Category: Dream Journal

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Dream Journal

Broken-Foot Buddha

Palace of flags, maze of interlocking metal gridwork platforms with flags hanging down. Taking certain flags and letting them fall to the understory, where I see them crumple. Los Angeles vibe with big, distant sky.

Baby puffer fish (which are also baby rats) let out of cage/tank by glass sliding door near the bottom. Timid explorations. Central Europe, maybe Germany, floating log in lake I jump over to get to rocky shore.

Giant Buddha statue with broken foot. The toes are small and conical, curved upward. The statue is holding spoons and forks, balancing bags in front on it’s arms (perhaps backpacks hadn’t been invented, perhaps this encourages mindfulness). The statue is supported on it’s sides by the massive rock face. I move the foot back underneath and it fits nearly perfectly, but I’m informed the statue might still collapse on it.

Public gathering at a dining/entertainment venue similar to Medieval Times. Dave asks in front of the crowd what I’m drinking from the bottle next to me — it’s some really lovely homemade kombucha. A young FTM transman realizes they’re surrounded by female friends, and it’s the trust they’ve always wanted. The friends surround him in a tight hug.

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Dream Journal

The New Apartment

On a public street near a riverbank somewhere downtown, things appear neglected and abandoned. Around the corner there’s a grand old white-columned courthouse that has seen better days. Old cars rust outside industrial-sized garages — no people can be seen. I’m there to move into the neighborhood. Eventually, with time, the residents show themselves. It’s a bit of an initiation they do.

In the living space I settle into there’s a rat cage, not much bigger than a 10-gallon terrarium, but which is decorated beautifully with plant clippings and dry moss. Around the corner in this strangely welcoming squat group-style apartment is a leopard in small cage. It’s at first unfriendly, even hostile. Then one day it asks to be handled and is so friendly I almost let it escape by rolling through a crunchy plastic carry-out box.

Working on a student project of some kind, I take figurines of the evil Mongol leader from Mulan and add a jet-pack. Mostly, this doesn’t result in its limbs being melted off — mostly. Heph, my partner, does a much more diligent job and regales us with a moving story (which I watch through a gap underneath the rat cage). Blake is also living here, and I recall it being her birthday. The dream ends outside in a oddly-shaped triangular parcel, cars parked tight, with stalagmites of rust rising out of the ground.

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Dream Journal

Grams Remarriage, Galactic Spinner Game

Grams plays drums on stage during play-reenactment of her wedding, Pa is there. student reps passing close between chair rows.

Patrick’s bedroom is my old bedroom, the one by the cactus garden. One side opens into a kitchen. He plays video games sitting on his bed with a friend. The bed is positioned where our old bunk beds were when we first moved into the Cat City house.

In the game you control the directional thrust of a spaceship spinning at great speed around the center of the galaxy, with the goal of covering as much space as possible. Patrick seems pretty skilled at this and the level ends with him skidding out into intergalactic space.

Dad operates an orange juice machine and tells me mom is still alive… or is alive again? Hm.

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Dream Journal

Kid Cartomancer

I’m a reporter with Vice, and I’m a bit under-prepared for an assignment interviewing a precocious kid at his school. I only learn the kid is deaf because he has sign language translator. He’s introverted, wears glasses, Asian, intense focus, the unmistakable attention-center of the classroom. He’s a cartomancer.

The classroom map seems normal, and it is normal. It depicts just any ol’ day in the world, and the filigreed design at the bottom is labelled “Uncool”. Attached in a small plastic pocket to the map is a spare nitrous oxide charger, empty.

Trying to wrap up my interview, I start writing on the classroom tables to ask the kid, who seems insightful and gifted although inaccessible, “any ideas what I should do next?” This proves very difficult (admittedly I think I was using a brownie. Eventually I gave up and unpacked my laptop again, though typing was much easier. He gave me an answer, I woke up and it seemed a different dream than usual…

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Dream Journal

Flying Speakers-Rope, Odd Apartment Inspection

Flying around on a pair of huge speakers, pointed down. There’s a barely audible interference effect that repels it from the ground. It’s quite maneuverable, similar to this Flyboarding video I recently watched:

I ride it into a train junkyard full of salvage materials. I sneak behind a couch near the desk of a president. Lynae distracts him and we sneak out a side door while exaggeratedly ineffective security guards (who are in cahoots with us, anyway) are summoned. After this, the flyer is now made of rope and split into separate entities. A chase begins between a rope-helicopter which sports a lasso on its nose, and the trio of Bobby Hill, Connie Souphanousinphone (King of the Hill) combined with Connie Maheswaran (Steven Universe), and a charming old black guy. Rope is wound into a tight helix about their legs one at a time, and the three of them are propelled through the sky with the unspooling momentum. Connie/Connie switches kissing between the two.

Trying out a new apartment without the supervision of the landlord. Bright windows sunlit in the distance, broad open white spaces. Lying in bed with Lynae I notice a stray container of purple U-Stick glue rolling around the circumference of the room, oddly stuck to the walls with static electricity. As I note this to Lynae, it destabilizes and falls on her, startling her a bit. I say “at least I warned you, imagine the startle if I hadn’t.” Thus woken, we check out the kitchen (with two light switches), the bathroom (two of them), with two big open showers and two toilets each near two doorways. Terribly unprivate huge bathroom.

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Dream Journal

Tiny Vacation Cabin of Mystery

A log cabin, set up between two pieces of playground equipment. It’s a rental and we’re staying there soon, so I show up early and work in the electrical closet to set up routers before our stay.

