Replaying the same video game level repeatedly. It’s a military campaign, like a map from Command & Conquer. Re-learning with each failure, avoiding certain areas. The only way to win is to fail — repeatedly.
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Following the Purple Sign Circuit
A city split evenly in halves by a river. I’m near the shore and perusing a map of the area’s bridges when I receive what feels like bold headline news: Margaret Thatcher Is Dead. In this case Margaret Thatcher is, of course, the famous nesting falcon named after the former Prime Minister. Most likely one of the last animals that will be named after her.
Soon afterwards, I’m in one of the white tall-ceilinged hallways of a nearly empty mall. It’s sometime in the off-season and the lights are off; there’s a calm artificial chill from AC. Purple signs are hung at regular intervals, something I noticed but never considered before. I understand they’re meant to be followed in sequence as a guide for security officers patrolling the grounds — one always has a view of the next sign once one approaches any of them. The route is permanent and meant to followed as a circuit every day. I become mischievously curious imigining what such a repetitive daily existence must be like.
Out though an exterior door, I follow purple signs through a darkened T-intersection of the mall. It’s a semi-outdoor area of closed windowed storefronts and sunny courtyards typically filled with patio furniture. I recognize the place from at least one previous dream. The setting seems based off Palm Springs and has a wealthy tourist vibe: potted palm trees, Mid-Century Modern leisure space. I still haven’t seen a single person.
Off behind a side door the route ascends a set of stairs that feel off-limits and un-public. Upstairs is a space I’d never expect compared to the ostentatiousness below, dirty, basic, neglected, like a cheap mall in some Chinatown. I don’t see many customers, but several stores are actually open and I spot retail workers inside shops. One is called “Caches Played” and has a feeling of bareness, as if the shelves were set up by a single person only recently. Another is called “Bazza Kazza” which is an Austalian-ization of the letters B & K, those being consonants extracted from the word “bitch”. They sell a variety of equipment for small terrariums & aquariums yet the space is scuzzy.
My wife and I spend an extended time browsing. The single round room feels like being inside a tower, but the carpets are torn and the walls are scratched-up. There’s a few shady characters loitering aimlessly. My wife presents me with a Triops culture she just bought while I was distracted worrying about the random dudes. I’m skeptical that the container will work, and annoyed that she bought it without talking to me first. But after fiddling with the two interlocking enamelware bowls I’m pleasantly surprised that the thing seems reasonably useful.
I could swear someone stole my shoes while I was looking away. I manage to find them elsewhere in the store (no way to know who left them there). The shoes are structured as a big piece of taut fabric and are a bit tricky. I have to remember how to hold my heel tight against the end and pull/fold them over. The thoughtfulness of it is reminiscent of my tabi shoes.
I spend a lot of time embedding all these memories enough to write them down. To the point that I recall how, currently, my computer’s photo storage is on the fritz — and that the program I will use to write my dreams down only loads the top 10% of the background image. This is exactly as my desktop usually appears when it can’t read the drive.
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Fragment of Boombox & Toes Dream
A white-colored Dutch boombox radio. I realize it’s supposed to be a breeding machine for something, producing offspring (or helping produce offspring).
Examining my toes, I see that the middle toe is actually smaller than all the rest.
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Finch Finch? Nope, just Finch
I navigate up a river flowing over large rocks. People walking up it. Find refuge at a covered patio belonging to a women who set it up as a rescue facility. She’s a traveler like myself and I’m not currently in need of a rescue. I see myself as more of an ornamental garden hermit.
Playing a card game to pass the time on a bus — where the cards are made of cash money. Digging in the compost bin, I rediscovery modified dollar bills with cute names written on them: Ankylosaurus, Potato, Peanut
Doing a cleaning job. A martini glass holding, instead of ice cubes, a single huge ice cube is being sold.
A woman introduces herself as named Finch. “Finch Finch?” (first and last), I ask. “Nope, just Finch.”
Reading in a magazine by the side of my bed when I accidentally stumble on a bit in an article about someone I know. My old roommate, long after she had moved out, met someone for sex every Tuesday. Incidentally their fathers met and became professional friends. It was then revealed: the two of them were secret siblings.
