It's like a caper gone sour. I'm on the run, and each successive character I run into gets sucked into, and criminalized by, my ever spiraling crimes. The cumulative weight, perhaps light and laughable before, is now heavy and deadly serious - weighing over the entire episode.
The first few chapters I can not recall. My memory begins as I'm on the run for New Orleans - or some such watery, southern state. There my path crosses, I meet with, Arnold Schwarzenegger; I manage to get in with him through the mutual acquaintance of an actress - she was involved in the previous chapter of the caper.
Although she is now dead. I break the news to Schwarzenegger, and I'm surprised by how upset he becomes. I knew actors put it on for the camera, for PR, for appearances, and suspected his emotion was a sham; but seeing how Schwarzenegger reacts to the news takes me aback a little. He is crying, inconsolable, then quiet, injured, scornful. He says he knew her well, and she was a good person - they'd worked together. He is genuine.
Schwarzenegger gets out of the cobalt blue sedan car we were in. I have no idea what he is up to - he is unresponsive, and has a glazed look of some deranged determination. He doesn't wear a jacket, and seems to be wearing a gun strap over his shirt - he must be a cop, or playing a cop. Past his attire, I look at where we are. We're on a raised carriageway; it's not a bridge, but there is water all around. There are rectangular pools of water, levees, either side of the road in a "steppe" like arrangement. In the dream I call them levees, but I have never seen a levee and do not really know what one is. Their image in the dream, in one view, is similar to rice paddies (but without the blades of rice leaves pointing up though, or the lumpy earthen borders). Rice paddies in the golden tangerine morning sun - like something you'd imagine of Sumatra, Bali, etc. As Schwarzenegger jumps over the barrier and into the water though, the arrangement still looks like levees, or a series of locks - three, on descending levels. And the levels aren't, now, themselves broken into numerous smaller pools, it's like three strips of water, three rivers, side by side, in descending order. Or they are like the "View Pool" some hotels have outside, overlooking a bay or scenic view - three levels of view pools, each spilling water down into the other when disturbed.
The water is very calm and still on each level. It looks thick, viscous almost.
Schwarzenegger, in his grief, has plunged in. And is negotiating his way down the levels. This seems a scandalous thing - either because he is a star and may be poached in this state of un-control, and/or because going in the levees is taboo in this town - and I am scrambling to think what to do.
I'm running alongside the water, on the road, and the area seems more urban and populace. I decide that I need a telephone, to make a call, to make this thing right. Schwarzenegger is in the water, mad, making his way down - I think people are starting to notice and point. I have to save this situation and somehow have found a phone. It is a cordless, not a mobile, more like a house phone (from the late 80s or the 90s). I think it is black and gold. I'm relieved to have got the phone, but as I make a call - I'm informed, by recorded message, that there is no credit on the phone and it will not connect to any line. I try again. No service until bills are paid.
I'm in a disused house, a rundown house, like a squat. There is a mentally retarded character and the Bosses have told me, or I've offered to, teach him how to serve some refreshment (alcohol, perhaps beer) from the refrigerator to the others - who are there for some kind of gambling, or other illegal thing. Everything is very cheap, dirty, dark.
The room is rectangular, not especially wide, and I'm walking length ways down to the other end of the room with the simpleton. I'm showing him the way to the fridge. I take great care, and try to set the best example of hospitality I can so he can copy and do a good job. We successfully serve some drinks to the other squatters/gamblers/people. The bosses, who seem to be middle aged blacks are happy; but at this juncture, the house has been found out, and the Police are on their way. I must run again.
I meet up with Nana. We are on the run together, somehow in the middle of all this I have accessed the internet and find out a horrible secret about Nana's past - that she starred in some adult films, was a very promiscuous Japanese porno starlet. I see images of her taking ejaculations on the face, and of her being penetrated by a man with a penis almost the same length as his upper body. He penetrates her all the way with his huge cock.
She is found out and we have to confront her past (I experience a very complex set of emotions, positive and negative, that I can not express in writing here, and do not think I can really understand yet, but the effect is very profound - even with me now as I write). I can not fathom how she handled this man with the large penis; and it makes me feel very inadequate in comparison. But that we will stay together is never in question for me.
I think we have sex.
