing on them in purple crayon. The crayon showed simple mathematical calculations. But a lot of them had to do with me. Many of them were trying to prove that I had lived with my mom since 2006.

I was shocked. I knew that if I had to give my mom information for her taxes, that would mess up what I needed to do for my taxes. That's why I didn't want her to claim me as a dependent. But if she had been claiming me since 2006, it would really end up coming back to me in a really bad way! How could my mom have done this to me!

I yelled and screamed at my mom. But she didn't think she'd done anything wrong. She said I was being really ungrateful to her by acting this way. I knew there was no point in yelling at my mom. So I went into the basement, apparently where my bedroom was.

I was getting all my tax documentation together. I was going to file my own taxes right away, the way I'd planned to do them before. But now I got angry at my mom all over again. I began yelling and screaming all kinds of nasty things about her.

I got control of my emotions and walked out of the bedroom. There was a big main area in the basement. I walked through that area into another area, which was my mom's bedroom. My brother stood right on the threshold of that area.

The bedroom was very big, but very dim, like it was lit with only a few candles or a few very small lights. My mom sat at a computer. She was surrounded by a few young men. The men were all looking at whatever she was doing on the computer with a sense of hope.

My brother said my mom was going to let him have a turn on the computer next. I realized that my mom was controlling computer usage, as well as other aspects of life, for my brother and the other men in her room.

I got angry again and yelled and screamed that my mom had managed to get my brother into a position where she had complete control over him.

I now had a view of something like a forest or a jungle. Some George of the Jungle kind of guy was swinging through the jungle. But I could barely see him. Somehow I was comparing my mom to the George of the Jungle guy.

Dream #2

I was outside a house at night. It was a cool, dewy night, and the moon was full in the sky. The house was gently lit. But it was almost like it was lit by stage light, like in a movie.

I was standing outside with a couple young adults. I was just near the foot of the staircase leading up to the covered porch of the house. The others sat on a little ledge on the covered porch. One or two of the people had left. A couple women remained.

We were somehow passing a book back and and forth to each other. It was a big, kind of thin, photography book. The book was about people whose lives had been ruined by meth usage. It had some specific angle to it. All the photos were either by or of famou artists who had been meth addicts, I think.

Somehow we got really interested in a section on Kurt Cobain (? - I don't think he was on meth). The first photograph in his section was of some kind of Buddhist sculpture, like of a fat, grinning, shirtless man wearing some kind of flowing skirt or pants.

I was now standing out on the grounds of what was apparently Kurt Cobain's estate. It was like a college campus, but it was all his house. The buildings were all red brick, with grey-white concrete or stone trim and grey-white concrete or stone columns.

It was a grey, dewy morning. There were a few young people all around the buildings. These people were all here kind of like they were at a party. Everybody was really calm. But I also had the feeling that these people were all drug addicts as well, and that they stood a chance of getting really rowdy.

Somehow I got really transfixed by the sculpture all over the place. Something about the sculpture had a very Buddhist look. But all the sculpture seemed to be defaced.

I may have been walking with one or two other people. They may have led me into one of the buildings. This building was set up like a small sculpture museum. There was really lovely sculpture all over the place. It all had a look like very old, stone, Buddhist sculpture. But it seemed to be made out of white marble, like 18th century French sculpture. And it was also all defaced. It was like the surfaces had been smashed and then rubbed smooth, or just rubbed smooth.

I walked back outside. There was another really fascinating sculpture near a light fixture on a column. This at first looked to me like a fat, bald man sitting and grinning widely.

I wondered, as I looked at the sculpture, why Kurt Cobain had been so into Buddhist sculpture. But as I wondered this, the sculpture changed into the sculpture of a snake's head. The snake's head then became defaced, like the others -- like it had been smashed and then rubbed smooth.

I turned to my right and walked into some small garden between buildings. There were a few young adults hanging around there, lithely relaxing. I was a little afraid of them. They seemed so calm right now. But I was afraid they'd become really rowdy really soon.

I noticed, right at the edge of the covered porch for the next building, a sculpture of a young girl lying on her back. The sculpture was really beautiful and erotic. The girl seemed to be in some kind of death throws. But her hair was all tossed out, and her back was all arched, so that she looked really sexual.

There were other sculptures, all kind of similar, forming a trail along the corner of the covered porch. Some of the sculptures were bigger, and some were of mature women, rather than girls. But they were all of females laying stretched out in some kind of death ecstasy.

I looked past the covered porch, where this trail of women seemed to lead. Just beyond the porch were some dewy evergreen trees and shrubs. Beyond them was a big lawn under a grey sky.

I could only partly see the lawn. But it appeared that the trail of women led to a sculpture of what appeared to be a pile of dead or dying people. The sculpture seemed to be in tact. It was big, possibly of marble. But it was weathered so that it had black and grey colors added to it.

