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Dream Journal

A Nice Neighborhood Stroll, Pretty Femboy Look , & Our Newer Place

Walking back from Mission Street, the main street in my neighborhood, I spot the panel of a lone phone booth that might still work. I idly start wondering about how many of those used to be around — how I’ve witnessed the changeover during the relatively time I’ve lived in San Francisco — how not long ago, wherever I was on the street, I’d have a mental map and know exactly where the nearest payphone would be. I also idly wonder how much it would cost to get one installed as a novelty, say in in a rich person’s backyard.

On the way back to my apartment I take a rest, laying down in the mouth of a slide, gazing at the sky while my waist is through the middle of part of a clothes hamper. I ponder the bemusing question of what time of year it’s best to arrive in Antarctica: the 6 months leading out of winter, or the 6 months leading into it? I have a playful argument with someone unseen about the sacrifices I’ve made going to Antarctica when I did (worth noting: I haven’t actually been to Antarctica).

I get up from my rest, floating above the trashed out grass-overgrown parking space, noticing as a car pulls in that I forgot part of the plastic hamper which I wear around my head. I float down to nab it quickly as the rumbling car takes the space. I’m dressed today in an aesthetically-pleasing purple velour lapel shirt, worn underneath a pair of white overalls shorts. I look glamorous. I recognize that with my pretty long hair this is what someone would probably call a “femboy” look. Meanwhile I’m already late for an exercise class I occasionally take at 2:00 pm to the north near Potrero Mall. I’m not worried about being late, even though at this point I either arrive in the middle of class or miss the whole thing. I remember that the hamper hat (that I just picked up from the ground) has in its brim an empty glass bottle; I decide to store it on the balcony of my apartment. Floating up to the landing, it’s been recently replaced with a metal grating and is still packed with disorganized chairs (a short bamboo one, three rocking chairs of two different types), etc. Realizing I can organize it slightly differently, I pull a chair or two into the sideyard just beyond. The sideyard is narrow, with a fence of prickly pear cactus, exercise equipment which came with the place, and a view of the Latino neighbor’s wide lawn just beyond (despite being on the third floor). This is the second place owned by our landlord where my wife and I have lived, having made the decision to move out of the Fartpartment a few years ago — while making a deal that we still get to visit the old place now and then. But the reality is that this new place is much harder to get nice, there hasn’t been an organic long-time progression of acquiring stuff and finding a place for it. This place has a backyard, it’s a better layout, but it’s been months or even years and it still feels like we’re moving in. It’d be nice to visit the old place again soon.

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Dream Journal

Big Beautiful Berlin in the Sky

Driving in a car with Meredith Scheff. Swiftly and unexpectedly, a very large, very artful and futuristic airliner streaks across the overcast sky from bottom left to top right. It’s a great green and white monstrosity of ostentation, made to look like several Berlin row houses, streamlined uncannily, an old oceanliner-style smokestack near the rear, a quiet yet furiously powerful engine glowing smoothly among curvaceously flow-y tailfins. Such a sight! Meredith wasn’t looking up and I excitedly chanted her name, but I can’t say if she actually saw the damn thing.

Other dreams from the night explored a forgotten side of Berlin’s history, when the north and south sides split along religious lines with one area being called Lodz — like the Polish city or the character in Carnivale.

Categories
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.