The game is up. I'm in Italy, perhaps Roma, but I think somewhere more northern, and the police have finally tracked me down. They have also found all the previous characters I'd met, and I see them taking them and getting more and more evidence about me and what I've done. I see a procession of Japanese mothers walking their children on a very bright sunny mountain pass (the mountainous pass seems like it's in Greece for some reason) and the police have singled out one mother, who at this instant, I recall as someone I either colluded with or perpetrated a crime, unwittingly, against. She tells all.
I'm trying to escape in a small car, and the Italian police are hot in pursuit. The chase passes stone houses, castles, and autumn woods (not many, or no, leaves on the trees); trying to shake off the cops I veer off the road and suddenly see the action from plan, or birds eye view. I've landed my car on a huge conical tile roof - brown or grey - the roof is many orders of magnitude larger than my car, and so the car looks like a toy in comparison. I spiral around and down the tiled roof, almost out of control. The police are on me. I wake.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
Morning of 19th December - Short Nap
Nana and me are walking past a pool. We're in Hawaii; it must be a family vacation as our baby is with us. We're walking toward the beach, but decide we'll have a swim in the pool first. Nana stands on the diving board and it snaps (I'd watched a film the previous day where the same thing happens to Russell Crowe). I jump in and get her - and do not recall the next sequence at all.
We've been swimming in the sea and are now finished. My baby is toddler's age in the dream (although in waking life she is a newborn) , and we are drying her off. Somehow a cape and hat of sand have been made for her, and we are assured this is the best way to dry as she toddles off in front of us, the sand sieving off the cape as she goes. We are passing the pool again, and being covered in sand, decide to dip in to wash it off. There is another family in the pool, 3 people, but I only really notice the male - the rest are inferred, or not visually noticed. I stare at him as we walk past, making no attempt to say hello; contrarily, I suddenly feel I need to impress myself upon the other man, and establish myself as the alpha male. I strut, looking down at my own puffed chest I see I'm wearing black trunks. The man and his family are at the head of the pool; Nana, out in front of me, is circling around the foot of the pool, and I'm tracking her path. We dive in not at the head, but close to it at the high end of the right side of the pool; the man is on the left side. I dive in and make a round of the pool - much as a boxer makes a round of the ring when he gets in - and do it in a graceful swirling stroke. I'm suprised at my prowess with this stroke: I feel strong, and glide through the water faster than expected. I feel the man must be impressed.
One circuit completed, I return the right side of the head of the pool, and decide to do a length underwater, holding my breath. After the previous display, and realization of my swimming strength, I'm very confident that this will be easy. I showboat a little, slowing down my decent into the water, after a modest inhale of air; wishing to stamp my superiority with a little panache. Before even beginning my swim to the other end, I realize as soon as I'm under water that I don't have enough air to get going. And my previous athleticism in the pool has also gone: I don't feel as though one push against the wall would glide me to the other side in no time. But I frantically try to boost from the wall as best I can - I doesn't get me more than a body length forward, and I now feel my oxygen gone completely. I struggle, there's no way I'm going to come up early. The air is really gone, my body attempts to respirate - pure reflex. Some water comes in through my nose. Choking I surface.
I'm shocked that this is the first time I've ever inhaled underwater. That's never happened before.
We are in an Egyptian exhibit, but the building is not a museum - it seems to be a hospital ward. Nana and the baby go off in front, as I'm interested in one display exhibit - an ancient King's sword - and want to linger. I suspect another reason is that I'm attracted to the tour guide who is explaining the pieces.
She is a middle aged woman, with an asian look, but not explicitly oriental. She looks a bit worn and tired - bored of the job. But what I really notice are her plump breasts, and slim figure. I think I am genuinely interested in the sword too, however.
I attract her attention, and comment that it looks like a Roman Gladius (it doesn't exactly as I see later). I want her to notice my reference, and without me telling her, I want her to know that I know the Gladius is more modern than an Egyptian sword, and that the Gladius itself was not Roman, but perhaps Celtic. She doesn't notice - she doesn't really understand my comment, as though she knows nothing of history. I say again, this time altering my pronunciation of "Gladius." She tells me something unrelated, and I'm a little frustrated (because I haven't established I'm a bit knowledgeable).
