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Dream Journal

Fleeing in Mexico Resort, New Lover at the Piss Tent

Mexico, possibly Oaxaca, but a place which appears more like the Sonoran desert south of New Mexico. Temporarily my wife and I are staying at a complex of buildings (a resort I believe) with many areas: stone gazebo, collonade, buttress balustade wall… One very distinctive moment was when I floated over a pool whose bottom appeared painted, but actually the striped layers of natural sediment giving the appearance of a topographical map — I understood that it was a very rare environment miraculously conserved here, like some kind of placid natural geyser, and I spot wriggling aquatic coral snakes very close as I pass by (I should note this to someone, as these snakes in terrestrial waters are both rare and dangerous).

There’s a smaller property tucked between larger plots which has itself set up as a single attraction theme park, a line of tropical canopied boats on a flume track which performs a circuit underground, similar to Disney’s Pirates of the Caribbean. With somewhat marvelous luck, they’ve managed to compete with the much bigger properties around them in staying relevant.

My wife and I have been storing a trailer full of our stuff here for as long as we can, left in a sandy side area where it ought to go ignored. But it happens that we discover that my wife has to hide for a little bit from government agents looking for her. The plan is for her to immediately flee for a small labyrinth tucked away in an obscure corner of the complex and marked by mean on the map — I will meet her later after casually being found by the agents while lounging amongst a balustrade wall and stalling the agents. The plan becomes less and less viable as my wife continues watching engrossing video with me instead of leaving.

I practically sneak up to an infrequently visited door I at the end of hallway, sometimes regarded as employee-only, but I’m in on the secret today. The setting seems to be a venerable San Francisco institution, a store like Paxton Gate or 826 Valencia or perhaps the Audium. In fact I’m just trying to get to the bathroom.

I find one — but oddly it feels like a bit of the dream is missing here — the scene and setting have changed. I have no entered a tent made into an ersatz public restroom, one set up for so long people almost treated like it’s perfectly normal. Inside I find a folded-over kiddie pool full of old pee, but also gloves? Not as gross as it sounds… no smell simply jarring. Earlier I had seen and interacted with a woman outside just before entering the tent. An slightly older woman, attractive and self-determined, I’m glad to meet with her approval — she pees on my exposed leg over the cesspool of gloves and things get sexy refreshingly fast. It’s nice to be with a woman who knows what she wants, and who happens to want me at the moment. I’m eating her out with lots of enjoyment when I must interrupt the adventure to take a phone call (from my dad, of all people). I have enough reserve and I’m in a good enough mood to listen fairly well… and for a long time. The woman is so patient and appreciative of my patience also. While I listen I gaze at one of my tiny rats there in the room with us, perched in the open (after having been tracked down by me in an earlier dream which I can’t quite place). By the time the proceedings resume my wife has arrived and she too eats out the women, while I move up to suck her nipples. This is a spontaneous and welcome episode of joy.

The three of us are naked in the backyard on picnic benches when our landlord, newly clean shaven, and his wife arrive. He looks like Shepard Book from Firefly or Blameless Marad from Horizon Zero Dawn. The pair of them leave but actually come back in a minute, which I find a worthwhile breach of expectation. He begins to speak, starting with something like “nine years ago you paid the foundation of…” I accidentally interrupt him by complimenting his new look, a bit embarrassing but we have such a mood today it’s hard to break out of. The interruptions happen a few times in this way. I don’t recall exactly how it may have ended, as the tensions recently with our landlord have been high, but there may have been a sour node with his wife specifically, who’s never much talked before.

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Dream Journal

Hardware Store Naps thru Greek Island Graphs

I’m enlightened and free. I’m also younger than I am currently in the waking world. Because I can, I take a nap in a hardware store. Something to do isn’t it? (I remember sleeping in dreams more often than I used to — perhaps a sign that I’m able to recall more of the story from a complete REM cycle.)

Wandering over to the Christmas discounts section, but I can’t get through because my cart blocks the aisle. I’m wearing my favorite fleece-lined burgundy winter hoodie (which I’ve only had since this October). I pass through a section at the back of the store, near the underground parking lot, which is special for today, similar to a craft fair: many vendors behind tables each sell individual items for model train sets. The sellers (all redheads) are arranged in a square-ish gradient by the shade of their hair, a peculiar effect I don’t think I’ve noticed anywhere before.

