Tag: Spy a.k.a. Spygirl

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Dream Journal

House of Ukraine

Escaping a house which represents Ukraine, as besieged by the Russians. I was a journalist and accidentally became stuck there, making the most of it going from room to room. Noticing near the end they finally changed everything and cleaned up all the rooms, and are dragging away my big metal box. Yank it away and flee through the front hayloft door. I manage to warn incoming friends about a girl with a vagina between her digits (middle and ring finger), that she secretly works for the Russians. The paper topper for my box detaches and blows across street — I walk to retrieve it, thinking about the image of the Angelic Sword of Michael.

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Dream Journal

Cacophony Fair Complications

A Cacophony Society event, tents covertly set up in an elementary school playground — my elementary school, as it happens (the side parking lot where I fell on my ass rollerskating). I’m there helping John Law, Mikl Em, and others break down from the event, but there’s soo much stuff, taking soo long. All while remaining undetected.

A search ensues to find a place to safely leave 3 pet guinea pigs. Eventually I settle on a small, almost cubby-size room in a sheltered school hallway, room 17D, while I return to pack up the rest.

Sitting on a stairway watching a show as the event continues during our breakdown, a lethargically drunk Robin Williams slumps directly ahead of me. He lurches awake and insists he has to get his friend water, knocking down and shattering a glass water pitcher that happened to be in front of him. I start cleaning up the broken glass, and a very diligent 5-year-old joins me to help. Their parent then asks me to help put them to bed. The parent mentions “the sandman” needing to put sand in their eye, and I quite unstrategically ask if the kid if they know about sandman… a.k.a. boogeyman. Immediately I cringe at my mistake, but manage to still get the kid to bed.

For awhile I’m sitting watching another show (maybe put on by my friend Spy) and a guy sitting next to me informs me that my palm is covered in blood. I’ve known the whole time of course, ignoring the injury as I just don’t care, but thank him by saying “oh yeah mate” — somehow being Australian makes it both funny and apropos. But i still make to go clean it up, while dropping my blood in big wet patches on the ground.

Later, I’m positioned in front of a tall row of lockers. I’m confronted by a pair of blonde, white supremacist twins (akin to the racist teen musical duo Prussian Blue perhaps) who are trying to make me jealous. This is almost certainly on account of my rejecting them for their regressive ideology. Two guys I know they recently met brag with bluster of their heavy makeouts with the twins. With a keen eye though, I can tell that the red on the twin’s cheeks isn’t flushing, only rouge. Not makeouts, but makeup. They seem crestfallen.

I finally go to retrieve the guinea pigs from the petsitter in 17D. When I get there, though, he’s not disposed to have us open the door. It seems he just got the three guinea pigs down for a nap together in a cute little shopping bag. Smiling, I say I’m fine to come back.

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Dream Journal

Face-to-Sexy-Face with Friend Spy

I’m dropped off directly across from my first elementary school in my hometown (possibly by plane), and find an important but broken piece of… something in the gutter. I round the corner and spot a half-empty vape juice bottle, grape — there’s a store nearby and I spot these a lot. I consider whether it’s a good idea to pick it up. Walking up to my childhood home at the end of the street. My phone helps me walk by showing the rear camera feed behind the text I’m reading. I only notice this once I start earning points by passing over certain objects.

A badass Bruce Willis-type guy is driving/walking down a concrete bridge. My friend Spy and I appear together there. There’s some unusual sexual tension between us, perhaps due to the guy being there too. In typical fashion for us our sexual tension is diffused by amping it up, as I hold my face close to hers — actually touching cheek to cheek. Somehow that usually works.

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Dream Journal

Ol’ Time-Traveling Kinky Mr. Rogers

Taking others to see a young paraplegic gymnast, someone I worked with in another dream or movie. She can land from cliffside high bars into a cliffside cave, it’s rock walls patched up with decrepit tile. It reminds me of secretive passages of the Moiety resistance from the game Riven.

I look into a mirror and I’m an older version of my friend Spy. I’m feeling happy, pleasantly humbled, and I speak of how it’s possible to time travel — although you always make a mess. Connects with a quote I read yesterday from Roseanne Barr (of all people) who said “I do Kabbalistic meditation. It’s not unlike time travel; it can change the past and not just the future. You can look at what was lost and go beyond the grief of what was lost.”

Another odd and wonderful segment of the dream: receiving advice on both leather-working and kink relationships from the one and only Mr. Fred “McFeely” Rogers.

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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.