The house is small and charming, but I happen to watch one of the staff as she goes into the basement. It has a very slight slope — 1/3 of a story per turn, dug out like Mr. Mulligan’s Steam Shovel — and at the bottom of this narrow inverted pyramid-like space there’s a small door, almost a hatch.

https://www.flickr.com/photos/j_regan/41268494520

She disappears in there with some linens while I return upstairs to lounge and puzzle over how I might get in to this space, you know, for completionist’s sake.

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Dream Journal

The House of Inequity

I’m a driver for a lowbrow company/boarding school/cult/orphanage. The roads around our compound are muddy and sometimes motor homes in particular become mired in the muck. After one such workday I come back for a shower (in one of the open, sunlit hexagonal group showers) only to find that it’s under repair yet again.

I’m shunted away to what I’m lead to believe is a reserve bathroom, but which has since been converted to a cramped bedroom barely large enough to contain a single, rumpled bed. The place seems to have been a proper bathroom in the 60s. One slanted wall with grimy oval cutouts once would’ve held stately vanity mirrors. I notice that the dimly-lit, echo-y, white tile walls go up unusually high. In fact they keep going up, narrowing into a disused laundry chute — and sneaky access to the otherwise tightly restricted rest of the house.

I’m spotted and nearly dragged off on the first floor I climb to. But from what I could see, it’s a common room, furnishings covered in felt, wooden bunk beds, a 70s handcrafted summer camp vibe… but with the disjointed quality of a children’s bedroom used by adults. The couple I narrowly escaped from could’ve been in a secret relationship, for all I know. No one felt free in this place, though our — were they teachers, minders, managers? — they certainly seemed to be rich enough.

I make it to the top floor, the attic built as an addition atop our oversized building, with bright panoramic windows that are so-angled as to show puffy blue-and-white skies. The people up here sport schoolmarm hairdos and Marie Curie-like studiousness, but to my great vindication, are also preparing an invasion force to wrest control of the rest of the house. This Gryffindor Army gave the impression of fierce, dark resolve. Surely one day theirs will be a glorious fight.

Exploring the upper floor further, I access a balcony that was used in the past for us to monitor the land around the main house. About 90% of this beautiful outdoor spot has been fenced off and replaced with an automated monitoring station. One rickety telescope off to the side for us, at least. I spy an open field of light brown grass freckled with isolated low trees. A single park bench. Nearer to the house, a gated-off chichi picnic dining area. A long elegant bench for rich people to eat our trendy “sweetie creamies”.

Unfortunately, this is about when I awoke. The Calea Zacatechichi I took about 3 hours ago seemed to have a-stirred up some curious stuff, though.

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Dream Journal

Men Are Dogs (title taken from next day’s dream)

Welp… no getting around this one being weird: I was presented with a humorously-intended blowjob voucher from my old crush, while sitting in my own living room. In front of my wife no less. Not exactly a bad dream. Let’s just say I won’t be surprised if nothing comes of it though.

My Uncle Robert and Aunt Carol have a long, sloping, grassy field through the forests. A Pacific Northwest vibe. The grass is so tall (and wet) in places a full-grown man can hide in it. Taking a narrow tree-lined canyon path off from it, Lynae (to a small group) sketches out on a whiteboard her idea of a baseball score-keeping concept. Columns of Team A / Team B, a simple but useful discursion.

A bartender at a restaurant, perhaps a company cafeteria, gives me my change as flecks of gold suspended in a glass of water. I try to transport it outside by holding it in my mouth without much success. Coming back to my motorbike, I see that I’ve left my phone on it in plain view, on top of my jacket no less.

The store I was planning to go to has closed while I was inside the restaurant. Soon I do some super-high jumps on my scooter, front flips even, but the bike will still be fucked when I land.

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Dream Journal

Osmosis versus… what was the other one’s name?

I find my former roommate Emily’s dating profile. Her first pic is from our apartment hall, which tells me that she’s still nostalgic for our time together but also doesn’t share what she looks like now.

In a store’s lost and found, I discover about 30 mini discs in a CD case which I, realizing their rarity, covertly steal in my hoodie. As it happens the attendant saw me and wryly confronts me, but after I tell him what they are and what I’m going to do with them — transfer them to archival digital — he gives a mysterious little nod of passing. Despite what I’d usually do I go right to work on them but there’s something amiss and none of them read correctly.

Sitting in a middle row of a classroom, Robby in the row ahead of me, Michael (Mickey before he was Mickey) in the row behind. Unusual as it’s the second night in a row I’ve dreamt of both of them.

I creep quietly toward the door of Aislinn’s North Beach apartment where there’s a bright glowing fishtank in window, but the rest of her lights are off so I leave without knocking.

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Dream Journal

Vixen Hunting, Submarine Escape

Out in a wintry, grey, spread-out urban environment. Spot three vixens (female foxes) of gigantic size, perhaps 6 feet tall. My companion — a woman who’s not quite my partner, but certainly a good friend — takes aim with her hunting rifle and makes a clean shot at the lead fox. It’s then I realize the other two are a detailed mural, trompe l’oeil. Writing this now, I realize it could’ve been painted there as a decoy for exactly this purpose.

Afterwards, my wife’s grandmother shows up and folds herself neatly into a bag for transport.

Aboard a submarine, the captain from Seaquest (Nathan Bridger) and the young tech guy (Lucas Wolenczak) are together in a gym shower having sex. Within the dream I find this surprisingly boring, though I’m not sure who/what my dream persona is. A bit later the submarine is evading capture through rough water and can be seen darting in between the peaks of two waves. This image is particularly memorable as, in a later dream inside a classroom with Mickey and Robby T., I actually take care to draw it in pen.