Categories
Dream Journal

France with Spy, Naked with Landlord

French cathedral

Visit Paris with my friend Spy. Beautiful 13th century convent right outside where we arrive. I scrabble along a sloped terrace to get to the gate of the place she’s staying, a cute iron-fenced yard, where Lucky’s older relatives live. Has a Eureka/Beverly Hills vibe (but only from other dreams set there). Have a great moment with Lucky that I don’t manage to record on video, despite having a head mounted camera for the trip. Note on paper left on their sliding glass door says something about being away, but Spy is evasive about what it says. I have to leave and find my own place to stay.

Around the corner from the Fartpartment with friends Rich and Lily. Working on their car, I think. I round the corner back home and head upstairs — the stairs climb side to side, unlike front-to-back in waking life. There’s quite a lot of construction material being brought up and stored there. I’m naked, which hadn’t been any concern before, but as I make my way past a number of construction workers I have the thought that this is the kind of thing that would be typical in a dream.

Upstairs, I sit between my wife and our friend Ais. Lynae is pointedly complaining about our landlord to Ais. He leans forward from a chair next to us, and I cringe. He quotes a section from Revelations, chapter, verse, even line position. The quote is actually just the word “bush”. This could mean practically anything and so I offer a few contexts, hairy bush, burning bush, George W. Bush… I wake up mumbling this gibberish in fact.

Categories
Dream Journal

Looking for My Motorcycle in a Dark Tower

dark motorcycle

Searching through a motorcycle warehouse trying to find where they moved my bike. Folks who work there claim they’ve found it, and from the top of a tower hold up a helmet with an “Arai” sticker that’s clearly not mine. They insist I check though and I can’t think of what else to do, so I climb 3-story tower — 90° corner long ramps. What I think is the top floor has a darkened bar/lounge hand-carved from dark-stained wood, comfortable yet bare old seats right against the edge. There is abyssal blackness beyond. I never do get to check the bike.

I’m on the Calamari Racing Team, but I don’t make a throw from my bike as planned. I go back and post again with my new motor CC, giving me different status.

With Patrick, now transitioned, in a suburban two-story house, a lot like our childhood house in Eureka actually.

Categories
Dream Journal

Buddhist Dinner, Stark Girls, Bridge Near Waterfall

I’m sitting in a communal-style restaurant, part of a big group. Instructed on how to put out my right hand behind my back (in Buddhist fashion) to receive dinner from the monks who serve it. Meanwhile, when I try to help, I over-boil the spaghetti noodles, and have to do another batch.

Arya and Sansa Stark are having difficulties cooperating. Arya is thinking of moving out. There are three bookcases in the apartment alcove.

A new bridge is built a very close by the traditional-style Japanese house where I’m staying. It’s the only bridge for many miles on this river, and it’s just after a short waterfall, which acts as a weir.

Categories
Dream Journal

Asleep in the Cave of the Enemy

cave holes

I sneak into the cave of hostile tribe to sleep for the night, next to a burly friend who has infiltrated them. Blue marks on their face, mostly unclothed, scattered torches. I see from an opening above, the three of us lying together, each with one eye open.

Looking up some word in the dictionary in the living room of my childhood. Many pets on many chairs. I notice my old cat Flop sleeping peacefully on one, raising his head to see me, even though I know he’s dead.

There’s a babe named RevZilla, she’s got these amazing horizontal face tattoos (or makeup). Reminds me a lot of Queen Po.

Categories
Dream Journal

Replace the Jellyfish

Small home aquarium containing a viable ecosystem of anemones, dark brown/red jellyfish, and colorful nudibranches. I revisit it several times in the course of walking around, and at some point my wife has us remove the jellyfish. The nudibranches have grown since we got them and can lift the anemones and reposition them as they like — smart little critters. But I see that they’ve gotten hungry and so start a quest to replace the jellyfish.

I’m in a neighborhood of lakes and high-rises. Across the water I see an aging building and recall bitterly a deal done with Trump many years back, I get mad enough to lock myself in a nearby public restroom stall and vent my anger by yelling. I emerge only to find an older black dude friend of mine nearby. He says that I should work on myself; he knows I had “psychological problems” in the past but being angry all the time about stuff is harmful.

Categories
Dream Journal

Delivering Bottled Plants, Fright in the Car

I’m raising sundew seedlings into adult plants, leaving them outside in pretty bottles to grow. At one, I show cousin Diana the progress that it’s made. While I’m pruning and rewatering one and her friend Reesa screws up and squishes it –three times. Find former of this and she asks why I want to make her feel bad to which I say I just want her to stop hurting my plant. I also manage to get trapped behind a set of portcullis gates in a play castle, before luckily yelling to the maintenance crew that closed them at that hour. (When I was younger, I might not have yelled!)

There’s some little intermission on the roof of Notre Dame of two people meeting clandestinely to exchange information. I’m one of them, but I’m also someone unseen, behind the point of view of the observer. Adjacent to them his rows of unused flags, one green one from Astoria I remember, as part of a story told by Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez about someone in her district who went missing.

I’m making a delivery of two of the bottled plants to a fancy upscale residence after dark. I double check my containers as I’m making the delivery and when one is missing I go back to check my car. It’s a low two-door, and I say approach I hear The Futurama/EVA mashup song, and recognize I left my door open. Inside the driver seat I noticed the glove compartment is cracked slightly. It’s a cold winter tonight in the city, and my breath inside the warm car is unusually easy to see. I realize the possibility, but don’t use my flashlight as was my first impulse… instead using my phone as a mirror. I catch glimpse of a wicked clown grimace and actually laugh a little, boosting myself into a quick wakeup so I could write this down. I said as dry as possible, “ha, that’s really funny” …but I meant it.

