Tag: Nana

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Dream Journal

Missing Balcony, Biking Australians, Gardening like Nana

Landlord removed railing outside on the front stairway. While down there inspecting, I discover a bag of old food that should still be good but has been sitting out a long time. Dang, I could’ve been eating this. I go out again and now the other railing is gone toom. There’s a bulky black light switch that’s been replaced with a cheap plastic one, when the old one was robust and from Germany.

Sitting around a box on wheels with Australians on bikes. Overhear how they competed in ride round the horn South Africa — I’m confused for a minute because they *also* went to South America. I realize they want to experience stuff in their hemisphere just like people in America will go to Europe; it’s slightly less hard since the seasons are the same.

From long drooping dried out stems, I shake loose hard juniper seedpods while doing plant maintenance. Someone is unsure the plant will even survive. I imagine my Nana doing this work also, as I’m reminded of her when I need a soft pad for knee support. She would have worked on the garden of her house in Palm Springs, the one that used to belong to my Uncle John, but now isn’t in the family.

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Dream Journal

3 of 6 Dreamcards

Waking up hours earlier than I should, with only 5 hours sleep. I remember having six distinct dreams, but I know from past experience if I wake up to write them down I won’t be able to fall back asleep. But if I fall asleep, I almost certainly won’t remember them. On returning to sleep I envision the dreams as a row of cards, each with a title and the single most powerful image from it. I managed to remember half of them, though strangely they are not in any order or sequence. Typically, I can remember one part of a dream and reconstruct the narrative.

I’m attending a stage reading event where my Nana is one of the presenters. We have a pleasant conversation across the table from each other under the big tent. We depart together at the end.

Sitting backwards on a bus, a kid has a hand over his face. Kids are keeping other kids in strict lines this way. There’s a social order aspect I don’t fully understand, but find troublesome.

RFC. 43.0.0.13 is a “request for comments” and an in-joke. Among internet engineering nerds, it alludes to the idea of elderly people’s life stories being absorbed into a universal hive mind (or Akashic records) at the end of their lives. It’s an old trope creatively and bizarrely mapped onto a modern interface. Lives, in this sense, are additional “comments”.

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Dream Journal

Called my Nana “Mom”, A Lack of Unaccomplishment

I called my nana “Mom”. It’s the second time in the dream, and we make a little joke out of it.

Leaving motorcycle across the street in my neighbors driveway temporarily. Dad’s white car is parked across the street.

Feeling like a loser, living in my parents new apartment, trying to decide my life. Only so many places I could go, maybe Palm Springs, maybe a traveling job like a trucker, build a small place in the woods. Also, my parents don’t know I vape — one more thing I guess. I wear an elaborate creased-shoulder shirt, one with a small triangle hole cut out of it. It’s an odd detail, but I know I couldn’t replicate that myself if I tried.

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Dream Journal

Drew’s Dinosaur-Infested Pad

Pulling into the driveway of Drew Carey’s bachelor pad with a friend of mine, who just started dating him. His bed is very close to the glass double doors. Inside, we find him playing an sit-inside racing game. Drew is an experienced host and the house has a few sparse rooms with dude-ish amusements, including a foldout pool table (the balls have chips in them though). One sunlit room near the back of the house has a water feature with lazy psittacosauri, crunchy brown pine bonsai, and tiny slimy yellow hadrosaurs — eerily intelligent and otherworldly ones that walk on hind legs.

The story seamlessly transitions to a Jurassic Park story, raptors stalking, and I step out the back door into a sweeping valley, only to peek around the side of the house and see a giant carefully escorting a thin, tottering, grayish Godzilla.

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Dream Journal

Pizzeria and Checking on Family

A 5-story apartment building, reminiscent of an old European city, where my Nana lives on the 4th floor. Before I climb the arched stairway I see an ad for a chic pizzeria on the top floor, which serves pizza topped with round slices of several colorful specialty sausages – pink, purple, brown — quite surprisingly appetizing. I’m sent to check in to see if my Nana is sleeping (she died in 2001 but this dream persona seemed about age 7, when I lived in a 2-story). I knock on her door a little too loud, hear no response, and enter. She isn’t there, in fact her bed isn’t even there. I look around the room, in the opposite direction, and instead find my mom. We have a brief conversation. The walls are comfortingly ancient. I can smell the pizza, and I’m hoping we can eat there soon.

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Dream Journal

Collected Dreams from the Past Week

In the dream I’m blogging — here, on ori.nz — and see that the URL permalink reads 10-2. I have an intense come-up feeling as I become something like lucid.

Pax Imperia, little cute solar systems. I see my homeslice Mickey B. I’d later realize this dream was very close to a ninth-grade fantasy I’d had while first starting to lucid dream, that we’d be able to play realistic space games together while we slept.

Dressed in a pair of tiny cute skivvies, I’m hopping from boat to boat in a crowded harbor marina. I get inside a spacious empty ferryboat filled with rows of low-slung benches, the windows and walls are clear plastic. Jumping from public bathroom to plain basic houseboat, battening the hatches. Off in the distance there’s a massive wave, a wave the size of a mountain. Later, I’d recall another dream of being in that massive wave — no sign of a harbor in that dream. Also, another dream many years ago where I scubaed alongside a whale.

J’aime Andrade, a member of color guard in my high school marching band, showed up in cool convertible with a few of her friends. Post-gothy aesthetic. They were having a blast and lifted my spirits.

(this night I meditated in bed before sleep for an hour…)

  • I’m on the phone, giving my friend Reecy directions while she’s in Germany
  • Lorelei is having a second baby, I’m very happy for her but unfortunately it wasn’t her life plan. Later I’m walking along the outside of a rounded fence near an abandoned area, I accidentally re-dial her and am embarrassed.
  • A biplane crashes just outside the Fartpartment, it’s an excuse for me to leave and wander the streets, and become lucid.
  • I stare at the beautiful horizon, receding infinitely into the distance, lucid but unimpressed with reality and the dream. It’s unimportant to me.

In a darkened apartment I’m with an elegant Greco-Roman topless statue of Sabrina W. Who should wander in, but Sabrina! She makes a show of approving of the work, and I find myself speechless (once again) in her presence.

Last day: I run into my nana under my apartment stairs, she finds me hiding a water bottle. Somehow that bottle is evidence of murder, but not one I had anything to do with — I just don’t want the creepy water bottle anymore. My nana gets me to put it someplace it could be found later, in the basement.