Dream Journal

Well, the Cement Mixer Exploded

Walking down an alley off market street. Threatened by a character calling himself “the Jew with the knife” — not even sure he’s Jewish with his portly full beard, and he seems the type who’d find it a funny in-joke. I back off but don’t run, and my respectful reaction to his threats earns me an invite from him to a throwback hipster bar, Ri-Bread, around the corner on Market.

The folks there are a motley bunch, youngish, but low-key and slow-going. They seem all-too-familiar with knife-guy’s nonsense and welcome me with a quiet drink. I spend time staring through the 1930’s-style wraparound street window, talking with girl at a window barstool next to me.

I ride in the backseat of a truck, taking one of several branching roads to Burning Man (or possibly Camp Tipsy). I’ve never chosen to take the road the driver picks. It’s a 4×4, then a bus/RV. Making out with Robin at back of bus, staying out of the way of Chicken (the driver). My wife, meanwhile, has trouble finding her matching colorful gypsy hoodie.

We arrive and park at broad public campsite, near dusk. Chicken “parks” a stubby cement mixer/backhoe, hanging its front shovel off the now gigantic bus. I try to offer a ladder but he quickly scurries down the superstructure. A bit later I’m in a tree between our campsite and a ravine, on the property of some neighbors in rural house. I watch as the cement mixer dangles off its perch, rolling violently downhill toward the ravine. Its path of destruction passes almost directly below me, through the neighbor’s pool, crashing into the ravine beyond in a violent mess. The mixing drum explodes high into the air — an absurd and amusing sight.

From the horizon zooms an Alpinestars-branded drone, having faraway noticed the large explosion. I speedily catch it in mid-air from the tree, finally catching the interest of the neighbors there. One by one they come out. Nudists, it’s apparent. I see their oldest daughter has some obfuscation or malformation over her crotch, hiding the shape. She’s shy but shows strong interest in me.

In a traditional, king-ruled Southeast Asian country, two heads of national security organizations are imprisoned. One red-faced, one blue-faced, their intricate fully-tattooed faces are meant to intimidate and display status — but now that a revolution has come, they’re a liability for being not the least bit anonymous. The two former security chiefs are brought before a tribunal, near where the cement mixer once hung, and past where the Alpinestars drone zipped in. They speak to a young prince with round glasses, intoning to him with vague gravitas that is his “destiny is to usurp the suzerainty”.

Dream Journal

Misadventure Locating a Locomotive

I’m driving the Chevy Nova car out around the streets of Palm Desert, California, during a time of day I’m possibly not supposed to. On the right, I drive past a rusted old hulk of a steam locomotive just a little ways off the road. I drive back around and park on the shoulder, leaving the car running for my passenger (either Josh or Naomi, Calvin Chaos’s parents).

There’s a small little community of maybe 8 to 10 houses on a dusty little hill. A gate blocks my way in the middle, close to the road. And there is a bar inside at the top called Adrianople that’s been flouting the law, hosting gatherings and selling weapons. In the course of trying to get to the locomotive I end up in a dead end parking lot overlooking the car, realizing my passenger might want to turn it off and trying to get their attention to throw the keys.

There’s an alarming disturbance and a red-headed, naked feminine monster appears from beyond the rooftops, quickly gaining ground. It’s like a banshee, breasts thrust forward and teeth ragged and mocking in aggression. As it advances I keep my camera pointed at it videotaping, somehow knowing this may be the only way to hold it back or to be one day be believed. It corners me at the edge then morphs / disappears.

I’m chased by a stalker / murderer.
It’s appearance is like my wife, and I save myself by slitting its throat with the black-bladed Winchester knife.