Tag: embarrassed

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Dream Journal

Gazempic

There is a judgement of the adult offspring of rich parents who was abused. Perhaps, that is, abused nevertheless. I’ve not much to compare her with in my life experience, but she reminds me of Patty Hearst or Britney Spears. I’m not really participating, so maybe I’m already watching a movie.

Then I am… I am watching a sorta slow movie, some kind of arthouse populism disposable fame film. Fairly unremarkable par the course. Yet one scene that was easy to dredge back out of the night’s fading: several of the main actresses are on swings, hung from the arches of a colonnade. In vainglorious slowmo, the camera pans down the line of brand-name actresses flaunting full-frontal vagina. Shocking on a few levels.

Inspiring of questions too… How did they get away with releasing this even if it maybe was the 70s? How did the big name starlets agree to it? How come nobody ever mentioned this bit when they talk about the movie? Why do I distinctly place the word as “vagina” even when I’m well aware that “vulva” is more descriptively accurate? Well, it was a weird scene I suppose.

After the Donald Duck portion (which happens to be the best reviewed Donald Duck bit in history, fun fact), my wife is avoiding a meeting. She’s embarrassed and worried on account the meeting is to discuss and decide concerning her boyfriend R. Multiplying two large factors is part of deciding whether he will be judged to have transgressed (I’ve been doing a lot of coding lately).

”Gazempic”, as you might expect, is a strange word/name that just barely became unmoored from it’s place and meaning.

Categories
Dream Journal

Dreamy Cool Plant-land

I’m underwater. On bus stops, the first presidential debate is advertised, being hosted by BuzzFeed (of all hosts!). The snappy slogans have to be altered though, a new first line added — after conservatives complain about anti-conservative bias (mostly the result of them not-getting-the-meme). Floating just over the edge of an underwater cliff, holding a half-full bottle in each hand, I release one of them and it unexpectedly goes sinking into the oceanic abyss. With surprising skill I bolt down to retrieve it and, with controlled movement, grab it and bring it back to safety.

Later I’m in a plant nursery, part open-air part 2-story building. The vibe is stylish and calm. I’m bottomless between the rows of waist-high tables, not thinking I would need pants, and only become embarrassed when someone asks how to find the bathroom. It would be the back bathroom of Paxton Gate. I remember thinking this is like something that would be in a dream.

In the dust-lit gloom of the upper nursery space, the garden is decorated with retired equipment. I count 2 or 3 mailboxes, numbered with 4 digit identifiers overgrown (or decorated?) with moss. It takes me a moment to inspect and recognize the rusted and repainted post of a lift gate, like you’d see in a gated parking lot. The room has a post-industrial Easter basket feel.

For a bit I seem to recall talking to Dara in this same room. She receives me as if I’m a visitor, facing me directly, and I look up to her standing on a dais. She wears an armored apron of brass scales. She is brief but not unfriendly.

I am looking for a private room to masturbate. I carefully peek in one of the conference rooms around the central space, but it’s occupied by Spy, Rachel W., and Anya talking animatedly. I consider the unusual meeting of three girls I know from different parts of my life years ago. I’m not even sure who I’d be willing to talk to.