Tag: clown

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Dream Journal

Chemistry Conference Reunion

I’m attending a reunion of people who attended a now-legendary chemistry conference many years ago. There are only two age groups: very chatty nostalgic 30-somethings (maybe my age or younger) and venerable yet out-of-it elder statesmen types. From conversations and context I work out that what made the event so successful was bringing together old and young chemists to collaborate. Specifically, chemists planning to retire in the next year and chemists going to graduate in the next year. I observed that the younger group was obviously much more excited to recall those experiences, as it was (for many of them) projects which launched their careers. For the older ones, it may have been merely a final-ish achievement after a lifetime of work.

The original organizer is also hosting the reunion. She reminds me of an Odd Salon host, managing a community as well as presenters. Her counterpart from back then makes a show of rehashing some old repartee, and takes the appearance of my elementary school friend Amy Naud. She was just an attendee who chose to publicly play off the organizer and was a big hit. Her clownish efforts created a powerful duo energy between herself and the organizer, and is remembered as one reason for the special feeling of that time. She was young and vivacious, having fiery bleached hair with a reddish tint, looking and acting like Pippi Longstocking.

It’s never clear why the event never happened again…

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Dream Journal

Forgot the Naked Pictures in my Wallet

On a university campus of a huge wide open green, I spot a parade of Cthulhu characters emerging. I race on an intercept course so I can start shooting a video and record the beginning of the column coming into frame. This seems like a unique tradition on this campus and I think it’d be a great idea to share it.

Following after the parade, I become like a student. Not bad academically in fact; I keep quiet and perform the class activities dutifully. The group arrives at an enclosed multi-purpose space where much occurs. I take initiative to remove the plastic cover of the room’s ring of string lights and jiggle them back into position as best I can. In one corner I notice “Gavid David”, supposedly George Lucas’ self-insert character from the new Star Wars, which is a broody chicken — his wavy hair is carefully coiffed and dyed rainbow colors.

In my wallet I discover some very cool photos of a clown girl I know, Sabrina W. She’s doing handstands and performing splits, looks like she’s naked and with body paint. I’m confused at first then they jog my memory, I took these myself not long ago when we had sex — sometime during the dream chronology, in fact.

On a street I attempt to find a relative of a deceased classmate from my youth, Stephanie Sukhram, to give $20 as a token of common mourning… enough at least to buy some flowers if they wish. (Perhaps it counts toward what I owe them for that stuffed teal-and-pink shark.)

I observe part of Finland in the wintertime, where bodies are being buried by the side of a road. A man jokingly announces “that’s what happens to Finns who don’t sign the new road adjustment form”.

Categories
Dream Journal

New Friends at Race Checkpoint, in Mexico

Running in a jogging race in Mexico. Doing well on position, I’m last before a drawbridge goes up, and have time to notice Rudy Giuliani in the front on the other side. I drop my drawers to moon my ass, to him especially. I catch up to my friend ahead (Mickey? Robby?) and I explain this, though I mention that maybe dropping pants more complicated than I thought. Smack his butt as we run along, though I normally wouldn’t perform such a bro-y gesture.

Further on, there’s a check-in space in the small courtyard of a fancy hotel that maybe looks like a Pueblo. Make quick friends with the checker.

Soon though, the dream is taken over by evil clowns — like something from the show Legion; time demons or the shadow king. I keep calm and just pay attention to the experience, allowing it to pass over me and simply be what’s happening. Eventually the moment passes; maybe they got bored of us.

I agree to stay on until the checker can leave. We talk about the coast of Mexico, the shoreland of Cancun which I view on the map as somehow on the west coast. Reminiscent of other dreams, the craggy coast of ancient Greece or rural northern California.

While waiting on my new friend, several of us start feeding guinea pigs chunks of baked potato. One is adorably an order of magnitude bigger than others, which is terribly endearing for all of them.

I end up staying on longer than expected. I ask how much longer My checker friend thinks we need to stay, as it seems all participants have passed. I don’t remember the answer, but it strikes me now how he reminds me the kid I knew in Middle School and haven’t really thought about since: Ted Takahashi. (Hm… a character from deep storage I suppose.)