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Dream Journal

Old Spy Store, Pop-up Spiderman, Gravity Gun

A run-down store from the 1980s specializing in spy gear, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, in a nearly abandoned strip mall, just off a highway. Used to be so big it had registers all along the front, from one end of the store to the other. Now things have gotten so cheap that their music repeats on a loop 35 minutes long. Format of its name is “person-name-here’s”, if that’s understandable.

An older woman expresses interest in telling me her story (or my story?) by means of an inflatable outdoor big screen. The story randomly has Spider-Man pop in at different points, much like a pop-up ad.

A fancy gravity-altering gun (perhaps of my own design) shoots shiny super-stylish double-conical bombs. It remotely manipulates its aerial position, then detonates it on command. This seems impressive in the 3D jungle style game I’m inside. I gravimetrically pull in a cyborg that looks like Vendata/Venturian from Venture Bros and he sustains “severe anomaly damage” when I explode it on him.

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Dream Journal

Peculiar University Housing

Moving into a shared dorm apartment. They seem unprepared when I move in. Mickey is there, his brother Zach. It’s an underlit bachelor pad with tile floors and bare walls. There’s a small, wraparound sideyard of slatted wood, which opens to wooden benches in the sloping, grassy backyard. A pond filled with lively, tropical rings of algae and moss, craggy decorative rocks, and looks like a living volcanic pool. I get acquainted with a large snail that lives there.

There’s a portal in one of the rocks which emanates concentric rings, and staring into it I can see the world linked beyond, where my snail friend is from. Quite out-of pace, in retrospect.

I ride my scooter on a wide expanse of asphalt, eventually noticing there are dips and holes spaced in an even grid. Some are deep, deep pits. I inform the school administration about the deep ones on our property, which they seem perfunctorily apologetic and give me an extension.

I then sit down to watch an assignment for one of my university classes with my wife Lynae. The program auto-loads an episode of The Cosby Show, which I am categorically uninterested in ever since Cosby’s rape allegations. I skip it and instead manage to find an episode of Deep Space 9 in the course database, which of course I’ve seen before, but is happily comforting.

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Dream Journal

Fragments of an Outdoor Scene

Quilones. Eggs, an exclusive member’s club, a Christmas tree. I try to blend in with the members. A patio with a barbecue and a mosaic.

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Dream Journal

Hidden Doors, Wet Sansa

In a complex, a restaurant portion thereof, with all sorts of hidden doors. I can’t see them as I haven’t been initiated and attained a certain level, but I can tell from others facial expressions they can. There are multiple Sansa Starks, one of which joins me on a bed that has a slow water drip on it.

Side note, mostly unrelated: the squirrel is my favorite character in Lord of the Rings.

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Dream Journal

Biking to the Cult Hotel

  • Finding a place to park my bicycle in the snow outside a hotel complex housing a cult.
  • B-movie of trying to return a lost child’s doll which was found in a sealed water bottle during a flood.
  • A tiny little Indian character with a plastic war bonnet.
  • Fighting an old military guy above a concrete stairway, disarming his several switchblades made to look like guns.
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Dream Journal

Backpack fell off from Motorcycle

Riding my scooter on the freeway south down the coast of Monterey, CA, with my wife riding another motorcycle alongside. We pass the skinniest Costco I’ve ever seen, with a parking lot running adjacent to the roadside. Just after passing it, I notice my backpack has fallen off. This has been a fear for awhile. I can see where it is and, seeing no better option, I begin driving backwards along the shoulder. Some cars let me pass on the left, some on the right. I make it there and I’m relieved to see it’s held together, although it’s obviously been flattened and run over a few times. I don’t remember everything I had in there, but I know there’s a few things that probably survived, definitely not my croissants though.

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Dream Journal

Stairway Stab Girl

Taking a ride to the airport, the doors to the bus open twice. I get out on an empty platform, embarrassed as the train speeds away. End up having to walk a long way to baggage claim, a tiny beige room in a spare building.

Girl on the landing between two stairways giving a blowjob. She has the guy stab her butt, then fuck the stab.

She then loads my dishwasher with dozens of blue glass jug vessels, careful they don’t rattle.

On the couch and there’s an orange cat in my lap. Reminds me of Flop! Rat cage is open though. It turns into two black cats, like Aloysius unfortunately. I call Lynae to come help.

My brother Patrick has his Mac break. He has to buy a new PC and is humorously says and condescending about it.

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Dream Journal

Dark Bathroom Dreadlocks

A girl with dreadlocks is naked in a dark public bathroom. There’s a vibe of fun menace, but I’m not sure if it’s from her or to her.

Camping on the beach. Takes forever to pack up leaving at nightfall. Picking up my cousin Spencer from somewhere. My colorful vape tip, which I’ve lost many times, rolls under the couch. I find it alongside a clarinet mouthpiece.

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Dream Journal

Security Line for Fat Statue of Liberty

I’m climbing up a Statue of Liberty — a fat Statue of Liberty, which may or may not be someone’s art project. Very shortly after, I’m going through a security checkpoint. I look at my ID through a paper towel on a desk, the bath towel around my waist falls off and I ask Lynae help me. I end up falling on my ass, but it’s damn funny so I don’t mind.

While still waiting in line, Chinese-speaking ladies are like “oh good he’s south Chinese!” and starting asking me about dinnerware. I answer by going on a little pontification about sentimentality, and veer into a dissertation about a gravy boat my mom hand-chipped when she was six years old.

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Dream Journal

Adventure with a Girl from Melbourne

A large model of gray naval ship, as long as two men. I’m escorting it by swimming beside it, against a kind of curb, within a twilight concrete jungle. My companion demonstrates how the bow of the ship, even in gentle water on our floating wooden slat platform, vibrates so profoundly that it’s genuinely unsafe and unusable — why it’s being retired.

I’m revisiting Melbourne, Australia and meet a girl. She wears a dark-haired ponytail and is strange and energetic, youthfully careless but with an edge of urbane worldliness. We have an adventure preforming the mundane task of buying subway fare, semi-drunkenly carousing in a grotty, rowdy corner shop. We end up asleep near a rocky beach somewhere down the subway line. She’d neglected to tell me I had to clock out from the ride (of which I remember nothing) and I’m worried that, on account of it being so long after, all my credit is now expended. She languidly reassures me, no, the maximum is one day… I take it we’ve been on the beach at least overnight.

Later, I’m staying again at the last hostel I stayed when I was there. I remember thinking that I should have chosen The Friendlies, which was my favorite. This one has tall sunny glass walls in the guest lobby, and quite a drinking culture. Reminiscent of the Gold Coast in Queensland, or Florida. A Scottish guy, or maybe just someone doing a raucous impression of one, proves his drunkenness by head-butting a glass table. Not content with simply cracking it, he continues head-butting until the entire countertop of the hostel is smashed. Guy is now quite covered in blood and his friends take him away.