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Old Family Home Rebuilt, Nicely
Showing some people my family’s former house in Santa Rosa. It’s been rebuilt since the fire in 2017 (this did happen) None of the inside is the same. I don’t know the family that lives there now, but they seem like they have good taste. The walls are Japanese style shoji, made of paper, light glowing behind them. I don’t know the family that lives there now.
I get a sneaking suspicion, a strange feeling to check the backyard. I just catch someone who looks like the landlord’s soon peeing in a potted plant downstairs in the corner. Though I race down, whoever he is has gone into one of the disorganized downstairs storage rooms. Even though I have access to them, I’ve already lost the trail.
From a view high above what might be the English countryside, studying the distribution of settlement. Perceive the compounding of development, long stretches encompassing multiple human lifetimes. Switching to a view the property lines, I notice a spot where the markings are smaller and crowded together, a little lake in the middle distance. The architecture is a bit strange, fitting on to misshapen hexagonal plots, catering to the whims of the wealthy who could build at such location. A modernist concrete barn with few windows cited close to a low point near the lake.
Recently, I was closely examining satellite photos of a sheltered neighborhood in my city whose streets I never knew existed.
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Meeting the Rust People
I’m suddenly awoken by my wife barging into the bedroom, asking if I’m asleep. My fight-or-flight is triggered and as I lay in bed calming down again I can recall much, but I fall back asleep and what I recall is: wooden pegs partially painted blue clatter noisily from a row of horizonal posts where they were attached. (I fall asleep around 10pm and this happens around midnight.)
Serving a crowd of fancy folks out on a balcony overlooking Las Vegas, maybe in the Luxor pyramid. Speaking slowly up to it then ingratiating myself as a servant; meeting people like Trump and Boris Johnson.
After talking with Trump he leaves via my living room. I come out afterwards and see the shocked faces of my unexpected guests, my old roommate Emily W. and her friend I don’t recognize, waiting on my couch. I briefly confer with a series of representatives from tribes of widely different people, including the a male/female pair of Rust people who pursue a specific variety of magic. The discussion concluded, the slightly scaled-down duo flip sideways down into the couch and vanish through a portal.
I spot a dedication sign at the entrance to a random town in Florida simply saying “books & my wife”. I infer this as a clear if esoteric reference to supporting Trump, something fake-ish he said in response to being asked what he’d want on a desert island. A little ways on there’s a homey sign on a cabin with a charming curse of “by Meatloaf’s Mother and the Queen Of Sheba”.
Right before I wake up I’m playing a GTA-like game with simple accelerate/brake controls. Driving as a little old black lady, I just try to round corners as normally as possible.
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New Ladders Up to the Roof
Wait in line to climb a new ladder landlord has installed. To watch brand new episode of Voyager on the roof. Finally I spot the new ladder below and to the side from where I expected. A kid lays down near the edge of the roof, getting fit for an eye mask. The mask glue is crunchy around their eyes and they smile. Not everything on the roof is fully done yet. There’s an area of edging of two 45° bends where I try to glue trim, fussing for a long while with a piece that is a little too short and is hard to center.
On the roof I find bag while walking and check it for free stuff. Always check these things, in case there’s something useful.
An unfamiliar homeless guy in front of my wife and I in line. He drops a quarter. Pick it up for him but he doesn’t want to take it back. I set it on the table.
I’ve been living in a dingy apartment that used to be a motel. One nice thing about living here is that I have a view of the large pools at the fancy place next door, and I know how to sneak in whenever I want. However, the fancy place’s new owners have started paying for updates that actually detract from the beauty and usefulness of the pool for me. I’d rather it be old and enjoyable than new-looking and ugly. One day I’m lounging against the side of the pool and realized they’ve installed speakers that play easy-listening garbage. Without waiting I reach up and break off the speaker nearest me — realizing it’s better than planning it out and appearing suspicious.
I’m hanging out near the boundary of the property where there is a waist-high fence; I’m thinking about how it will still be easy to get in whenever I want even if they start locking the tiny gate. Chris P., a Cambodian childhood friend of mine, and two of his entourage arrive through the gate. He’s some important manager or boss of the place, which makes things perhaps more complicated or perhaps easier for me. We have a brief conversation joking about whether I’m hacking the power grid of the pool, like a famous incident in the history of Bermuda. Luckily, of all the liberties I’ve taken with this overly-wealthy next door property, that isn’t one of them.