Tag: store

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Dream Journal

Hot Vampire, Bedroom Rain, Hardware Construction

A vampire demonstrates some of his heating powers. First round isn’t too hot, then he has his girlfriend back up. Guess he’s a Twilight-kinda vampire, having someone called a girlfriend and all. The next time he glows bright red. This is a family entertainment show, and I remember thinking how rare it is to see people just comfortably naked (on TV). Someone brings up the idea of using the ultra-cool morgue refrigerator to keep them chill, but aren’t sure if it would kill them.

I spot my 92 year old Grandma walking away down a grassy sidewalk. I try to say goodbye to her as she leaves a gathering. Though I’m myself, fully grown, I still feel like an infant, like it’s still the 1980s, like my relationship to her has never changed.

In the smaller of my childhood bedrooms (second night in a row, here). I’m letting rain run down the walls, dripping from the white “cottage cheese” ceiling, flooding the hardwood floor in an inch of water. My original bedroom had neither that ceiling nor that floor. I remember to peek under the bed and inspect the spot where floorboards are cracked and missing. I reflect that I’m 36 and still live with my parents, gazing at my mannish arm hair. While I don’t precisely feel like a loser, I also don’t feel like someone to be envied.

There’s a hardware store under construction across the street from my home. It’s replacing a leaky warehouse where the second floor temporarily housed my favorite art store, SCRAP. Climbing down from peering over the wall, I notice that an AirBnB there has placed a painted post outside, horizontal rings of dull green and red. It’s a crude wayfinder for helping guests, and I’m sure unlawful, but the longer I look the more I admire it — and the matching ring-shaped gate made similarly. Crude, yet beautiful.

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Dream Journal

Oops, Giant Flute

Walking back from somewhere, I stop in at a store on 24th street (near my home) that sells music equipment. It has a spare layout, isolated displays in little clumps, floor models on display. With help from the staff I pick out a curious modern version of a traditional flute, with big playful colored buttons instead of finger holes. Taking it out of the bag to play on the way home, I discover that I’ve been given what is actually an absurd 11 foot long pipe — the one I picked out being most likely 11 inches. How did they not notice?! Rather amused, I know I’ll soon go back and exchange it, but play this more expensive monstrosity for fun in the meantime.

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Dream Journal

Old Spy Store, Pop-up Spiderman, Gravity Gun

A run-down store from the 1980s specializing in spy gear, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, in a nearly abandoned strip mall, just off a highway. Used to be so big it had registers all along the front, from one end of the store to the other. Now things have gotten so cheap that their music repeats on a loop 35 minutes long. Format of its name is “person-name-here’s”, if that’s understandable.

An older woman expresses interest in telling me her story (or my story?) by means of an inflatable outdoor big screen. The story randomly has Spider-Man pop in at different points, much like a pop-up ad.

A fancy gravity-altering gun (perhaps of my own design) shoots shiny super-stylish double-conical bombs. It remotely manipulates its aerial position, then detonates it on command. This seems impressive in the 3D jungle style game I’m inside. I gravimetrically pull in a cyborg that looks like Vendata/Venturian from Venture Bros and he sustains “severe anomaly damage” when I explode it on him.

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Dream Journal

Tennessee Toys-r-Us

Travelled to visit a big warehouse-like Toys-r-Us in Tennessee. Shopping for a present for Patrick/Alia. At the end of one aisle is a dollhouse-like playset of the Millennium Falcon, $422 — way more than I could spend, but cool that it exists. One shelf has a display demonstration of DIY plant life in test tube, as home decor.

I skate through aisles using the metal tip of an umbrella on the floor, it’s memorably loud.

I babysit a baby named Arnoit (has a French pronunciation), who may be the child of a drug addict mom. I can’t really tell if he’s human, or can see. But the toxicology report does show a bunch of stuff including Dr pepper in the cerebrospinal fluid (!).

Uncertain if this was Arnoit, but I have a history conversation with a kid born 18 years after September 11 2001. We compare my brother Chris who was actually born 10 years before, who still seems old to this kid.

