3/22/10
Science museum. Going out in a neighborhood in the south, I think Georgia, and getting lost. There's a path uphill that I think leads to my neighborhood but instead it leads to a "science museum". The entrance is a very dark room full of insects. I go in, thinking, this is slightly too many insects even for a science museum. They're landing on my face and hair and it does not feel good but I can't really crush them since they're part of the museum. I'm trying not to freak out or be rude. I have to coax a tarantula off my gray tweed purse with a piece of cardboard. I'm talking to my old middle school friend Liz on the phone.
At the end of the museum there's a room with a baby seal. He has a human face but very soft featured. His flippers are adorable. He's rounded and pink and white. He looks like mochi. I really want to hug and play with him but I have places to be. The baby seal tries to coax me to stay, in almost a menacing way. He's got a salmon for us to eat that he caught himself. He shows me where he punched the fish and gave it a black eye.
Later, in a different part of the museum, a circle of us sit around. Some professorial type is trying to demonstrate a principal of science or magic by handing out hard, cheap bars of soap. If we knead them in our hands enough, they'll burst into flame. Instead, mine turns into something that looks and feels exactly like brie, but it burns my hand.
The professor has to leave and we need to do Ring Cycle Physics, like, physics based on the opera. A guy shows up and we realize he's a villain. Maybe a monster? A vampire? We throw logs at him and then we hit his bike with a shovel to injure him. We phone for help. I put on my gray skirt with the silver ribbon and run through the haunted museum for help.
This was a menacing but pretty funny dream. I would have felt so socially awkward when I was fighting off bugs. In the dream, I remembered my old dream about going into the house full of huge neon bugs and having my toad. This isn't like that, though, I thought in the dream.
The seal with a human face was new. In the dream it was cute but now that I remember it, it's creepy as hell. It was like an adult man's face, puffy and pink and creepy.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Bracelet; Shark Hat; Elevator; Robot Van Helsing; Paintings of Stories
E and L are house sitting for someone and watching a sci fi show. One woman in the show gives another an elaborate metal bracelet. It turns her arm into a beautiful multipetaled piece of metal--or like a metal squid coming out of her shoulder. It divides into flaps of metal and twists and recombines. But it's a trick and it gradually starts to hurt so much that the wearer has to kill herself. We eat candy and E & L talk about loving the big house.
I'm looking for something in a huge new condo building. It's occupied but still under construction. It's impossible to tell if I'm in a public corridor or someone's apartment. Everything is gleaming wood, metal, plush carpets and furniture. There's a common room where a group of preppy, hip young men, mostly black and a white kid with a hat made of foam cut outs of letters that spell out his name and are in the shape of a shark. He says that his name is really British: Earnest Jordan.
I get into the elevator to escape, feeling awkward and annoyed. The elevator is terrible. The floor is made of some thin plastic, almost like a trash bag. There's fiberglass in the walls that pricks at me. I can see through windows or chinks out the side of the elevator. It's going up and changing course. I yell in protest and a bearded guy who's on the landing above me laughs commiseratingly.
I'm a group trying to solve its problems. Most people are worried about being too fat. I split away and hang out with Ira Glass. He laughs at me for saying I don't need a group. I say I need one for being clumsy. We're in the park, almost at night and we climb over rocks to get to his place. My feet claw up bunches of plants, like loose vines but also plastic bags full of mushrooms and broccoli.
Back at his place there's a kind of play room outside closed with a curtain. We sit outside and along come two little boys who put up a special kind of door curtain so they can go in. Ira and I look at each other and laugh. The boys aren't supposed to be there. We go in after them. I catch one of them and he sits in my lap. I tell him I'm going to call him Robot Van Helsing. He gives me a skeptical look.
I'm looking at a painting or book of illustrations of the civil war. It's in childish, vivid watercolors, lots of blood and people's faces.
I'm reading a novelization of The Royal Tannenbaum's. I can see the scenes of the movie acting out, somewhat distorted, and then look down at the pages and see the words describing it simultaneously.
There's a movie/painting of two sisters in the Wiemar republic who fall in love with each other and try to get married. It's in vivid watercolors as well, really purple and red with a lot of emphasis on mouths and teeth. I can really remember one moment where a woman's head is tilted way back when they're in a taxi, and her lips are pulled back so her teeth and tongue are visible.
This was a huge dream, incredibly detailed, that just seemed to go on and on. Very active and fun, with lots of humor, which is kind of unusual. I still crack up thinking of that kid's face when I called him Robot Van Helsing.
