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Dream Journal

Flashing Under Dress Robes

My wife and I have assigned rooms, and I’m visiting and essentially staying in her room. She’s decorated it differently than I would’ve, a layered golden yellow autumnal theme integrating wild-gathered elements. As we talk, I prep for a bath in a large plastic bin (similar to the rat cage I’m making). I wear a reversible skull mask as we talk.

I pass by a partially outdoor class seated and having group discussion. I jump into the air as I go by, floating down slowly. I may have flashed my underwear under these dress robes we all wear here — I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, oops.

Conservatives are trying to elect a high ranking general, thinking that he’s on their side. Meanwhile, the guy is actually an ethical patriot, but he’s of course not going to tell them — they might find somebody else.

Categories
Dream Journal

Velociraptor CEO, Star Wars Bumper Cars, Matthew in Charlottesville

The actress Jessica Barden is a velociraptor, locked in a room with a CEO. This is set to happen over 3 days but he’s clawed to death by the second day. A whole day’s headstart to go on the run. I peek inside the chamber early and get to see my old friend Kelly G. naked, in profile, silhouetted against the background. I always did think she had a great body.

I’m rewatching bumper boat scene in Star Wars and it looks startlingly cheap; they should let George Lucas remake it. Certainly looked like a lot of fun they had making it in the 70s. I love the space they filmed in, a massive dusty off-white room with ceilings so high in the middle you can’t see them, but dim areas beyond the colonnades where old machines rust into bits. Maybe it was bumper cars, but then again maybe it changed.

Taking apart RAM from a computer to put back together, but it looks as though it’s been hollowed out. A big chunk in the middle had been removed underneath where the heat dissipator would be. I think this can’t be repaired; don’t know how it could’ve worked in the first place. Maybe it didn’t.

An extended visit to our friend Matthew S. at his home in Charlottesville. Or perhaps at least a place near the Charles River, a long low bridge we cross together with him driving. Is it named after King Charles, that one who the English beheaded? The right colonial time period. Maybe this city is near Baltimore, somewhere on the East Coast at least. I’ve hardly ever been on the East Coast so I can’t really intuit. Driving around I get a strange impression of more noticable cultural differences. Even the stores, the street corners, the taxis give a more conservative impression than I expected — just not in the way I expected. Beyond the car windows things have a grey/brown cast, but bright, like they never had color they could have lost.

Later I’m seated at a lecture next to my wife somewhere during our visit. She asks the first question to the presenter which is uncomfortably something like “what is your position on gay?” I tug her shirt hem, frantically trying to reel her in, recognizing that our “California-ness” is utterly the wrong tone to move any hearts and minds here, knowing how we must look to these dingy generic townsfolk. No effect, but perhaps someone saw me and at least saw that I realized this.

Maybe this was Canada actually? Nah, that doesn’t sound right.

Categories
Dream Journal

Two Different Political Dreams

I am an incorporeal presence floating above the crowds of the Republican National Convention. Loud and angry is the clamor, wretched partisans yelling for blood, dressed in white and reddish-orange. I despise the vicious and violent desires of these people. All gathered, I want them all blown up. Instead (by my intervention, perhaps?) the crowd is suddenly turned against their hotheaded petty potty-mouthed loser of a champion… they yell for his blood now, “Kill Trump! Kill Trump! Kill Trump!”

But that’s not all. In a separate dream, I’m the personal servant/slave of none other than Adolf Hitler himself. Fortunately for me, he’s not thoughtful enough to realize that his Jewish slave being sent on an errand to the railway depot might just escape. I manage to sneak out my wife too, who bafflingly robs the drama from the situation by dryly noting “this is good, I’m glad we do this every year.”

Let’s hope this dream doesn’t get me put on the wrong kind of list… (but if you did read this post under the aegis of law enforcement, I’d be interested to know).