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Dream Journal

Sleeping in the Truck, Portland Parking Lot

Doing deliveries, there’s an accident involving a moving truck at an intersection, and the motorcyclist rides off angrily. I know the bike (Nissan) and ride off after them, coming across the abandoned bike near a low wall of a building owned by Chicken. In the semi-underground room, I start working, even though I know Chicken could be pissed. Eventually he shows up and yells at someone (Jimmy?) wanting me gone; we never even make eye contact.

Waiting in a line for older veterans, slowly climbing the staircase of something like a child’s playhouse to hand over our books, I’m given a cut in line when an older black guy (looks like professor in Man From Earth) stops on staircase. A friendly girl takes mine but is visibly confused, having never seen one like it before. The playhouse is on a train and I walk behind it as it slowly edges into a siding.

Mickey dead? Replaced with a toy crying baby in coffin, we’re unsure what his wishes were to present this to his family. It’s an Old West context, stagecoaches and cowboy hats.

Huge wild flock of cat-penguin-monkeys outside a monastery can be approached, even picked up, because the elder cat-penguin-monkeys will take their cues from the monks also watching nearby.

Josh cancels his wedding the day before, I’m sad and don’t know how to engage him so I ask ”laundry day?” when I run into him on a corner of Mission Street. It’s laundry day, I guess.

Lynae has a problem where she’s been panhandling then using the change to buy goose eggs to sell, but she keeps getting the occasional fertilized one and it upsets her and others.

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Dream Journal

Dream: October 24, 2018

Staying in Tahoe with poly peeps, I go out in the crisp early morning air to the enclosed backyard. I count six hot tubs arrayed around the pool, it’s so wonderfully abundant — maybe decadent, even.

Hot older woman, fancies herself a femme fatale. Wife of someone powerful. She’s named “Korova”, like the Cannabis brand (I just visited a recreational dispensary for the first time yesterday).

I’m playing pool (the game with balls and pockets) but find it curiously frustrating, the damn physics aren’t constant… because I’m dreaming, of course.

Dean Venture, Hank, sell their subs during the credits.

Here’s a cool image: an infinitely repeating crocodile skull, spinning in space, then zoom in on an ornate pile of carved Olmec heads.

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Dream Journal

Bigfeet, Submarines with Screen Doors: A Multitude of Amusing Dreams

The house on Kemper court has been torn down and replaced with a huge ornate Victorian abomination. I remember carved wooden Africanesque statues piled outside (one of Socrates), dirty glass picture windows set in a wall looking into an empty garden, Chris’ old remote control toy truck under a layer of dust at the end of the driveway, rain leaking like a sieve in the vast empty garage. In the garage I film a little kid (my brother Chris) who knows how to skate impressively. Later, everything in my parent’s bedroom is oddly pastel (vaporwave, I now realize), and I sit in front of an old CRT TV that previously played a specific… song? Mantra? Now it displays a number to dial.

A jar one mixes with salt, a substance Lynae doesn’t have access to, with which one can access the seraphim.

Bill O’Reilly show is taping in an elegant narrow San Francisco TV studio, so narrow that only the camera, computer, and host fit in the dusk-lit back room. Crew and visitors (me) sit along benches in main room. Cozy, intimate. Afterwards, in the backyard behind the Queen Anne building, I’m floating/flying above what appears to be a miniature forest of small bushes while a fan of mine fawns for my contact info.

Piloting a covert submarine, my team runs into an unfortunate problem… the underside of the bow has clearly been fitted with a pair of flyscreens. Ridiculous. The gathered Sub Team leave our “elite yurt” as new romantic couples, leaving only two big girls who depart proudly arm-in-arm, in good humor, to cries of “Fat Girl Solidarity!”

Near the compound with the yurt, which has a storage facility/Looney Toons vibe, I espy the face of a Bigfoot, which reveals, with continued peering, a multitude of Bigfeet eyes — an entire tribe. They line up single file along the forest hillside and play a game of passing balls with their feet in both directions, the goal of which is not to get stuck anywhere.

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Dream Journal

Disneyland, Silo Fairy, Cannibal Kinslayers, Patrick at Christmas

There’s a beautifully decorated lizard enclosure at Disneyland, bedecked with bromeliads and trickling waterfalls, and I’m climbing up the back grating of it. I fall backwards from the more-than-vertical surface into the limpid pool below, and crawl out across a blended-in rock bridge that serves as drainage.

Bouncing across some rolling plains below a college-evoking Monterey, stumbling across a metal silo powered by a curious trapped fairy spirit in the point of the cone. Fire play ensues, a rakish young innocent grin, and the fairy (a male one) breaks free, speaking with a rough and somehow primitive German accent.

Cannibal warriors (orcs?) walking up a line of soldiers back to front, hunting down kin. There’s an ill-fated Julius Caesar-type at head of the line, resigned, resolute, doomed.

The family is sitting in our old Kemper court house around Christmastime, selecting a movie with a clunky Windows-style file hierarchy. Patrick is looking very intently, thinking what I’m not sure.

