Tag: camp

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Dream Journal

Cleaning Up After Burning Man

I volunteer to clean up after Burning Man. It’s a camp I used to belong to, people I used to be friends with who I haven’t seen in years. Now I’m idly cataloging the junk left behind — piecing together the stories of what happened at the week-long party. Specifically I recall searching under flip-up style Murphy beds that are semi-permanent and remain in desert for the year (an unusual change since everything used to be completely leave-no-trace). Sponsorship in the camp is by Ritual Coffee, naturally. I still drink Ritual to this day.

Perhaps an object I find, perhaps a different dream: a golden metal orb with triangular holes lining its surface. Thin tetrahedral slices which fit exactly through the holes, as if it were a 3D puzzle to be assembled through the tiny gates. But it seems too elegant and precious to be a toy.

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Dream Journal

Dive Camp with Friends

A summer camp for diver’s training in underwater oil recovery. Mixed co-ed group of youngish people, high sexual tension but everyone is working too hard to do anything about it. A girl I know from the PacTrades hostel, Adrienne F., is climbing the rope ladder to our next task area but stops to masturbate. Supposedly, I remember her doing this in the past.

Karma Raya  is the name for the communal ranch house some of us stay in. A low wall separates our small sleeping rooms from a main activity area. The place looks like an architectural cutaway model that someone actually made a building of.

There, my school friend Vince Saunders is playing piano. Well there’s a piano in the same room anyways. I slide down the wall, over the edge, and land on the piano bench facing away from him. It’s a silly yet simultaneously classy move.

Categories
Dream Journal

Grand Canyon Birth, Creepy Mannequin

Lynae gives birth to our daughter earlier than planned while visiting the Grand Canyon. This is inconvenient, obviously, but I note to myself how unique her birth certificate will be.

Transported via flat-bottomed boat behind an experimental wakeless speedboat, which is mostly underwater and creates an odd rippling divot in the water. We pass conifer-lined shores and disused “water basketball” courts, part of an out-of-season summer camp.

I’m moving a creepy “live” mannequin that has become a problem. I don’t want to touch the thing more than absolutely necessary and so, dragging it along, I can see it blink and look around. Propping the torso up on a ladder, I examine its inhumanly long eyelashes — the thing seems to lunge at me for an instant. I’m instantly awake.