Dream Journal

Massive Handmade Map in Quiet-time Classroom

It’s third grade, and I’m starting a painting assignment in the last period of class — a massive mural-sized map. At first I paint on large paper at my desk, then moving to the walls of the classroom. Making the land using smooth strokes of light red against red. Switching to a dark purplish blue for the seas, and aged vintage yellow for other empires of the world beyond my knowledge. The border of the colors is arbitrary, artistic. I experiment, blending darker parts into the sea to make it look deeper. The recommendation was to use blots of red, but it blends terribly.

The teacher leaves through a side door to grab something. Since the door is in my row I have to move aside. As she comes back, I hand her a pair of sunglasses I found lying on the ground there, telling her she dropped them. She claims not to recognize them.

During quiet time at the end I survey my finished work, with the goal of convincing her to let me seal it. I only need to ask her the finish: matte, satin, or glossy. Her car is parked inside the classroom, and I circle around it, noting its make as a Capri, a “Capri Sun.” I look up the car on a website; it’s related to a ’94 Tirder, which is Scandinavian-style word for fending off collisions. She won’t let me ask about either, as it’s still quiet time.

A girl complains in the front row — which now appears opposite of where it was — and tries to impart how worldly she is; needing to tan, that she’s only slept with 10 people. Teacher proclaims “if you’re 9 and have already slept with 10 people, how do you feel about a visit to the school psychiatrist?” This elicits a sigh and shuts down the complaining. The girl acts as if she was talking about her dog sleeping with 10 other dogs.

I’m floating/wandering through a simulation of my neighborhood. It’s 4th of July, nighttime, and I have a special appreciation for its uniqueness — the colors of lights flashing everywhere as I pass through corridors, watching them reflect off windows of closed-up music shops and grocery stores. There’s one large simulated power station which draws energy from the physics engine (in the same way a real-world power generator would). I recognize it as a facility I’ve made a delivery to before. I witness as one of the explosions spawns inside the locked-up doors and begins an explosive chain reaction. I’m the only one right there, and I happen to know how to get inside, and mount rescue efforts even though it means I might be destroyed in the simulation.


Walking Outside on 4th of July

I had no idea what to do this fourth. Maybe I was gonna dress up like a salmon and bother tourists (it seemed only fair). But instead, I just walked outside. I walked outside. And my neighborhood took care of it for me. You have no idea how much I love this town.

Directly outside there were people setting off the screamy ones that don’t leave a lot of smoke. Down the street I could see big ones. We got in the car and drove southwards, toward Bernal Hill. We figured we could get a nice wide view of the entire Mission (which, apparently, is a “hotbed” of illegal fireworks). Unfortunately some other damn fool had the bright idea to light off some of the same from that dry, grassy park at the top of a windy hill, and… well, we drove outta there pretty fast once we figured that out. Precita Park was cool. The little lady’s new camera got such a workout her batteries died. Someone blew up a garbage can. The SFFD showed up with a big spotlight but didn’t say anything to anyone, and all was understood. The projects down about Cesar Chavez and Harrison were lit up, streets closed off with stolen (borrowed) traffic cones, its intersection packed with people standing 200-300 feet directly below the wink-and-a-nod explosions, each family who wanted to celebrate taking turns which meant at least three separate finales… that I saw.

Did I mention I barbecued burgers on our backyard balcony? Cause I did and they were delicious. Just wanted to mention. Happy Fourth, San Francisco.