Categories
Dream Journal

New Orleans Job Interview

I’m on vacation in New Orleans but decide it’s worth a shot to go in for a job interview… maybe if I’m lucky I might just be able to live there. I make the regrettable decision to get there by bus and get stuck between the doors trying to exit with all my stuff. Damn tourists.

So then I’m late by 30 minutes (appointment was at 3:00), but I’m still willing to try. The place is a wine restaurant with charming unfinished wood paneling, upstairs is a big shipping department, high ceilings, round floorplan. I set my extra stuff down on a table in their common area. After I come out of the interview I have to pick it out from their Lost and Found at the security desk. Apparently my wallet was in there, now there’s only a single dollar left. Thankful they didn’t take the credit cards, I guess.

As I’m waking up, I recall being in bed next to my wife and exclaiming “grinding coffee isn’t a career, it’s something goats do by accident!” Unfortunately she says she has no memory of this.

Categories
Dream Journal

Big School Hallway

Middle School classroom, teacher is having difficulty trying to get us to actually leave our desks in disarray when we’re dismissed. A student teacher answers a phone call. The desk behind me has a roll of foil in it. We could fit all the students in a bus, squeezing double into every seat, but the bus would weigh so much it would drag.

I go on Space Mountain three times. Shoot some video of Ty as the operator, waving the space transports in.

A girl, topless, is crying (could it be Jaime Silva from 8th grade?). I take the opportunity besides all the other guys to actually console her. Go in for a very tactical hug, not holding her anywhere even moderately sexual, light light touch just on the elbows and forearms. She’s relieved and thanks me, and apologizes that her personal censor doesn’t allow me to see anything below her neck. I nod kindly and don’t mention that it does.

The class is then exploring a building which is a very long, wide hallway. I’m the only one to discover a door in the side, with a tiny little inter-door space, and another identical door. There’s even an attic door when I look up. I go inside and it’s a single-occupancy apartment with the TV still on. It makes the lines of the building stick out and should be easy to see from the outside. I get the impression that outside is the Sahara desert though, like something out of Dr. Strange.

I continue walking around the hallway with my classmates, recall the topless girl story and mentally review it, remembering it as important. (This is likely a consequence from my practice of my dream journaling practice.)

I walk down the hall to see my wife. She’s stressed and just as I’m walking down our hall, she mentions the door in the hallway could shut at any point. Of course, right at that moment, a door midway down the hallway — which was never there before — swings shut right in front of me.

Categories
Dream Journal

Old Friends, Covering Up Accidental Terrorism

In the city, walking along the sidewalk to a favorite Mexican place of mine when a light but colorful rain starts falling. Waiting in line alone, I’m concentrating on what my order will be, rock-a-pulco and some kind of snack ball. People keep cutting in front of me though I try to ignore it, when I finally reach the counter I go to the right hand side, I’m told only the left hand side has what I want. I knew this already but I suppose I’m stressed by all the people cutting. I place my order with the smaller, narrow family-run side, round the corner benches, and run into an old childhood friend, Robby T. There’s some tension as we haven’t seen each other in so long, but eventually we make friendly and I move the big wooden tables around.

I leave headed around the back way, down a dirt trail between clusters of buildings. Riding a bike, I pull over in a clump of bushes as I suspect my GPS is misleading me. Decide I need to pee anyway, but reconsider when I spot a group of women I know standing gathered under a tree nearby. Among these is Robin, but also… Emily Wentz. Somehow we begin a friendly conversation, we even smack butts, climbing into a wooden wall alcove for a longer chat. She’s herself, but older, with the reserved energy of most middle-aged adults.

I’m one of a pair of small companion robots (like PintSize from Questionable Content), and my human/creator/master is worried she’ll be caught for a terrible crime. We revisit what must’ve happened — a fiery explosion at the top of a mountainous roller-coaster, a disaster compared to a lava eruption, crowds fleeing in panic. Although she intended no such destruction, she did miscalculate, and she feels no responsibility for the accident victims. Authorities treat it as a terrorist attack even though there’s no motive.

Moving about hastily among backyard garden ponds, we obscure evidence, knowing we’re running out of time. At this point she knows she will be caught, and is only trying to protect people who helped her. While I scratch red marks into a note-taking board (mounted on the wall, using a broad flat scraper, with feigned-purposeful arcs) one such couple speak in Italian from inside their bus home. Able to robotically translate, I understand they’re trying to decide if they can pin some of their unrelated crimes on my friend/master. Something involving a kid I think. Creepy.

Categories
Dream Journal

Spelling Class Spells Obscenity

In my 7th grade Language Arts classroom, I’m watching an informative video on my laptop instead of following along with the rest of the class (dream persona is maybe a little older than the rest of the students). Eventually the teacher draws me back into our group activity. Jumping from student to student, we each activate a letter (calling it out, punching it in, I can’t remember). The first word we’re supposed to spell out is A-S-S-H-O-L-E. No one reacts as if this is inappropriate.

Someone booked me a flight to New Zealand, but I didn’t find out in time to board the plane. This makes me very sad and frustrated at myself and the whole situation.

As it turns out, my wife told me at breakfast that modern airlines will allow you to fly standby on the next flight, which I guess is great news if I ever dream this again!