Looking at this description, the first part reminds of something I had trouble imagining, the "orchid" weapon in Dahlgren. There's something about being lost in a beautiful but delapidated building that also recalls Dahlgren. The really narrative quality of the last couple of snippets is unusual. I wonder what's up with that? Too much reading/watching movies? The movies I've been watching lately have all been well-made serial killer thrillers. Huh.
I'm looking for something in a huge new condo building. It's occupied but still under construction. It's impossible to tell if I'm in a public corridor or someone's apartment. Everything is gleaming wood, metal, plush carpets and furniture. There's a common room where a group of preppy, hip young men, mostly black and a white kid with a hat made of foam cut outs of letters that spell out his name and are in the shape of a shark. He says that his name is really British: Earnest Jordan.
I get into the elevator to escape, feeling awkward and annoyed. The elevator is terrible. The floor is made of some thin plastic, almost like a trash bag. There's fiberglass in the walls that pricks at me. I can see through windows or chinks out the side of the elevator. It's going up and changing course. I yell in protest and a bearded guy who's on the landing above me laughs commiseratingly.
I'm a group trying to solve its problems. Most people are worried about being too fat. I split away and hang out with Ira Glass. He laughs at me for saying I don't need a group. I say I need one for being clumsy. We're in the park, almost at night and we climb over rocks to get to his place. My feet claw up bunches of plants, like loose vines but also plastic bags full of mushrooms and broccoli.
Back at his place there's a kind of play room outside closed with a curtain. We sit outside and along come two little boys who put up a special kind of door curtain so they can go in. Ira and I look at each other and laugh. The boys aren't supposed to be there. We go in after them. I catch one of them and he sits in my lap. I tell him I'm going to call him Robot Van Helsing. He gives me a skeptical look.
I'm looking at a painting or book of illustrations of the civil war. It's in childish, vivid watercolors, lots of blood and people's faces.
I'm reading a novelization of The Royal Tannenbaum's. I can see the scenes of the movie acting out, somewhat distorted, and then look down at the pages and see the words describing it simultaneously.
There's a movie/painting of two sisters in the Wiemar republic who fall in love with each other and try to get married. It's in vivid watercolors as well, really purple and red with a lot of emphasis on mouths and teeth. I can really remember one moment where a woman's head is tilted way back when they're in a taxi, and her lips are pulled back so her teeth and tongue are visible.
This was a huge dream, incredibly detailed, that just seemed to go on and on. Very active and fun, with lots of humor, which is kind of unusual. I still crack up thinking of that kid's face when I called him Robot Van Helsing.
Looking at this description, the first part reminds of something I had trouble imagining, the "orchid" weapon in Dahlgren. There's something about being lost in a beautiful but delapidated building that also recalls Dahlgren. The really narrative quality of the last couple of snippets is unusual. I wonder what's up with that? Too much reading/watching movies? The movies I've been watching lately have all been well-made serial killer thrillers. Huh.
Launch; Lost and Breakfast With M; Kitchen Culture; Tasting Pozole
3/19/10
I'm wearing a hoodie. I'm launching myself with a running machine, like it has a sling shot type action with these stirrup like foot slings that sends me forward.
I'm getting ready in the morning. Helping to serve ice cream.
I'm trying to get back to my apartment. From way up town on the west side to 1st and 1st. I'm getting lost in the streets. It's much farther west than I thought. I go across a courtyard. There are too many people. I see my old roommate M eating breakfast at a sidewalk cafe. He's got really elaborate facial hair, like beard and mustache are in thin channels all over his face. He's wearing a really natty plaid suit and we're glad to see each other.
I'm sorting records and magazines. They all feature food. I see a spread about an actress. I realize the actress is fake.
I'm sorting through clothes with W.
A teenager predicts a dog's death on the beach.
I'm walking through the kitchen. I notice I'm wearing white, then I see everyone else is too. They're all eating something with lingonberries, something bright red. They're stewed and leave pretty pink and red smudges on the white plates.
I take a bite of something, or suddenly there's a taste in my mouth. It tastes like the broth from Nita's pozole. I can really taste the spice and the starchy taste of the hominy.
Another running through the city dream. I wonder why my dreams of the city are always kind of lost and anxious? I go through the same routes all the time and haven't been lost in New York in over a decade.
This is the first time I remember really tasting anything in a dream. I don't remember taking a bite of something, but the flavor was incredibly vivid. I think in the dream I tasted it without knowing what it was but once I had it in my mouth I immediately knew. I woke up right after, or I don't think I would have remembered. Very exciting.
I'm wearing a hoodie. I'm launching myself with a running machine, like it has a sling shot type action with these stirrup like foot slings that sends me forward.
I'm getting ready in the morning. Helping to serve ice cream.
