Tag: Sarah G.

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Dream Journal

Bathtub, Petting Pet Rats, Cracked Windshield

Long time in the bathtub together with my wife. Soaking at opposite ends, both on our phones. Searching for a song I’m trying to remember, something relevant to our conversation. I step out of the bath for a second to go to the bathroom door, noticing that I have a boot and sock on my right foot, which I’ve been hanging out the bathtub this whole time without thinking about it.

Petting my rats in their cage, petting all of them by name. Swapping between old ones and new ones. Xolito gets pets. I notice how much slower my older rats are, much easier and accepting of affection. I’m trying to remember something about one of our newer rats, where I got it, or maybe what its name was — something like Lapassan Confederacy? This is mixed up with the other drain or I was trying to remember.

I need to get the car key back from my former friend Sarah G., who lives in the East Bay instead of the Mission (like she really does). As I arrive at the parked car I remember I need to let her know I’m coming in case she’s not home — but I realize I still have the other key to drive right now so it doesn’t matter as much. I find the car’s windshield cracked open in a very specific way on the driver’s side. I’d kind of been expecting this what with the age of the car. It’s always some damn thing. I immediately take some pictures as evidence, but realize my tarp is still partially laying over the car — insurance might blame me for that, despite how silly that theory is. I pull it off and lay over a nearby electrical wire under a tree over the sidewalk.

Fragments:

  • Wandering the streets of New York (or maybe the Mission District in earlier days) looking for Zorhan Mamdani.
  • Burning Man — what about Burning Man? Seems like a setting from much earlier in the dream sequence, but no idea its relation to anything else.
Categories
Dream Journal

Dreams from The Long List

It seems in the dream I have a list of hundreds of short dreams. I’ve been saving them up, many on the bottom are from nights past. These are ones that happened last night, the ones that I remember at least, and I think they could probably be boiled down to bullet points.

Munich, I’m told by my wife, has the interesting quality of having no tennis courts, because none of the ground is level enough. It started out as a mining town in the Middle Ages. I retrace old trade routes through long and narrow mountain valleys. I go in and out of modernist buildings and long canals or ruts in the ground. I’m there for what feels like an entire night’s dreams, but I think I just fell back asleep after waking.

In another one, I’m entering Sarah G’s house, leaving four pennies outside the gate. Coming to apologize and make up. She had me try on a fancy blue tuxedo coat, which didn’t quite fit. But I did arrive in my nice, fancy blue velvet jacket. Charlie mentioned they didn’t know about a big TV. There’s actually two big TVs inside their house, but the one I came to see is an ancient, fuzzy CRT from the ’40s or ’50s in the garage.

Hanging out in what might be a big hotel with Angelica’s girls loafing around. One is idling, reading a magazine, looking at a plaque on the wall. Have a brief chat with her, saying how I had great times reading magazines as a kid, playfully asking if she’s come up with anything vulgar to scratch into the plaque, which endears her to me. I realize I’m playing the role of the playful adult, scoring points, even though that’s not the greatest idea to give them these ideas. The reaction is fun though. It’s my role here.

Watching two surfer/stoner dudes on LSD get on a Ferris wheel, attacked by turn-of-the-century style old Chinese men, one of them unexpectedly rises to the occasion and bites deep into his nose, possibly biting it off. I remember from some other factoid the surprising thing about the blood tasting salty, that’s why the Chinese man falls off, he spits it at his face.

Oops. Forgot to do the bullet points.

Categories
Dream Journal

Dino Toys, Bison Charge, Elixir Monument

Amongst a nameless store of long aisles, I’m surprised to find myself one aisle over from a large pile of new-old-stock Jurassic Park toy boxes, both velociraptor and dilophisaur. Obviously I wouldn’t have seen these for sale in retail box since I was a kid, mid-90s. I find myself wondering if I should stock up. I hear a lesbian couple discussing them, unseen, in front of the pallet. I hear them speculating aloud about the toys’ abilities, and unknown to them there’s a tramsmit functionality. Without saying a word, I move a walkie-talkie (previously hanging on its strap in my aisle) in front of them both, on top of the toy box pile. So they can now hear their own voices as heard by the toys.

I’m picnicking under a scenic tree, a blissful naive youth on a sunny noon. I hear from inside the nearby building the struggles of a group of people with a huge animal, though I’m generally unconcerned. Suddenly it breaks through the doors, a paleolithically large bison, never seen since ancient times. Without pause it charges directly at me. I maintain my gaze and observe as its horn catches on a tree, throwing off its momentum. It untangles itself and charges away a different direction. But I know it would’ve got me, that it could sense that I was just another of those animals that would eat it’s kind if I could. Leaves me thinking of the old megafauna… how strange it must have felt living around them.

I arrive and depart my friend Sarah’s house via freeway (normally I walk there so this is a bit of an exercise). I’m too early for whatever I came for, and there’s just her, a floor made of large wet pebbles, and a table with the TV on it. Sarah continues mostly paying attention to the TV as I promptly realize I don’t have anything to do here for now, and should cut my losses.

At a yoga retreat in an old open-air stone construction. It’s brisk and I’m running naked in a circular path — exhilarated. Who knows if I can do this, but I’m getting away with it. I discover a small standing monument that is simply a pipe stuck vertically in the ground, with a little plaque bearing a recipe for elixir. The plaque is obscured as Bud Light cans have been left on it from sloppy guests. I gently flick them away.