Past this sculpture of the mound of dead or dying stood a sculpture of a crucifix. The crucifix may have been seven or eight meters tall. The style of the crucifix was kind of minimalist and modern. But the sculpture of Christ himself was of an older, more realistic style.

great grandma's territory

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in the main bedroom of my great grandmother's house, which has in waking life been sold to someone else since my great grandma died about two years ago. The room had its lights off, as usual, so that only greyish daylight came in through the thinly draped windows. I stood in the back right corner of the room, where my grandma had a wall-length desk. Right in the corner was a pile of clutter.

On the top of that clutter I saw a record sleeve that was lying face-down. I lifted the sleeve. The front cover was a scene like on the front of a pulp murder novel. The background of the scene was yellow, like a yellow sky. In the foreground were a man and a woman. They were both in their late twenties, but mature-looking and attractive, in the early 1960s style. There may have been a car near them.

I knew that the scene was depicting some moment from a murder novel. This record was probably a read version of that novel. At first I thought the novel was by John D. MacDonald. But I looked closely at the cover. I think I saw the name of the person who wrote the book. It wasn't MacDonald. It may have been something like Gill. The title of the book was something like Stock Chase.

I lay the record sleeve face-down again and wondered why my great grandma had this. She loved reading so much. I don't think she would have gotten a book on record or a book on tape, if she could have read the book herself. (I didn't consider that IWL, for the last few years of her life, my great grandma *only* read things on tape.)

My great grandma was now just behind me, standing over my left (or right?) shoulder. I knew that she was dead. But I simply figured she'd come back from the dead to talk with me. My great grandma asked me some question -- probably what on earth I was doing, just dilly-dallying here with this pile of clutter.

I tried to find something to do, so that my great grandma wouldn't be upset with me. I turned around and walked out of her bedroom. My great grandma's house had a small hallway; so all I did was basically walk out of her bedroom, when I got a pretty direct view to her living room. My mom and my sister were in the living room. My mom sat in my grandma's old chair. My sister sat somewhere else. My great grandma still stood behind me.

I saw a porcelain scuplture standing on my great grandma's coffee table. It was about 75cm tall. It was of a little girl. The girl had short, blonde hair in loose but straight curls. The girl wore a white and pink dress, the skirt of which went down to just above her knees. The girl was faced away from me at about a 45-degree angle. She seemed to be standing on her tiptoes, as if she were trying to see out the front window.

I then looked back and to my right. I somehow saw, in either my grandma's bedroom or the guest room, a head lying on either a bed or a desk. I don't know if the head was real or a sculpture. It looked like an ancient head, shrivelled up and dried up. The skin was like leather, and it clung tightly to the skull. The eyes looked small, and there was only a tiny bit of hair left on the head. It was only the top part of the head, too: there was no lower jaw.

I looked back to the sculpture of the little girl. I may have looked to my mom and sister as well, thinking that I needed to tell them something. My great grandma, still standing behind me, may have said, "You know all that work you used to do with stocks? I think you should still be doing that stuff." I had thought all that stuff was done for me. But when my great grandma mentioned that I should do it again, I felt a little hopeful. I thought maybe she was right.

I turned around and headed back into my great grandma's room. My great grandma had gone in there herself. I don't know if our plan had been to talk about things more or what. But my great grandma suddenly seemed to be getting either very angry or very distracted.

Suddenly my great grandma shocked me by urinating all over her room! I'm not exactly sure how she managed to do it. But she was running all over the place, peeing all over the floor, as well as shooting jets of urine all up along the walls, and all along the surfaces of the furniture. The only thing she didn't hit was the bed.

I couldn't tell why my great grandma was doing this. I had been starting to talk with her. So I wondered if something I'd said had made her angry, or if she was doing this to interrupt me, so I wouldn't get distracted from the new things she was telling me.

By the time my great grandma had stopped, everything in the room was soaked in urine. For some reason, I thought it wouldn't do to have pee all over the floor. I may have thought that the people coming to look to buy this place wouldn't want it if they saw pee all over the floors. So I took a towel and got down on my knees to dry off the floor.

As I did this, I may have been asking my great grandma why she'd done something like this. A hole may have opened up in the floor, and my great grandma may have been preparing to go down it. But she may have stood up for a moment more, watching me.

I was noticing, though, that the urine was itself already vanishing. There was something very obvious about this to me. It was like the pee was ghost-pee, which had the characteristic of vanishing or evaporating quickly, leaving no trace (although there may have been traces of salts in some areas). I was only seeing a few tiny spots left on the floor, where larger amounts of urine had pooled.

I either understood or was told by my great grandma that the reason my great grandma had peed all over the place like this was to mark her territory, like an animal would in the wild. The urine was all vanished now. But this space was still my great grandma's territory. It's possible that this meant that she could leave for now, but that it would be much easier for her to come back.