Tag: cars

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Dream Journal

Metal Action Movie Bullshit

I’m in an enclosed all-metal structure, reminiscent of a labyrinth. As I proceed through, around the corner some Marvel movie bullshit starts happening in the next room — lasers firing, superhuman karate, epic scale fighting (way above my pay grade). Reasonably, I’m skeptical that a normal human like me should be anywhere at all nearby. I take a left and crawl down a long sloped metal corridor, a blind curve down a ramp. I start to get scared/worried, actually. For awhile there it’s pretty uncertain whether I’ll be able to make myself go all the way down the ramp. It doesn’t help that I see flashing blue and red lights from the end of the tunnel, indicating there’s some heavy police presence outside for whatever nonsense is going down inside.

I manage to make it out, playing it cool for the gaggle of bored-looking cops standing around at the tunnel exit, on a pleasant terrace adjacent to the structure. Quite soon after me a female friend emerges from the tunnel — she must’ve been right behind me. She asks what the holdup was, if I got frightened or something. Ummm… I try to play it off once again, but consider going on a rant about whatever the fuck superhero garbage we had to deal with. The person I’m speaking to is one of my friends, Reecy or Jessica from La Paz, maybe both in one form. I don’t know the significance of either.

It’s time to take it easy for the moment. I sit at a bench with my father-in-law at the edge of an unused race track, chilling in the sun on a slow afternoon in Sacramento. I’m waiting for something , so now we’re waiting together. As we sit, I watch a massive metal bird made of spare parts loft a monster truck into the air in it’s janky mechanical claws. Oh, right, there’s a destruction derby going on in the stadium next to the track. We both glance at each other, sharing the same thought — it’s highly entertaining to watch, but since my wife is away it would only disappoint her to describe the cool shit she missed. But it’s here for us to enjoy, now, and we might as well.

Later, a single scene dream. My wife walks in the room and informs me with apparent gravitas and regret, yeah, “Fox and Mongreen closed last week”. Sounds like the kind of hipster restaurant place in the neighborhood that we’d typically be sad to see close. But wait… Mondegreen? Did I hear that right? Weirdly clever, upon reflection. This is the dream that woke me up — I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.

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Dream Journal

Planet of the Bird People (Last Page is in the Middle)

Outside my house (my Kemper court house), two of my cars are waiting with people inside. We’re trying to leave and I can’t find the right car key. Eventually I realize we actually have a key sitting on the car’s floor; it looks identical but its untried. And of course, that finally works! Josh insists on driving my convertible Beetle since I made them wait so long. By now everyone’s eager to leave quickly, so both cars are driving in reverse at speed out of the court — I hesitate to ask to slow down since I made them wait. Half-heartedly, I ask if he’ll attempt a fast 180-turn, which I watch the other car do. Unexpectedly, he pulls it off and we merge into busy school-hours traffic — a familiar scene since the court is across from an elementary school.

My friend (S. of P&S) has died unexpectedly young… 32 years old? After realizing what it actually means, I feel the gap of his loss deeply. It’s only later that I also realize he has a kid, which makes it even worse.

A sprawling hostel, where an older lady has stayed so long that her shared dorm room is entirely colonized by bookshelves and stacks of books. The hostel itself is a long building with many stacked rooms in rows overlooking the downslope of a hill — a place that feels familiar from previous dreams.

The setting: a human planet that’s been administratively taken over by harpy-like bird aliens. I’m part of a team robbing a store and things go sideways (though apparently not too badly). Our escape route traverses security-activated bean geysers — most of which erupt chaotically around us during the escape. During the getaway, with authorities obviously observing us, one of the team (who reminds me of Cypher from The Matrix) says into our radio, “Can we blame this on anyone innocent?”

After other dreamss, the setting returns to the planet run by bird-people, where I’m flying in a cathedral-like room with columns and buttresses. It’s filled with redwoods, creating a humid atmosphere reminiscent of a cool redwood forest. There are elegant Asian-style stacked wooden shelves with narrow beams for plants. I fly outside through the large opening in the wall. Beyond, everything seems larger than normal (or I’m smaller than usual). As I fly towards a row of cypress trees (evoking a feeling of Northern Californian natural places), I land on an unoccupied bird-people nest I find. I don’t mess with their eggs for whatever reason. Perhaps I realize I don’t feel the need to indulge, even though I could crush them if I wanted to. I continue flying and swoop over a BBQ picnic, where I impulsively steal the big cooked fish just being brought out for everyone.

For a while now, I’ve had a disorganized stack of papers that I use as study material, flipping over the pages as I go to track of what I’ve read. It’s actually a fictional document but a worthy background reference (perhaps on our avian overlords). I realize suddenly upon flipping a page that I’ve read through the whole thing: it seemed like I was in the middle, but no, the last page I flipped is indeed the final page. I rememeber that, oh yes, I started in the middle, once upon a time.

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Dream Journal

The New Apartment

On a public street near a riverbank somewhere downtown, things appear neglected and abandoned. Around the corner there’s a grand old white-columned courthouse that has seen better days. Old cars rust outside industrial-sized garages — no people can be seen. I’m there to move into the neighborhood. Eventually, with time, the residents show themselves. It’s a bit of an initiation they do.

In the living space I settle into there’s a rat cage, not much bigger than a 10-gallon terrarium, but which is decorated beautifully with plant clippings and dry moss. Around the corner in this strangely welcoming squat group-style apartment is a leopard in small cage. It’s at first unfriendly, even hostile. Then one day it asks to be handled and is so friendly I almost let it escape by rolling through a crunchy plastic carry-out box.

Working on a student project of some kind, I take figurines of the evil Mongol leader from Mulan and add a jet-pack. Mostly, this doesn’t result in its limbs being melted off — mostly. Heph, my partner, does a much more diligent job and regales us with a moving story (which I watch through a gap underneath the rat cage). Blake is also living here, and I recall it being her birthday. The dream ends outside in a oddly-shaped triangular parcel, cars parked tight, with stalagmites of rust rising out of the ground.