I change my tack, and ask her a question: where did the Egyptians get steel from this early? She again replies with some completely different information. I repeat; she again does not understand, or does not want to engage. I notice her English is certainly spoken as a second language, and repeat my question in Japanese - and I embellish it, in Japanese, with the qualifications: "did they make steel themselves?"; "or, did they import from another state?" I genuinely want to know if the Egyptians had the technical ability to make steel. She seems confused by my questioning, and a little annoyed by it.
I see the exhibit more clearly - it is not shaped like a Gladius as I first took it to be, it is more like a diamond from the card suit, although asymmetric: the blade is slightly longer than the hilt. Its shape reminds me of a chalice; even the holy grail.
The lady and me are over by a window overlooking the Hawaiian mountains and bay - there are a few concrete tower blocks in view, and it is not picturesque at all. She sits down on a bed (hospital style bed) and I sit on the adjoining one. She begins to talk about how she doesn't like her job and isn't interested in its subject. She continues to complain about work. I notice her breasts again and again think, although with no real conviction, that I'd like to fuck her. She complains that she is so tired, and gets so sleepy; and I see this as a chance to shift the conversation away from her and her work, and introduce my personality to it (impress her). I agree, laughing, and tell her that 3 and 4 (p.m.) are the hardest hours to get through - I hold up my right hand as I say "3 and 4", showing three fingers, palm side to her, then four, swiveling my four fingered hand to show the back. I'm sure that this will elicit a smile, or some concession, from her, and from there I can seduce and have her. It does not work.
I wake.
We've been swimming in the sea and are now finished. My baby is toddler's age in the dream (although in waking life she is a newborn) , and we are drying her off. Somehow a cape and hat of sand have been made for her, and we are assured this is the best way to dry as she toddles off in front of us, the sand sieving off the cape as she goes. We are passing the pool again, and being covered in sand, decide to dip in to wash it off. There is another family in the pool, 3 people, but I only really notice the male - the rest are inferred, or not visually noticed. I stare at him as we walk past, making no attempt to say hello; contrarily, I suddenly feel I need to impress myself upon the other man, and establish myself as the alpha male. I strut, looking down at my own puffed chest I see I'm wearing black trunks. The man and his family are at the head of the pool; Nana, out in front of me, is circling around the foot of the pool, and I'm tracking her path. We dive in not at the head, but close to it at the high end of the right side of the pool; the man is on the left side. I dive in and make a round of the pool - much as a boxer makes a round of the ring when he gets in - and do it in a graceful swirling stroke. I'm suprised at my prowess with this stroke: I feel strong, and glide through the water faster than expected. I feel the man must be impressed.
One circuit completed, I return the right side of the head of the pool, and decide to do a length underwater, holding my breath. After the previous display, and realization of my swimming strength, I'm very confident that this will be easy. I showboat a little, slowing down my decent into the water, after a modest inhale of air; wishing to stamp my superiority with a little panache. Before even beginning my swim to the other end, I realize as soon as I'm under water that I don't have enough air to get going. And my previous athleticism in the pool has also gone: I don't feel as though one push against the wall would glide me to the other side in no time. But I frantically try to boost from the wall as best I can - I doesn't get me more than a body length forward, and I now feel my oxygen gone completely. I struggle, there's no way I'm going to come up early. The air is really gone, my body attempts to respirate - pure reflex. Some water comes in through my nose. Choking I surface.
I'm shocked that this is the first time I've ever inhaled underwater. That's never happened before.
We are in an Egyptian exhibit, but the building is not a museum - it seems to be a hospital ward. Nana and the baby go off in front, as I'm interested in one display exhibit - an ancient King's sword - and want to linger. I suspect another reason is that I'm attracted to the tour guide who is explaining the pieces.
She is a middle aged woman, with an asian look, but not explicitly oriental. She looks a bit worn and tired - bored of the job. But what I really notice are her plump breasts, and slim figure. I think I am genuinely interested in the sword too, however.
I attract her attention, and comment that it looks like a Roman Gladius (it doesn't exactly as I see later). I want her to notice my reference, and without me telling her, I want her to know that I know the Gladius is more modern than an Egyptian sword, and that the Gladius itself was not Roman, but perhaps Celtic. She doesn't notice - she doesn't really understand my comment, as though she knows nothing of history. I say again, this time altering my pronunciation of "Gladius." She tells me something unrelated, and I'm a little frustrated (because I haven't established I'm a bit knowledgeable).