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Dream Journal

Neither Brookstone, Nor Sharper Image, but P…

Diving into sparkling blue-white pool naked, after taking clothes off at water’s edge. As recommended by Pan Priest last night. Gathering of high-status leisure, Eileen is there, Koe, others too, attended by gynoid pool-parlor assistants.

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch has an electronically-assisted power to talk secretly in front of outsiders. It’s disguised, warped, imperceptible to normal hearing. She’s doing this on one occasion in a tile-walled library waiting room, located in my teenage bedroom, but when she starts talking about sex the filter starts to break. A maternal woman in the same room suddenly perceives her as a disfigured bird-faced large toddler.

There’s a high-end electronic store whose name I didn’t know. It was similar to Brookstone or Sharper Image, and it started with a ‘P’, but the owner there kept misleading me that it was different stores… that I knew it wasn’t. One, for instance, was affiliated with a Chinese family, incorporated the name ‘Chinatown’ and owned several different places in SF but not this one. I pick up an employment application from the floorboards, but I just can’t figure out the name. Most of the dream, I’m bugging myself trying to remember it.

In an aisle of rifles, there’s a loaded crossbow which predictably goes off the moment I touch it. I practically roll my eyes. Upon drawback, a thin silvery arrow-bolt shaft levers upwards 45 degrees for ease of loading.

In a distant more-forgotten section packed with older merchandise, on a lone mid-level shelf above the aisles, Lynae finds a curious vacuum (or… vacuum-like trinket). It’s package is the size of a coffee cup box, ancient-looking for electronics, from the 1980s at least. Some kind of toilet pun. Christmas-themed, too, with faded rainbow shoehorned in there. I don’t recall us opening it, but it was an amusing curiosity.

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Dream Journal

Alien Shrimp, Sunset Airplane, Balearic Groceries

Accidentally bought a pair of shrimp and fish four times on Bitcoin. I click on the shrimp (a hulking asymmetrical alien beast) and tell it to investigate a hole, something to do with its father, and it falls right in. The seller is totally unsympathetic. Little tufts of grass in it’s aquarium (attached by styrofoam). Looks like a tiny mangrove forest.

Looking out the window while into an airport at sunset, the pink light reflecting off hundreds of industrial buildings. Some kind of job interview, perhaps in a foreign land.

Shopping in a grocery store with Lynae, a store so large that I want to leave my cart and go find things and then come back. It has a Balearic foods section. I don’t even know what Balearic food would be!

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Osmosis versus… what was the other one’s name?

I find my former roommate Emily’s dating profile. Her first pic is from our apartment hall, which tells me that she’s still nostalgic for our time together but also doesn’t share what she looks like now.

In a store’s lost and found, I discover about 30 mini discs in a CD case which I, realizing their rarity, covertly steal in my hoodie. As it happens the attendant saw me and wryly confronts me, but after I tell him what they are and what I’m going to do with them — transfer them to archival digital — he gives a mysterious little nod of passing. Despite what I’d usually do I go right to work on them but there’s something amiss and none of them read correctly.

Sitting in a middle row of a classroom, Robby in the row ahead of me, Michael (Mickey before he was Mickey) in the row behind. Unusual as it’s the second night in a row I’ve dreamt of both of them.

I creep quietly toward the door of Aislinn’s North Beach apartment where there’s a bright glowing fishtank in window, but the rest of her lights are off so I leave without knocking.

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Dream Journal

Dream of a Store called Beached

Hanging out for what seemed like hours in this rich/upscale home. It was mine, or a relative’s, or someone who liked me very much. I was at a long, luxurious dinner party, in a charming and tastefully lit loft, with a rack of fur coats on hangers. This dream must have been earlier in the night, as it set the scene for another dream.

Friends of mine — or perhaps I, myself — opened up a new storefront called “Beached”. It was in a hipstery neighborhood blending part of London, San Francisco’s Mission, LA, and Berlin’s Kreuzberg. The store was angled from the storefront, and was structured around a large communal swimming pool, with a bar, changing areas off to the side, and an upper level with a jacuzzi lounge and clothing boutique. Reecy was there as part of an opening day crew. The store proved very trendy, and was a commercial success.

Later during this day’s events I would end up going to LiquidRom, but did not manage to fully write down the dream beforehand.