I'm trying to get back to my apartment. From way up town on the west side to 1st and 1st. I'm getting lost in the streets. It's much farther west than I thought. I go across a courtyard. There are too many people. I see my old roommate M eating breakfast at a sidewalk cafe. He's got really elaborate facial hair, like beard and mustache are in thin channels all over his face. He's wearing a really natty plaid suit and we're glad to see each other.
I'm sorting records and magazines. They all feature food. I see a spread about an actress. I realize the actress is fake.
I'm sorting through clothes with W.
A teenager predicts a dog's death on the beach.
I'm walking through the kitchen. I notice I'm wearing white, then I see everyone else is too. They're all eating something with lingonberries, something bright red. They're stewed and leave pretty pink and red smudges on the white plates.
I take a bite of something, or suddenly there's a taste in my mouth. It tastes like the broth from Nita's pozole. I can really taste the spice and the starchy taste of the hominy.
Another running through the city dream. I wonder why my dreams of the city are always kind of lost and anxious? I go through the same routes all the time and haven't been lost in New York in over a decade.
This is the first time I remember really tasting anything in a dream. I don't remember taking a bite of something, but the flavor was incredibly vivid. I think in the dream I tasted it without knowing what it was but once I had it in my mouth I immediately knew. I woke up right after, or I don't think I would have remembered. Very exciting.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Snow; How To Cartoon; On Stage Shock
3/17/10
In the snow. Someone is teaching me to stand upright on a sled and go down a pretty steep hill. I make it almost all the way down. It's exhilarating. It's in the woods, somewhere like Diamond Hill.
At a camp or a place where people do artwork. Someone is making instructional pamphlets of how to get on the back of a skateboard while someone else is riding. The cartoons are crude and colorful. The picture of me shows me with long hair, and long snaky arms. It's kind of charming and embarassing at the same time. I look like I did when I was a kid.
I'm putting on some kind of performance. I'm on a stage and there's a woman who's supposed to be my mother. She's like a charasmatic early 20th century faith healer or something. She has set up a box with a dial and a planchette for me to put my hand on. She turns the dial up to control voltage and makes me put my hand on the plate as an act of obedience. I try it out. It's making me uncomfortable but not painful. Then there's a switch that lets her up it from 180 to 1000 and I protest. I give it a try and it's very painful. I tell her no way.
I think this dream was influenced by a nice work session with some friends the other night. I saw a guy working on a three panel cartoon on a special long pad of paper, and my friend J was showing me a game called bullseye 180, which had formerly been bullseye 1000.
In the snow. Someone is teaching me to stand upright on a sled and go down a pretty steep hill. I make it almost all the way down. It's exhilarating. It's in the woods, somewhere like Diamond Hill.
At a camp or a place where people do artwork. Someone is making instructional pamphlets of how to get on the back of a skateboard while someone else is riding. The cartoons are crude and colorful. The picture of me shows me with long hair, and long snaky arms. It's kind of charming and embarassing at the same time. I look like I did when I was a kid.
I'm putting on some kind of performance. I'm on a stage and there's a woman who's supposed to be my mother. She's like a charasmatic early 20th century faith healer or something. She has set up a box with a dial and a planchette for me to put my hand on. She turns the dial up to control voltage and makes me put my hand on the plate as an act of obedience. I try it out. It's making me uncomfortable but not painful. Then there's a switch that lets her up it from 180 to 1000 and I protest. I give it a try and it's very painful. I tell her no way.
I think this dream was influenced by a nice work session with some friends the other night. I saw a guy working on a three panel cartoon on a special long pad of paper, and my friend J was showing me a game called bullseye 180, which had formerly been bullseye 1000.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Dog Boots; Weird Burger: Hugging Renegade
3/15/10
I'm at a theater. I've come in from the rain and I see Hanna come in. She's got a big wet dog with her. The dog is wearing rain boots, marked front and back. I take the boots and carefully massage them as if they were the dog's feet. She's grateful. T here's a guy there, I think it's Clay?
Old lady neighbors in McLean?
I'm making food with Cameron late at night. I try to grill a burger on like a grilling machine. The middle is underdone and someone starts freaking me out about underdone meat. I put it away for the time being. I eat it later gleefully even though I know other people will think it's gross.
There's an older man who's my friend visiting. Sort of a famous crank and renegade, like a Hunter S. Thompson type character. I have to go somewhere and he asks wistfully to be hugged. I hug him and it's kind of joyful.
This was a dream about being useful and practical. But why would I massage the boots and not the feet? And I never make hamburgers at home. Where did that come from? I've been feeling like kind of a spazz lately in my work life but I know among my friends I'm known as being reliable and organized. I guess I have different skills or my friends are just really out of it themselves.