I change my tack, and ask her a question: where did the Egyptians get steel from this early? She again replies with some completely different information. I repeat; she again does not understand, or does not want to engage. I notice her English is certainly spoken as a second language, and repeat my question in Japanese - and I embellish it, in Japanese, with the qualifications: "did they make steel themselves?"; "or, did they import from another state?" I genuinely want to know if the Egyptians had the technical ability to make steel. She seems confused by my questioning, and a little annoyed by it.
I see the exhibit more clearly - it is not shaped like a Gladius as I first took it to be, it is more like a diamond from the card suit, although asymmetric: the blade is slightly longer than the hilt. Its shape reminds me of a chalice; even the holy grail.
The lady and me are over by a window overlooking the Hawaiian mountains and bay - there are a few concrete tower blocks in view, and it is not picturesque at all. She sits down on a bed (hospital style bed) and I sit on the adjoining one. She begins to talk about how she doesn't like her job and isn't interested in its subject. She continues to complain about work. I notice her breasts again and again think, although with no real conviction, that I'd like to fuck her. She complains that she is so tired, and gets so sleepy; and I see this as a chance to shift the conversation away from her and her work, and introduce my personality to it (impress her). I agree, laughing, and tell her that 3 and 4 (p.m.) are the hardest hours to get through - I hold up my right hand as I say "3 and 4", showing three fingers, palm side to her, then four, swiveling my four fingered hand to show the back. I'm sure that this will elicit a smile, or some concession, from her, and from there I can seduce and have her. It does not work.
I wake.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Night of 14th December 2009
Everyone is swimming at the indoor pool. I don't join in because I'm sensitive to the feelings of my former Boss, who is one of the swimmers (in waking life I've recently tried to repair relations between us, to not much avail). The swimmers are playing a game of swimming a length underwater without coming up for air. I was good at this game when I was younger and am keen to join in, but my passive (in real life he is not) Boss's presence is holding me back. I'm sure if I join in it will further offend him.
I'm told things might be ok, and my Boss and I cross eyelines at one moment as he is walking around the pool, close to me. I can't decide if things really will be alright, but I want to be positive. I jump in the pool and instantly cause some tension amongst the group. As I arrive at the shallow end, suddenly there is very little water in the pool, and the swimming session has been ruined.
I'm watching a football game on the television - and am startled because it must be the world cup. It is England versus an African nation (there is no African nation in England's actual group for 2010). The television is an old set, with a curved glass screen, and the picture is a little fuzzy. I'm very excited, and hope for England's win. The opposing team seems to have become Holland, and England lose the game 2-1. I wake.
I'm told things might be ok, and my Boss and I cross eyelines at one moment as he is walking around the pool, close to me. I can't decide if things really will be alright, but I want to be positive. I jump in the pool and instantly cause some tension amongst the group. As I arrive at the shallow end, suddenly there is very little water in the pool, and the swimming session has been ruined.
I'm watching a football game on the television - and am startled because it must be the world cup. It is England versus an African nation (there is no African nation in England's actual group for 2010). The television is an old set, with a curved glass screen, and the picture is a little fuzzy. I'm very excited, and hope for England's win. The opposing team seems to have become Holland, and England lose the game 2-1. I wake.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Night of 30th November 2009
I'm playing football alone on some empty ground (like an empty field used as a car-park, or such). There isn't much grass underfoot, it's rocky/clay-like soil; and there are two tall trees (I think). I boot the ball high up in the air, very high, and it gets caught in an eddying wind current. The ball is whisked away like a kite, I don't see its path away from me this happens so fast. And losing it is a real shock.
I'm distraught about the lost ball; but my father appears to help me find it, his presence gratifies me instantly - I feel transported back to childhood, reassured by the protection of my Dad. We go together looking for the ball, and are on the other side of some barrier facing a choppy shore and pebbled beach. Walking along a raised (about a meter up from the beach) storm wall we're looking for the ball, I sense my father is behind me but he is somehow leading the search - showing me where to look. He makes me feel upbeat, he jokes and encourages me as we walk. I see the ball laying still on the raised walk out in front of me. Upon discovery my father congratulates and reminds me that everything was going to be alright; I'm ecstatic, I pick up the ball, turn, and while running back toward my father consider doing a reverse somersault off the wall on to the beach below.
