Tag: statue

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Dream Journal

Orbital Goth, Watercourse Lava Statue, Greasy Ferret Box

A classroom, maybe like high school. My sophomore history class, the one facing east at the of the wing. Mr. Conklin’s. Events play out, forgotten in the morning, but I end up hanging off the side of my new goth girlfriend like a monkey. Playing things back through, it becomes apparent that these events have been reenactments of orbital mechanics in the solar system. The goth girlfriend is a moon that my asteroid self is orbiting.

A video game landscape, well-designed spiral mountain with a river emerging at the top. The sides of the spiral are canted so water rushes down them at just the right speed to not overflow the sides. Water flows from there into a channel and then down a slope, then onto a beach but *on fire* — at least apparently so. There’s a trick where the water flows into a nearly concealed hole immediately before lava emeges from a hole just nearby. After I examine the holes and establish this is trick, I go down the hill and onto the beach. I trigger a short cinematic that plays, showing a god-elf-man climbing into the lava flow and turning himself into stone, creating the epic beach landmark which has stood on the shore 1000 years (or something equally venerable). I get to see the cinematic only once.

Laying on a sidewalk outside hanging out. Outside where? Don’t remember, not important. A pair of ferrets, acting like my pets but instead just very friendly, play in a smallish box of water I’m holding. They swim and play despite that there’s grease floating all in it. Meanwhile, a pair of strangers are reorganizing their supplies from a trip on the sidewalk next to me. My arms are splayed out wide, and the girl incidentally use my hand to keep a book from blowing away — intentionally but withhot really thinking. When this is noticed, they offer to have me look through the book, and it’s quite an exquisite work. It’s actually a sleeve with a kit inside, cloth gloves, a pomegranate chocolate, and a very smooth white book that I leaf through. I give it back to them, realizing I was probably meant to wear the gloves if I were to touch it. The ferrets emerge from the grease box, unformly coated with grey-black slime. They seem to be untroubled, and my efforts to squeegee them don’t seem to have an effect. I figure, well, if they like being this way I’m not going to try to change them. They got themselves into it.

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Dream Journal

Ice Spiral Tower; Dating Over Different Backyards

A mood detector and translator — for guinea pigs — beeps out “cunt! fucker! safety! what’s that!? over there!” Seems surprisingly accurate, though I’m not able to spell out how exactly (you’ll have to use your imagination, dear reader) but now I’m annoyed that I know for certain how easy it is for me to pick up a guinea pig wrong and irritate it. Wish I didn’t know, actually…

A clothesline of skulls and other bones stretches across the city towards Plarvolia — for artistic purposes. As I gather some bones, I realize they may be only enough to fill a single transported line, rather than the usual convoy that she typically sets it up for. Perhaps enough to fill a single box.

Within a photorealistic video game universe, I ascend the long spiraling ramp of an icey tower. Proves very easy for me; perhaps I’ve trod this path before. As I climb higher I hear the voices of a pair of Native American brothers discussing money that I owe them. I keep navigating up and up, like a vertical glacier. At the top of the tower I discover a metal statue with jewels scattered about its base that resemble Infinity Stones. I pay them no mind. Instead, I focus on collecting small horse-shaped carved figurines from nearby stair alcoves, ignoring the “main objective” of the statue and jewels. Winning is not my priority, as it was never my objective, though certainly someone else’s.

For the first time now, I utilize my ability to flash between scenes (similar to fast travel in other video games). An sudden shift in scenery transports me from the straight garden pathway of a 1920s-era California country estate to a bright 2-story orphanage full of white, sunny windows. In this level of the game’s story it’s where I am being raised. But there are also multiple Home Alone-style criminal adult baddies who are chased me, hiding like the guards in Legend of the Hidden Temple. When they catch me it resets, and I attempt again to navigate through or around the ground floor rooms.

I find myself dating multiple girls, a situation that began around the same time. I effortlessly carry on multiple conversations, often switching from one person to another in the next room. Remarkably, I can recall each girl’s recent stories and seamlessly pick up where we left off when I encounter a different girl. These interactions take place in a narrow, unremarkable communal space, divided by wooden fences into backyards that are a dull blue and translucent in tone. It’s somehow based on the design of my childhood bedroom? Hm. During a barbecue, I access hidden panels where I keep stored equipment for certain occasions. Despite the complexity of juggling multiple relationships, I’m doing quite well.

Over a fence, I join a conversation about young Australians who have developed a new casual tense of their own invention. This isn’t just slang either, but genuine emergent grammatical innovation. I note that this has happened like three times now in my life. I observe that these kids find the demands of formality-entrenched work culture to be at odds with their Aussie attitudes, leading them to develop a new way of communicating with customers in their teenage retail jobs. This inevitably leads to the absorption of this new casual lingo into formal expectations though, necessitating yet newer forms of casual lingo. And so the treadmill marches on…

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Dream Journal

Lumberjack at Old Italians’ Farm

Roller skating down a slope in my hometown. Though I’m having a nice easy time, I frequently have to use lucid dream control to smooth the texture of the road (similar to video game level of detail, a.k.a. LOD). I reach a private property gate with an old couple, who might be Italian. A split wood fence on the right shores up some grassy semi-neglected farmland. The fence is rotted and peels apart with simple tugging.

Speaking in a folksy, feigned Italian accent, I convince them to let me work on replacing it. There’s a stand of pine trees on the property, further to the east, in need of maintenance anyway. I show up and pass through the locked railing/gate, feeling like I’ve somehow pulled a trick on them — after all, this is what I’d like to do with the place anyway. I’m really excited to try fixing it up despite not having experience. Felling the tree is simple: you find the direction you want it to fall, make a diamond-shaped cut on that side, then cut through from the other. I have my everyday Fiskers brand axe (a waking life possession) which would work but might be tiring; I consider whether want to learn the chainsaw for this task.

In a more urbanized area nearby, reminiscent of California’s Lake Arrowhead, there stands a statue known for its jar of marijuana. Difficult to say if this is official or simply the popular use of it. The statue and the jar have been moved around recently, likely some kind of prank.

I take a picture of my friend Aislinn in front of it, zooming out in a weird way so that faces get smaller while the person’s head stays big. This is, in fact, just as strange and amusing as it sounds.