Tag: house

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Dream Journal

Parking Lot Shower & A Car Named Felony

Naked, in a coin-operated shower, in a parking lot, without glasses on. Phone is on the soap tray. I’m alternately wearing a shirt or pants, washing one area at a time. I see a group of plainclothes cops walk by and start preparing arguments in my head, concerning this being private property and the property owner losing money if these showers weren’t here. They pass me by as if the arguments were a forcefield.

I meet Lindsay Ellis who has a new convertible she named Felony (unexplainably). I swing above and around the parked car and we get to friendly conversing. But while sitting at a long wooden outdoor dining table, something I say or do shuts her down. She excuses herself hastily and drives away. My wife and I puzzle over it together; I lament that I didn’t even record the conversation.

I run out the front door after strapping on my paramotor flying machine and I’m airborne in a few seconds, I even see her car make the turn at the end of my street. But I never catch her and the dream ends.

A fancy diamond ring. The appraiser comments “I shouldn’t ask how you got this”. Two large studs sit on either side, with rectangular chunks shifting between them, rotating and moving in and out of alignment. It shifts before my eyes and the big, flat sides take on a tiger’s eye gem-like chattoyance — then its aspect shifts again, altering itself into a large, expensive house, the flat chunky side becomeing a fake 3-car garage. It’s a neat trick which fools buyers into thinking the house is worth more than it is.

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Dream Journal

Alaska by Rental

Renting a custom-made house in Alaska. The deal is that even though it was built just for me but if I return the keys within a week it’s free. I invite all sorts of guests and I’m a little surprised they actually show up. Dara, Autumn, others. It’s summer and I never done anything like this, the novelty is refreshing.

As I’m leaving one of the bunker-like buildings in town, I see a folded wad of cash wrapped on the outside with a $2 bill. I shrug, very much expecting I’m being watched and recorded for some TV. It feels very new for me to simply decide not to take it, but I’m feeling like that’s the point.

I take a bus there and back to return the keys, and along the way play a video game. Called “Jonsi’s Hole”, mostly black and red text, but the it seems the money items don’t save properly. I’m really enjoying the bus trip and remember thinking that I’m oddly suited to it. Perhaps also that I wouldn’t feel that way if I did it all the time.

Watching a snake, Circe, crawl up a sloping street along the midline. Crossing its path and allowing it to pass, watching it speedily make its way up the hill, it’s body moving so powerfully it looks like parts of its curves are little legs.

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Dream Journal

Happy Headstands in Middle of the Night

It’s my day off and I’m wandering my rainy neighborhood in my socks. The seller of the motorcycle I want (who is also Daenerys) goes to the corner of Z and 24th to mourn; I go to Z and 26th — a clever move, somehow. In an older part of the neighborhood, walking through a park split into three paths, I do somersaults while the rain continues, landing on my head and balancing. I resemble a Hindu god.

I come to a bus stop. I’m stopped by cops, and turn upside down on my head to talk with them, almost daring them to find fault with it. A guy saying his name is John is asking the annoying questions to me and others on the sidewalk, while cops in the car shine a bright light. Confronting him on the pathway, I begin asking him if he is officially working with them yet he refuses to answer. I say I that in that case have to make phone call to 911, and he scurries away!

Back inside my strange two-story house, with no one around, I lucidly float upstairs with a flick of my wrist. Catching sight of my silhouette, I think “this is what I was born for. This is what I want, what I like, not what I think other people think I should like.” Upstairs there are oversized shelves with letters spelling a festive message, a big round clock, a scene of years of use. I recall my mom had them when I grew up, and no one has seen fit to clean them fully. Thus, the warm, fond, grimy patina of time.

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Double Decker Dock

Working to fix a boat on a rickety dock with two levels, like scaffolding.

Inside a house is a light switch specifically installed to call a repairman when pressed. I know because I pressed it.

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The House of Inequity

I’m a driver for a lowbrow company/boarding school/cult/orphanage. The roads around our compound are muddy and sometimes motor homes in particular become mired in the muck. After one such workday I come back for a shower (in one of the open, sunlit hexagonal group showers) only to find that it’s under repair yet again.

I’m shunted away to what I’m lead to believe is a reserve bathroom, but which has since been converted to a cramped bedroom barely large enough to contain a single, rumpled bed. The place seems to have been a proper bathroom in the 60s. One slanted wall with grimy oval cutouts once would’ve held stately vanity mirrors. I notice that the dimly-lit, echo-y, white tile walls go up unusually high. In fact they keep going up, narrowing into a disused laundry chute — and sneaky access to the otherwise tightly restricted rest of the house.