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Dream Journal

Dreams While Healing from a Motorcycle Injury

Went to Florida home Depot, one at the end of the land. A total carpet of drug waste, human filth the likes of which I didn’t think existed. I could pull the tarp up and reveal clean surface, though.

Surprised to run into Lauren in Knoxville, on a houseboat bar.

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Dream Journal

Dream: October 5, 2018

Small 1-person boats impaled on pillars, to dry perhaps? Reminds me of a golf cart installation I saw in the Mojave Desert.

In a free movie theater, there’s a disused and neglected triangular video game room off to the side of the hallway. Behind a flimsy wall can be found a secret, colorful 70s dining hall. The hall still has chandeliers somehow. I’m discovered fairly quickly by some other students who work there.

I’m a red-headed sun-kissed kid, looking in a mirror. This is the end of the dream and I’ve been experiencing it as him, and he’s the character I’ve most liked, he’s made all good decisions. I use his image as an anchor, hoping to remember the whole story.

Seeing mom in Cathedral City backyard, confused because I remember some people who are there actually aren’t supposedly around anymore.

Diztroyo: a kind of chaotic and confusing music I hear with glitched-out visuals to match, the end of the night when I’ve essentially slept too long.

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Dream Journal

Naked Time & Lost Minidiscs

Lying backwards in a papasan chair. Naked, but covered in a gray blanket so no one tell. Cozy and happy. I overhear a snobby girl say how gross it is when men are naked in public, and laugh to myself. From the clothing display above the chair, I pull down a couple colorful sportswear outfits and surreptitiously re-clothe.

A pile of my old minidiscs have spilled onto the street. I look back at them and don’t really care about picking them up or not.

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Dream Journal

Alone with a List

Making a list of things

Things that are googled as I type them

All of which center around dying this horrible navy-colored hoodie I just got (I actually just got a cozy red hoodie)

(and actually it was Lynae who posted this morning about how much she hated an ugly navy-and-grey ModCloth ensemble)

And it’s hard to type because Swiftkey keepsfuckingup thewords

I realize that I’m alone in the attic space, where a moment ago the rest of my classmates (tenth grade history, Mr. Conklin) had been all around me

And that they were all downstairs now, and I was about to get locked in with my depressing craft search list

That’s when I woke up in my loving lukewarm bath and knew if I spent any longer there, I’d be trapped all night

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Dream Journal

Double Vacations

On double-vacation in San Francisco. Pass the Nihil Cafe, might be nice to go before we leave (to return to our first vacation, eventually to return home to SF). Slick marble streets of many colors, on some the water has been blocked off so you have to scramble over them. Mixing cum with radio magnetides to turn it electrically active, andand  last step creates rusty blobs (these blobs result from lack of enough reagent resources, I imagine). Beautiful bathrooms in these SF houses, I wished I had pictures. We shampoo the fancy white carpet in our rental. Maybe I did this in an earlier dream? Then vacuum it up with a toddler’s ball bobble walker.

Seventh grade science classroom home video. Halfway up the walls are ringed with panels of handprinted student messages (MC CHRIS HAHAHA). Big Bird trying to go up on stage wearing someone else’s t-shirt of single yellow feather, is warned then tackled off by tankgirl character. This is when I wet-vacuum. It’s so effective it reveals holes in the wood flooring where planks join at odd angles.

Opening up a chain-link gate to a coastal area for workmate Manny (Manxioc on chat) and hopping in the white interior of his car, they’re probably gonna smoke weed but I’m fast enough I think I can ditch if that happens.

Tall skyscraper in the distance has a loose symbol atop it (glittery purple teeth?); I see it wobble and wonder what kind of job it is to fix.

Frozen forest riverbank, I find my spot under a tree with hardly any ice. But the branches are more brittle from exposure. Looking up, one by one they fall (at an oddly uniform speed, no acceleration) and
the biggest nearly impales my head.

Immediately afterwards, Sir Paul McCartneyis escorted though a toy store having just dodged the tree branches. He’s shaken and a bit angry. The store is packed with shoppers and it’s quite dark, I use the button built into a toy box to see a Millennium Falcon playset, though it’s still too dim. There’s an exhibit off to the side in a 3-room alcove, some singing animatronics. Some cool, trippy florescent stuff in there. I bump into one of the bands (they remind me of Tusken Raiders) and a nice old lady helps me to remember the area by showing me archival “before” pictures from her booth — including a dinner attended by my Uncle John and Uncle Bob. Maybe a week ago, maybe 40 years.

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Dream Journal

They Stole Everything in the House

On awakening in the dream, I see that the house Lynae & I are house-sitting has had all it’s furniture stolen. Running through my head is a reminder to lock all the doors at night, and I’m not even sure if it was a true instruction or something I made up. They’d even stolen several of the cars. I saw, too, the area behind where the master bed was, where I’d hammered some nails back into the wall the night before, and the wooden support beam stuck out, was now bare and exposed. I think I went back to bed, not knowing how to explain such a catastrophe.

Earlier during sleep, I’d been laying out a (Sim)city that was mostly of a string of hospitals on a diagonal coastline, connected awkwardly by road to a larger blocky building.