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Dream Journal

Night Before a Christmas Birthday

Floating above the waterways of an oasis, doing that thing where I breathe to get higher. I get higher than my companions behind me, only to grab stray palm fronds and debris, which of course sinks me lower. The oasis itself appears once inhabited yet now abandoned. We start scavenging some apartments. There’s a shower that made an impression, boxy white plastic at the front of a low-ceiling hallway, a thin plastic curtain evoking sadness with the strong impression it relates of a human not there anymore. Another space we raid is a deck with a hollow space underneath, which turns out to be filled with Christmas presents, already labeled with names and notes. The notes are sometimes for people we know — a kid who’s not there, her family. We actually do find a lingering resident, sitting dully facing a TV. His recognition of us could be dangerous, and he has to be neutralized.

A long walk in a long train station — reminds me of platforms of big city train stations I went to in Italy. But the actual route I’m taking is via this very long train platform, with a building at the end, on the horizon. It’s a landmark, possibly a destination. I’m missing school walking here. Perhaps school is my destination.

I’m reminded of another part, perhaps out of order: when we got off a train at a rural platform, for a supposed switchover. There are several of us, a distinct group, who get off for the train on a parallel set of tracks. But it never comes. Instead, the train we got off of speeds away in what clearly feels like a trick. If we don’t catch up to it quickly, we’ll be left behind, and you just know we’ll be blamed for it somehow. Maybe this is how I missed school.

As I come up toward the station proper, I look to the right. There’s an old building that might’ve been a barracks, tall, almost neglected looking. There’s a big patch of moss covering the front of the house. But as I look carefully at it I see the furniture of rich people still living in the old place. Somewhere between the venerable age, the good location, and the disposable wealth to ignore expensive quirks of building maintenance, the place is surprisingly prestigious. Despite having no other indicators of being in San Francisco, this feels like a very San Francisco situation.

Off the back of the fancy folks moss barracks there’s a cliff into a wild green gully or canyon of suchlike. A possum drops off this cliff. I don’t remember much more.

At my friend S’s house (of P&S), there’s a plastic stormtrooper outfit that I try to fit on. The set appears to be missing boots though, so I have to wear my own shoes with the outfit laying over them. It looks a bit silly but maybe it won’t matter, or maybe we’ll find the boots.


Title is actually when this was: I went to a very nice birthday party today, that was Christmas-themed. Seems oddly specific though. Feels like it could be a weird dream reference, but that’s just what it was.

Categories
Dream Journal

Next Door, A Fancy Pool I Treat like my Own

I’ve been living in a dingy apartment that used to be a motel. One nice thing about living here is that I have a view of the large pools at the fancy place next door, and I know how to sneak in whenever I want. However, the fancy place’s new owners have started paying for updates that actually detract from the beauty and usefulness of the pool for me. I’d rather it be old and enjoyable than new-looking and ugly. One day I’m lounging against the side of the pool and realized they’ve installed speakers that play easy-listening garbage. Without waiting I reach up and break off the speaker nearest me — realizing it’s better than planning it out and appearing suspicious.

I’m hanging out near the boundary of the property where there is a waist-high fence; I’m thinking about how it will still be easy to get in whenever I want even if they start locking the tiny gate. Chris P., a Cambodian childhood friend of mine, and two of his entourage arrive through the gate. He’s some important manager or boss of the place, which makes things perhaps more complicated or perhaps easier for me. We have a brief conversation joking about whether I’m hacking the power grid of the pool, like a famous incident in the history of Bermuda. Luckily, of all the liberties I’ve taken with this overly-wealthy next door property, that isn’t one of them.

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Dream Journal

Private Property: Several Absurd Scenarios

In the hinterlands far out in Nevada, rich citizens build a pair of eccentric mansions right next to each other. These private residences resemble city apartment blocks in their scale, shape, and modernist aesthetic. Yet a lone high-end car is usually all that can be seen on the miles-long public access road that links out to them (essentially just a private drive), crossing a sandy ridge which obscures them from eyeline. The buildings belong to a pair of relatives who still don’t often see each other, a father & son or perhaps an uncle and nephew, yet though the twin properties are huge the structures are built in a small corner practically touching, with the absurd addition of a tall wall between them blocking a direct view.


Zooming in on a map of islands in the Pacific, and it appears that one has been completely bought and taken over, now labelled “twitter.com”. I realize the islands are a bit further north than I though, and the the round bad in the middle of the grayscale topological map is the Hawaiian island of Molokai.


Participating in a reenactment of the Titanic sinking, I remember the 1997 movie and position myself near the middle. When the ship keels into the air, I hope to survive the split by minimizing the distance I drop. I do, but things have gone a bit differently and it’s the forward half that stays afloat. Long enough, as it happens, that its momentum carries it within swimming distance of the shore of a small private island (owned by the musician Sting, in fact). The ship effectively pulls aside it. I spot a few Mexican dudes hanging out playing cards, listening to ranchero music. It’s oddly domestic enough that even on our sinking vessel we passengers hesitate to jump in the water and interrupt their day.