I’m spotted and nearly dragged off on the first floor I climb to. But from what I could see, it’s a common room, furnishings covered in felt, wooden bunk beds, a 70s handcrafted summer camp vibe… but with the disjointed quality of a children’s bedroom used by adults. The couple I narrowly escaped from could’ve been in a secret relationship, for all I know. No one felt free in this place, though our — were they teachers, minders, managers? — they certainly seemed to be rich enough.

I make it to the top floor, the attic built as an addition atop our oversized building, with bright panoramic windows that are so-angled as to show puffy blue-and-white skies. The people up here sport schoolmarm hairdos and Marie Curie-like studiousness, but to my great vindication, are also preparing an invasion force to wrest control of the rest of the house. This Gryffindor Army gave the impression of fierce, dark resolve. Surely one day theirs will be a glorious fight.

Exploring the upper floor further, I access a balcony that was used in the past for us to monitor the land around the main house. About 90% of this beautiful outdoor spot has been fenced off and replaced with an automated monitoring station. One rickety telescope off to the side for us, at least. I spy an open field of light brown grass freckled with isolated low trees. A single park bench. Nearer to the house, a gated-off chichi picnic dining area. A long elegant bench for rich people to eat our trendy “sweetie creamies”.

Unfortunately, this is about when I awoke. The Calea Zacatechichi I took about 3 hours ago seemed to have a-stirred up some curious stuff, though.

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They Stole Everything in the House

On awakening in the dream, I see that the house Lynae & I are house-sitting has had all it’s furniture stolen. Running through my head is a reminder to lock all the doors at night, and I’m not even sure if it was a true instruction or something I made up. They’d even stolen several of the cars. I saw, too, the area behind where the master bed was, where I’d hammered some nails back into the wall the night before, and the wooden support beam stuck out, was now bare and exposed. I think I went back to bed, not knowing how to explain such a catastrophe.

Earlier during sleep, I’d been laying out a (Sim)city that was mostly of a string of hospitals on a diagonal coastline, connected awkwardly by road to a larger blocky building.

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Dream Journal

Dream notes: June 14, 2018

  • Behind the back fence of my middle school, there’s a big sandy area with plenty of hiding spots in the tall bushes.
  • I pick up fussy a fussy young girl, my neighbor’s kid Daria, or perhaps Molly O’Brian from Deep Space 9.
  • There’s a big house, a computer and TV setup, a green window that looks like mirror
  • Collecting fish for a new fishery
  • Dating Robin, a girl I knew in person very briefly, and who once publicly defended me when no one else chose to
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Dream Journal

Dark Artist Space

A basement artist space, narrow, underlit and unkempt. I can see through the floorboards to the trash that’s fallen into the sub-basement storage, peek through the walls to make eye contact with the guys running a record store. The first night I stay there — I may be moving in — there are big fluffy bathrobes and towels on pegs. I keep my backpack outside with my bike and leave my laptop in there; someone takes it before I realize.

Lauren has been mailed (or needs to be mailed?) a little ground covering net to protect sea turtle hatchlings. It’s kept in a turtle-shell-shaped keepsake container.

This whole dream world feels very nocturnal, dark, dirty.

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Paved-Over Backyard

The backyard of the house where I grew up has been paved over. The pool and the lime trees look especially desolate. You can still see the outlines of our life here, though. The hill against the far wall is the only other remnant of back then. Everything is toned a shabby pink-beige-grey.

I survey this from atop a publicly accessible platform of fence-height, built on a portion of what was once the neighbor’s property — ceded by eminent domain to satisfy some unloved bureaucratic subclause, without rationale. It occurs to me on waking I’m only feet from where I lost my virginity.

Inside the house, in the addition, I look up to the naked rafters toward what looks like a faraway sky. A cypress tree and a telephone pole peek through. Oddly, I have a vague fantasy of taking down the pole’s crossbeam and carrying it like Jesus would’ve. I am left with the impression of gems/jewels dropping from that telephone pole.

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Dream Journal

Dream of Stephan Colbert’s House

Stephan Colbert is a teacher, has a golf course house on a hill. The house has streetcar tracks leading up to it. Then old tracks are buried due to the very steep slope. His neighbors, who live on opposite hills like in the Palm Springs mountains, shoot golf balls at him. But the golf balls are actually small fighter jets that get shot down by his fighter jets. If you think normal aviation is expensive, try repairing ridiculously tiny planes that have been shot at, in mid-air.