For a little while afterwards, I’m separating coffee beans from big chunks of salt mixed in. While my hands are busy I discuss something with my friend Sherilyn (who I’ve not seen in several years). We’re talking as though I had once had a crush on her. I wish I understood better what we were talking about.

My wife mentions hope of one day soon vacationing in Greek islands. I take it upon myself, with a new insight that moment, to plan this trip thoroughly based on transfers between islands — ie, if make it here by 4:00 we go here this day, otherwise stay at this hotel leave 10:00 tomorrow, etc. I can make priorities and possibilities completely that way, almost like graph theory upon reflection

My wife mentions her hope of one day vacationing in the Greek islands — perhaps soon. I take it upon myself, with spur-of-the-moment insight, to thoroughly plan a trip based on timed transfers between islands. For instance, if we made it to a certain island by 4pm we could visit a certain place — but if we missed our ETA, we’d stay at a particular hotel, then leave at 10 the next morning. There were fallbacks and chains of causality laid out quite clearly. Upon reflection, it felt like exploring graph theory to prioritize and plan the trip.

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Dream Journal

Ranch House Scuba Diving Popcorn

Dusk. Crossing a curvy dirt driveway around a one-story ranch home near the end of a rural road. I’m staying in this compound on vacation together with a group of strangers. Thoughts about WordPress, the blogging platform, as the sun sets on the far horizon. I bite off half the tip of a thick plant leaf — a succulent of some kind. This is like biting off a piece of skin on my finger cuticle, and I’m not looking forward to how it will feel as it is healing.

Going scuba diving around the same or similar small ranch house in shallow tropical seas. I got the cheap package though, so I don’t have pressurized oxygen, just a small tank (about the size of a soda bottle — we recently acquired a SodaStream). I get below the waves in this twilight water and take one breath, realizing this is about how much I will get, recalling the image of the man who filled it only blowing a single breath. Wondering what I could do differently to make this trip better.

Man asking for popcorn at every store. People asking him how he expects to find popcorn at so many places that he admits he’s never seen popcorn. He answers that he’s just a man looking for popcorn. He then peels off from his face something that looks like a beauty mask — a sticky round circle covering from his mid-nose to slightly blow his chin. Underneath is revealed a distinct lighter circle of skin, perhaps reminiscent of a scuba mask.

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Dream Journal

A Cozy Compound in the Woods, and Famous Guests

Lazing around in some open vacation courtyard, an asymmetric rhomboid. Tired, I order Carl’s Jr., instead of pizza which my wife later reminds me she asked me to. I switch on the Weather Channel for light background noise… but apparently now it has ads?

I catch sight of a man I know, his balls exposed, but it’s just another fashion choice somehow. For a moment it strikes me how oddly it’s much less obscene than showing just a dick or the whole package, but I’m surprised to admit, it totally is.

I find myself idly wondering: when do surgeons learn how to bring someone back from the dead? Is there a day where they talk about the rules, the records, joke about being necromancers? Strange job.

I’m soon walking around a swimming pool while my friends and I are all skinny dipping, but then it seems a new group of grungy beer-drinking hipsters has showed up to the compound/courtyard — private party over. My wife and I start packing clothes and arguing about how long it will take, how much exactly we still have to pack.

Take a break briefly to shop at a grocery store, but I’m sad from the arguing and the mis-ordering and the leaving. On the ground I find a strangely-shaped oblong orange fruit (mango? squash?). I discover among the produce its other half, the banality of the explanation causing me to sigh and set it back on the ground instead.

While visiting my high school creative writing teacher Ms. Fitz’ classroom, I perch on the edge of a blackboard. But Lauren joins me, and us both sitting on it causes it to crash off the wall. Taking responsibility, I construct a replacement of a homemade paper version covered in art selections. The piece on the back, which I think clever (and which won’t normally be seen), is of a hand-drawn skeleton: an oblique downward view of the spine, scapula, and pelvic ridge. This is apparently a too-creative stretch for Lauren, who pans it and has me explain what she’s looking at.

