Tag: travel

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Dream Journal

Australia, What Might’ve Been

I go return to Australia now, as myself, a middle-aged man. I end up spending much time reading in a dark pub and saving really good memes. The room where I’m staying is compact and oddly shaped, on the corner between two long rural streets. The whole thing is very much a nostalgia tour but it’s made more difficult on account I didn’t have Google Maps in Australia back then. I remember one thing on my to-do list: “ivywalk”… though I admit I don’t even know what that was. It’s relaxing — yet nostalgia itself is a kind of pain, the bittersweet pain of a place you cannot truly go back to.

At some point near the end of this trip I consider revisiting the town I spent the last days of my younger trip in, Shepparton, where I was humbled as a salesperson and walked up and down the sheep inhabited main street. This is… somewhat close to my real-life waking memories. I try to think of even one person I could visit there, and the one who comes to mind is the charming old lady Josephine, the only customer I feel I actually helped, getting her new bill put under the name she’d always chosen to use: Jo. And yet she was fairly old then, and that was 14 years ago.

Curiously enough — and this is the waking truth — last November I had a brief lucky few hours when I could’ve bought deep discount plane tickets for Qantas 100-year anniversary. I had a three week trip for two all queued up (for $1400!) yet ultimately we decided that even that wasn’t quite low enough for us, what with food and lodging too. I’d quite forgotten about that untaken chance… today would’ve been about when we flew back.

Categories
Dream Journal

The Slow Plane to Russia

Travelling to Moscow, Russia, with my wife for an extended vacation. The airliner is laid out as rows of seats on risers, sideways to the direction of travel. We’re the last people to be able to order at the grotty little on-board cafe — they’re closing and also almost out of food. I move seats to get more room, but still can’t get much privacy. I turn my huge CRT monitor in the seat next to me but there’s seemingly no direction I can point it where a stranger can’t see it. The space isn’t much like an airplane, a crowd of people moving around in what sometimes feels like a filthy abandoned stadium. At some point I have to prep and clean a poorly-maintained old toilet.

The dream after this is what came before. We’re in the planning stages for this east-of-eastern Europe vacation. I fantasize about the routes we could take, passing through places like Crimea, Turkey, the Balkans, maybe even the Greek Isles. No firm itinerary has been made, as is typical for us. I realize I need to worry whether Russia, and all the countries we may go to, still consider kratom legal.

We have a small fight while driving down to Palm Springs, on the way to Las Vegas, where our deep-discount direct-to-Moscow flight leaves from. I tell my wife I left my luggage at home and we need to go back. She angrily asks why I didn’t take it, and I say it’s because when we left, I asked her if we were just going out to run an errand and would have a chance to come home before we left. I insist she answered yes, but she insists on having no memory of that. But I know we make the flight, because I’ve experienced it already.

Categories
Dream Journal

Stairway Stab Girl

Taking a ride to the airport, the doors to the bus open twice. I get out on an empty platform, embarrassed as the train speeds away. End up having to walk a long way to baggage claim, a tiny beige room in a spare building.

Girl on the landing between two stairways giving a blowjob. She has the guy stab her butt, then fuck the stab.

She then loads my dishwasher with dozens of blue glass jug vessels, careful they don’t rattle.

On the couch and there’s an orange cat in my lap. Reminds me of Flop! Rat cage is open though. It turns into two black cats, like Aloysius unfortunately. I call Lynae to come help.

My brother Patrick has his Mac break. He has to buy a new PC and is humorously says and condescending about it.

Categories
Dream Journal

Chaos Ghost Derby

A railroad encircles the edge of Sacramento river delta vineyards. Slow journey. I’m a kid, and it’s a parallel journey to my flight back home after a living abroad — flying across the entire continental USA and landing somewhere in Oregon. My parent says we’re going home, to the pine state, but I check my weekly predictions and foresee several saddle & ranch-themed places and events… dusty winds from the East.

I’m a ghost, a spirit, and I’m called to enact the Destruction Derby. A motorboat near the scenic park-side boardwalk splits in existential mitosis, splitting again into four motorboats, panicking at my invisible intensity. Other boats flee into the sides of houses trying to escape my wake. After the chaos, while clothed in humanness, I witness buses driving around torn in half, motorcycles needing to be un-embedded from the street. There’s great disorder and possible loss of life, but I only do it once in awhile and I’m not me when I do it, anyway. And I’m never mean. In fact, I’m fair.

Afterwards, Betty and many other girls are being evacuated, marched out in formation. In semi-ghost form I squeeze butts & hips. New girl with them is like “and… you randomly just sometimes have a ghost feel you up after this stuff happens? HUH.”