Who is that older man a stand-in for? Al? Tim? Maybe even my step-father? I'm a little worried about him.
I'm at a theater. I've come in from the rain and I see Hanna come in. She's got a big wet dog with her. The dog is wearing rain boots, marked front and back. I take the boots and carefully massage them as if they were the dog's feet. She's grateful. T here's a guy there, I think it's Clay?
Old lady neighbors in McLean?
I'm making food with Cameron late at night. I try to grill a burger on like a grilling machine. The middle is underdone and someone starts freaking me out about underdone meat. I put it away for the time being. I eat it later gleefully even though I know other people will think it's gross.
There's an older man who's my friend visiting. Sort of a famous crank and renegade, like a Hunter S. Thompson type character. I have to go somewhere and he asks wistfully to be hugged. I hug him and it's kind of joyful.
This was a dream about being useful and practical. But why would I massage the boots and not the feet? And I never make hamburgers at home. Where did that come from? I've been feeling like kind of a spazz lately in my work life but I know among my friends I'm known as being reliable and organized. I guess I have different skills or my friends are just really out of it themselves.
Who is that older man a stand-in for? Al? Tim? Maybe even my step-father? I'm a little worried about him.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Tree Ornaments; Tired Rock Star; Hair Streaks
3/14/10
A tree or an umbrella holding up seeds or ornaments--they're very thin upside down cups of wood with long stems, light brown and delicate. Very pretty.
I'm at a big outdoor concert. It's a band I've read about but never actually heard and I pretty much hold them in scorn. The guitarist sees me in the crowd and comes out to me. He's tremendously guilty. He says the band caused a stampede in Manhattan that caused twenty people to be trampled. I say he has to go back and he shakes his head. He holds me for comfort and we walk through the tents and different groves of a park. He wants to go to sleep. There are some tents with open sides that serves as bedrooms. The five members of the band have a row of beds. They're set up almost like a stage, facing out. It's too crowded and public. He keeps rejecting them. Finally we find a room that's just someone's bedroom. It's very neatly made and decorated. There are corudroy cushions that are monogrammed O. We get into the bed, very soft with lots of blankets. I look more closely at the decor. It's wooden surfaced decoupaged with medical illustrations of terrible blisters and plague sores and things like that. I realize the occupant of the room is a teenage boy with some medical condition that's off getting treated.
Looking at myself in the mirror. My hair has two streaks of white in it. A strange moment where I realize that it must have been like that for some time and that it will always be like that.
A tree or an umbrella holding up seeds or ornaments--they're very thin upside down cups of wood with long stems, light brown and delicate. Very pretty.
I'm at a big outdoor concert. It's a band I've read about but never actually heard and I pretty much hold them in scorn. The guitarist sees me in the crowd and comes out to me. He's tremendously guilty. He says the band caused a stampede in Manhattan that caused twenty people to be trampled. I say he has to go back and he shakes his head. He holds me for comfort and we walk through the tents and different groves of a park. He wants to go to sleep. There are some tents with open sides that serves as bedrooms. The five members of the band have a row of beds. They're set up almost like a stage, facing out. It's too crowded and public. He keeps rejecting them. Finally we find a room that's just someone's bedroom. It's very neatly made and decorated. There are corudroy cushions that are monogrammed O. We get into the bed, very soft with lots of blankets. I look more closely at the decor. It's wooden surfaced decoupaged with medical illustrations of terrible blisters and plague sores and things like that. I realize the occupant of the room is a teenage boy with some medical condition that's off getting treated.
Looking at myself in the mirror. My hair has two streaks of white in it. A strange moment where I realize that it must have been like that for some time and that it will always be like that.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Twin Suicide Pact; Snow Antics; Temple in the Woods
3/10/10
Twin suicide pact. There was something important we had to do. We were going to jump off a beautiful building in the city. I'm waiting for it, ready to do it. Very scared. We chicken out and I'm disappointed.
Snow antics. Building a fort that spells out You Suck. It insults some old lady, someone's mom? Tim's mom? Goint into the gazebo/greenhouse that turned out to be huge. Following old trail of stone and plants. Ancient temple.
Hanging out with Hanna after the show. She's in love with her sister's beau.
Twin suicide pact. There was something important we had to do. We were going to jump off a beautiful building in the city. I'm waiting for it, ready to do it. Very scared. We chicken out and I'm disappointed.
Snow antics. Building a fort that spells out You Suck. It insults some old lady, someone's mom? Tim's mom? Goint into the gazebo/greenhouse that turned out to be huge. Following old trail of stone and plants. Ancient temple.
Hanging out with Hanna after the show. She's in love with her sister's beau.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