On a creaky wooden staircase out the back, becoming woods, I encounter a weird deer with moss growing over the side of one eye. It’s friendly — almost spirit-guide friendly — so I go to get it carrots. I bring out an ice chest with two bags. As I re-emerge outside I gaze down the neighborhood hill, a single puff of steam popping out the rustic chimney of a tall squarish cabin house down the hill. The morning silence and fog is impressive, encompassing. I have a brief chat with a random neighbor guy and tell him what I’m doing. He asks for one of the bags. A bit selfish, but I offer to give him as much as will fit in his hands. A few animals immediately show up, at least one anteater (which I don’t think eat carrots, “but oh well” I say as I offer some) and a deer with teeth that look like it should definitely be carnivorous. I hand-feed that angular animal with great caution, but it seems not so much dangerous as derpy.

Up in our personal quarters, the musician Amanda Palmer is visiting. Hanging out with friends and band-mates, mostly naked. She’s very easy to host, quite self-possessed. and independent. Hangs out with her crew and chats/chills, taking breaks to talk with me or other family.

Meanwhile my wife tells me Kevin McAllister (Macaulay Culkin) a.k.a Kevin Pill is staying in another room in the complex. I want to thank him for his recent funny tweet and say how glad I am to have him, but I peek in and he’s doing some private conference. I don’t mind, but it could’ve been a sex thing? Masturbating? I don’t know.

I ask Amanda Palmer if they’d like to meet. I’m like “oh wait you already know each other”, and we together recall a time where they got into a debate and she surprised him with a detailed rebuttal, concluding at his shock “that’s right, I went to formal school too”. Listening to her voice is mesmerizing… deep and gravelly and calming. I remember that I should be recording it, and regret not doing so already.

A group of jock-ish “Lost Boys”-looking kids fly onto the room’s balcony. I block the view of my naked celebrity guests while he asks some random probing question, hoping to see them. Gauging my guests’ reaction, I deflect and gently let them down with whatever it is they wanted to ask. Part of being a good host, I guess.


Writing this all down, I realize we never finally departed to courtyard complex after all.

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Dream Journal

Dirt Bike Somersaults & Stamp Art

I get my dirt bike working on a family trip to Death Valley. In celebration I do multiple wheelies while rounding a low hill, then motorbike somersaults in the air, finally floating off on a rock. Willam Shatner is there? Or is it me?


An older, liberal stamp artist for the US Postal Service is doing a series on Bob Ross. I’m already sure this predictable pap won’t sell well in the red states, but at least the prototype drawings are good. One has him in an earthworm-like armor helmet, dressed as Trogdor (Trogdor the Burninator?) which I learn is actually pronounced tro-dor.

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Dream Journal

Dream: October 24, 2018

Staying in Tahoe with poly peeps, I go out in the crisp early morning air to the enclosed backyard. I count six hot tubs arrayed around the pool, it’s so wonderfully abundant — maybe decadent, even.

Hot older woman, fancies herself a femme fatale. Wife of someone powerful. She’s named “Korova”, like the Cannabis brand (I just visited a recreational dispensary for the first time yesterday).

I’m playing pool (the game with balls and pockets) but find it curiously frustrating, the damn physics aren’t constant… because I’m dreaming, of course.

Dean Venture, Hank, sell their subs during the credits.

Here’s a cool image: an infinitely repeating crocodile skull, spinning in space, then zoom in on an ornate pile of carved Olmec heads.

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Glot

Missouri Holiday

Hello! I’m in Missouri. Why. Why? Because that’s where Lynae’s dad lives. And why does he live there? Is he from there? No.

But the place is nice. There’s a lake, and woods, a long gravel driveway, a pool, and cousins, and every other silly thing that makes it seem like a family retreat in the woods. And I’m here in the middle of it. The Boyfriend. An interesting role, and I don’t mind playing it.

There’s precious little time. Between Silver Dollar City (think giant Frontierland with more rollercosters,  Marvel Cave, Steak N’ Shake, Go-carts, and Predator World (the weirdest zoo I’ve ever been to), there is not a lot of time for… internet commitments. Off to dinner.

UPDATE: Now that it’s over, I have no problem with a little more sharing.

We came, we saw, we got really really sunburned. In somewhat sensible slideshow order: Springfield Airport, Tablerock Lake, The Butterfly Palace, Steak ‘n’ Shake, an a rock quarry next to an amusement park, Marvel Cave, Predator World, abandoned florist shop, late-night arcade/go-carts, Denny’s, way fancier than Denny’s, Tablerock Lake, Springfield Airport.