Tag: landlord

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Dream Journal

Crash at Monterey.com/’91

Jon Snow has been killed off. He’s brought back (necromancy) and now has magic powers. Guards rush at him standing on stone steps, and the visual effects are lame-looking drawn on stars, four of them, which fly out and teleport the guards about to attack him. Looks like the flag of Chicago. Ugh, the show really stopped trying.

Watching motorbikes race in a slope-walled mud course — reminds me of running the hose when playing in the sand as a kid. One scooter-looking motorbike driving round a curve gets it’s throttle stuck; the rider loses control and it jumps the fence into the neighborhood nearby. It runs up a hill street and hits a couple cars along the way, smashing into the side of one, which causes the Buick behind it to flip backwards down the hill. Seems expensive, and I’ve no idea who will pay for it. I read the web address monterey.com/’91 (with the apostrophe) and understand this to be a historical event at Monterey, California.

A circular redwood half-height room with Lynae lying in a bathtub in the center. I’m telling a story of some kind.

Fixing the glue on some top floor gutters, trying not to get caught by landlord. Watching buildings next door tumble into place. Buying four oranges out of a vending machine with quarters for someone else, before a trip. Serving a pie baked with a top layer of elegant crinkled-edge blue felt.

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Dream Journal

France with Spy, Naked with Landlord

French cathedral

Visit Paris with my friend Spy. Beautiful 13th century convent right outside where we arrive. I scrabble along a sloped terrace to get to the gate of the place she’s staying, a cute iron-fenced yard, where Lucky’s older relatives live. Has a Eureka/Beverly Hills vibe (but only from other dreams set there). Have a great moment with Lucky that I don’t manage to record on video, despite having a head mounted camera for the trip. Note on paper left on their sliding glass door says something about being away, but Spy is evasive about what it says. I have to leave and find my own place to stay.

Around the corner from the Fartpartment with friends Rich and Lily. Working on their car, I think. I round the corner back home and head upstairs — the stairs climb side to side, unlike front-to-back in waking life. There’s quite a lot of construction material being brought up and stored there. I’m naked, which hadn’t been any concern before, but as I make my way past a number of construction workers I have the thought that this is the kind of thing that would be typical in a dream.

Upstairs, I sit between my wife and our friend Ais. Lynae is pointedly complaining about our landlord to Ais. He leans forward from a chair next to us, and I cringe. He quotes a section from Revelations, chapter, verse, even line position. The quote is actually just the word “bush”. This could mean practically anything and so I offer a few contexts, hairy bush, burning bush, George W. Bush… I wake up mumbling this gibberish in fact.

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Dream Journal

Eviction Fear Lessened

Landlord is dangling the threat of eviction. I discover by walking a little too far on my street that his building next door has an empty apartment. Turns out it would cost $2.2 million to fix it up, and that changes my reaction to the threat. Somehow even though, I could still lose big, at least I know it wouldn’t be to someone else’s advantage.

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Dream Journal

Novel Anxieties (Ones I Don’t Have to Feel Too Bad About)

“Excuse me, what do you think’s going to happen if you keep doing that?”

An entitled, stocky, well-dressed white girl is throwing dirt and plants over the fence from the garden next door. I happen to be out in the backyard smoking from my smoking kit and tell her there’s people that live here, and to stop. She keeps doing it even when I shut the fence’s windowed door and lower its shades. So I hop the fence and get all up in her face telling her to get out. She pouts all the way back to her tan scooter. I get my phone out and get pictures of her and her license plate, at which point she yanks down her shirt a little bit. I say “come back when you have a better attitude. Thanks for showing me your boobies, that’s always nice.”

My landlord gets called in shortly thereafter and I have to worry about explaining everything to him even though I’m in the right. He’s smelling my smoking kit, and there’s a guy I don’t know who’s complaining on behalf of the woman that I have to sit too close to on the couch. I retell the story and emphasize that the woman was damaging his property.

It looks like two of the cars outside my bedroom window have been sideswiped. I look again later and those cars have disappeared, and I watch as my own truck is sinking up to the grill in the mysteriously liquefied asphalt. Baffled, I visit the coffee shop three doors down. The barista has never heard of such a thing, and I’m worried that people will think I’m nuts.

Stranded on the side of the road in a tropical paradise, could be Hawaii, could be El Salvador. It’s relatively rocky and barren, but since it’s June it’s not too hot yet. I climb over logs and inspect the nature. A public bathroom there has lit-up text on the door when it’s locked. I’m with someone else — a Japanese girl — and I’m not Orin. She manages to flag down a passing motorist, but it’s a large-wheeled 2-seat race-car. She catches a ride promising to come back for me. I’m kinda glad she’s gone since she wanted to be rescued more than me anyways.

In a broad terracotta tile courtyard with modernist angles, underneath the floors of a building, I’m waiting for the elevator to get back to my apartment. The door opens, but opens right into a part of the city’s downtown. I sigh and start running up the stairs the opposite direction, out to the sunny but dry streets that remind me of Florida. I seem to be carrying a dog on my shoulders, and I’m quickly tired.

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Dream Journal

Replay, Shaving Confusion, Cesar Chavez Funeral Home

Replay of experience in February 2014 from an impersonal perspective. Why they thought I was crazy, and how that thought contributed to the problem.

Shaving in the bathtub, but not wet. Miss a lot of spots, very uneven. Lynae texts me and tells me to be where she told me to be when we’d texted previously. I don’t understand for a moment and then Edgar comes to the door. He begins saying something about how we can’t put things in the garden. Before he can finish, a giant dog that I didn’t know was in the apartment bursts from behind me and to my left.

Driving to a Chicken John show, I have to back the truck into a wall along Cesar Chavez. I get out and walk along the outside of a Victorian funeral home that I’ve helped empty. I’m then inside, walking along a hallway. I am counting my distance and imagining the cremation rooms that I’m passing through beyond. A woman passes me from behind and to the left, she’s in her twenties, white, hair done up, and as she passes me and enters a different room she says something like “this place is [fascinating/amazing/built for us], isn’t it.”