Categories
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.

Categories
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.

Categories
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.

Categories
Dream Journal

Exploring the Forbidden Office

Escorted on a secret tour through a complex of interconnected office rooms. The workers there have lived with the strangeness of the place for so long that, despite possible serious consequences, they’re willing to take small groups through it for a token bribe. I get an Ambergris vibe on account of the mysterious powers that run the place.

At the end of the tour, I return to a desk with a suitcase full of my shoes underneath. In the corner of a room, like my parent’s bedroom. There’s the chance my unseen boss will have a problem with it.

While waiting at a train station, up in a broad autumnal-leafed tree, I spot a very unusual-looking creature. It’s almost intentionally strange: a single large, unblinking eye on a prehensile stalk points at me while a confusing locomotion of multiple limbs shuffles/crawls/drags it through and out of the foliage. I watch as it leaps down from the tree, around the corner of a concrete wall, joining (or becoming?) a family group of ten or more and shimmering/disappearing into the ground.

Foggy wooden V-shaped viewing platform that I visit before my group. Climbing up a second time, the ladder has moved back and I’m not sure I have the upper body strength to pull me over. Kate Willett, who has lightened hair tips (perhaps from age) climbs up also and I realize this is as foretold in an old vision… a dream? Hm. She reveals a special name that lines up with my secret knowledge, something like “Ec-sdo-mai-ssis” without the dashes.

In our home, we have two regular-sized fish tanks. One has divider and a thin sick fish (a gullet?) breathing heavily on its side. Lynae does a water exchange at the same time as I do, and it results in one tank being nearly empty, and excess water for the other. Meanwhile I intermittently find tiny rats on floor, a consequence of a pregnant female escaping.

Categories
Dream Journal

Last Night in New Orleans

Slim invites us to a museum he’s been to before. Not knowing much about it, we end up liking it a lot — a museum named after Abita about New Orleans, and death (death with a little d and big D, Death). The black folks who run it are really into the place, too, and I wish I kept more details. One run-through, many catwalks, like a brewery tour. Death is alive.

Playing outside on the street of my childhood home on Kemper Court, I watch the adults steadily, one-by-one, leave their homes and leave me abandoned. There’s some new requirement for a federal ID (like the new TSA requirement, perhaps). I’m still a kid, but I’m also still me, and I know it’s some flavor of bullshit. In my head, while gazing at the neighbors house, I demand to know how much it costs to raise the neighbor kid Brandon. I haven’t thought about him in decades and I’m almost surprised I recall his name.

Passing the redeveloped portion of my hometown, Cathedral City, the part where Cat City Elementary used to be. Understanding that the absence of a place leaves the memories of that place unmoored, unrelatable. In the dream I can’t remember what it looked like, and all I observe is a line of tamarisk trees. The street has recently been the site of homeless encampments. A new bureaucratically long-named assistance center sits on the site of a former narrow park, battered tents obstruct the street (either in my direct experience or in my recalling of the past). Cranes return to the dark grass on the side of the road.

Spend several hours on a grimy and ghetto-y pedestrian overpass, passing the night in what ought to be an urban hell. Instead, there’s an erotic aspect, a sexual pastime. Who am I there with, am I male or female? — can’t remember. But it’s our secret location, ensconced above the rabble of vagrants, watching as if from a crow’s nest on a ship’s mast.

Inside a dainty house sometime after, I’m in charge of running the place.  I’m female, notably. There’s fancy teacups and luxurious wallpaper, but middle class, somehow unpresumptuous. There’s a stack of electronics that’ve been set up by my partner, stylishly white, antique by only a decade or two. Per someone’s request, I play some music on the DVD player, which is a clear plastic model, revealing the many spinning gears/components and quite fascinating to watch, spinning up, then becoming still.

Categories
Dream Journal

Spider-Sitting

I’m spider-sitting for a bunch of out-of-town friends, replacing rotting leaves with fresh ones to hide under. It’s a short time before I have to leave town for a very brief trip to New York, then Berlin. Plans have changed many times since Lynae booked the tickets.

Categories
Dream Journal

Rickety Island

Small hill island in a lake, with a large gathering of artsy/resourceful people I know. Scenic, dry, recreational. There are telescopes mounted inside a wooden tower to see the people on the mainland.

I’m there helping with responsibility for the flagpole, used for signaling. By using principles of counterweight, girls ride up and down the pole like aerialists. The hillside has a series of old buildings with an old hydraulic tram system that used to require hundreds of men to operate.

More scattered notes from this night:

  • Billionaire shindig dance upon delivery, messy collage cup tradition, wish them well
  • Zuck has a personality!
  • Going off a green curb in New York, near what would be San Francisco’s ferry building

Categories
Dream Journal

Alien Math Slip, Party Picnic

Cartoon Ian Malcolm (who’s also an alien incarnation) giving mathematics talk and accidentally reveals that 910 goes into 977, thus setting off an academic stampede to discern their number base.

DMT, Arizona — picnic partying with Mickey and conserving a bag of white powder. Somehow this is also Germany. We cross a small river of juice and I thank him for helping me catch my wireless earbud before it falls in the substance. It’s a fun and celebratory mood. Could be a combination of Mickey and Lauren, come to think.

Earlier: Lynae going down on me. I realize at some point it’s a dream and am impressed I feel it, although I know it isn’t very intense.

Categories
Dream Journal

Pieces of a November Night’s Dreams

Long catchup conversation with Christy T, my elementary school crush, who’s now a mom.

Riding a long sloping escalator down into a comforting mall, happen to be behind an attractive young-ish girl with all-green clothes, covered in iron-on patches.

Driving down zig-zagging switchbacks to Baker Beach in a golf cart, then ascending again in an elevator.

Magical dollhouse with with tiny little magic stone slab. Take a drop of poison, drop it on the magic book, it absorbs and reveals… something. The rats swim around it.

Ned Flanders’s beatnik parents chant “om-om-om-om”.

Categories
Dream Journal

Laptop and Pineapple Left in a Bag

Left my Moroccan leather backpack at a Mexican restaurant — with a laptop and a pineapple inside. This is called a piñeda, by the way. Someone tried to steal the laptop by claiming it wasn’t in there, but I was able to prove that it was, by being forceful but not accusatory.