The scene changes. I'm in a crowd and we're watching the live performance on the outdoor stage. The vocalist is a James Brown type figure, older than us, representative of a soul/funk generation, however he is hispanic - mexican, or latin american. He is wearing a black hat, like a fedora, and black clothes, and sings one of his classics, which is very very good. The song ends and he is in different clothes and a different hat - both this time grey - and he begins to speak. He rambles on about something and unsettles the crowd and the management. We think that his music is great; but his philosophies are crackpot and marginal - in the end they undermine his image as a great musician and I think he'd be so much more successful if he just kept them private. But then again, like James Brown, etc., he wouldn't be him if he didn't go off he rails like that. I notice his eyes set in the deep coffee colored face; the black pupils are very prominent against the bright whites of his eyes. They are subtly-but-strangely large (in proportion to the rest of the eye) and their appearance is like that of a snake's or big cat's - perhaps more a snake's. His eyes are drawing and I look at them for a while - impressed by the scary beauty.
The security guard who was unsettled by the singer's monologue and unobtrusively tried to restrain him, is, I think, the same person now posted in front of the elevator I'm waiting for. The outdoor stage was outside the entrance, part of the entrance, to a great tower block or skyscraper, and it is this building's elevator that I now wish to board. I'm going down. It's a short journey, only a floor or two. Having done what I wanted to do downstairs, I go back for the elevator - I think the guard is there again. Two men in suits, about my age, enter the elevator with me, they are chatting to each other in good spirits. As the doors close another two men run for the elevator. I don't do anything; but the two men inside cheerfully make a lunge for the doors to keep them open. I think the guard is inside also, he's helping them. The lift had just begun its ascent and is not flush with the floor, etc., and the two latecomers struggle to get in. They make it and exchange jokes with the two helpers. I'm not involved in the camaraderie.
I'm at the top of the tower. It's night time, or everything is black; there are many polished, glassy, surfaces and they reflect city lights. (I had done something at this juncture, but unfortunately I couldn't note the dream down upon waking and the information is lost to me now.)
With whatever it was done, I'm going back down in the elevator. The elevator doesn't take me all the way back down to the ground floor; it stops part way, and I have to lump it and use the building's grand stairwell to complete the descent. Exiting the elevator, I see the floor's interior is again different: not utilitarian and unadorned like the basement; not modern and glamorous like the top floor; but red brick and steel, lit by tungsten lights - like a multi-story carpark level, or the interior of a train-station. It's busy, people flow like a river through the wide channel (the hallway?) and weave through the brick columns. The floor plan must be a regular design as the columns, walls, walkways are all laid out in a geometric pattern. The elevator shafts are central veins running down the middle of the building, whereas the pedestrian spaces are located further from the centre. Thus, around the exit of elevators there are narrow corridors of calm - no one is walking there. The people seem to be all going the same way, a squared version of the Coriolis effect. It must be home time.
I'm in a rush leaving the elevator and want to work my way into the other rushing bodies flowing round the corners toward the stairwell in orderly fashion. I have hastily turned left (90 degrees left, as everything is geometric) out of the elevator, left again, around the corner, on my right there is a colonnade of brick columns. On the right side of the colonnade, traveling parallel, is the flow of people; on my side of the colonnade no-one. The colonnade stretches out in front of me for about 5m, where there must be another turn, or the entrance to the grand stairs, as the people are no longer parallel, but perpendicular to my view, i.e., as I look down the colonnade, at the end, they are moving from my right to my left. I rush down the vacant corridor created by the shielding colonnade to join the current of people as they enter the grand stairs.
I don't remember the journey but I'm back at the ground floor, or near it - I know just by a feeling of normality. I'm either at a cafe, or a large display: there is a counter with lots of products on it. It feels festive (in waking life it is now the Holiday season) like a special display or seasonal promotion, etc. On the large crescent shaped counter there are some products that look like luxury chocolates - yet the brand marks/logos make me think of luxury tobacco (before sleeping I had been looking at luxury brands of tobacco - I'm thinking of changing brands). The products are free. I can't believe this as the boxes they are in are luxurious and big (a significant loss to the producer/seller), and besides they are luxury brands - nothing this good is just given away. An old lady tells me that, yes they are free, really, take one... and I make my way over.
Lifting the lid of a gold box (either circular or crescent shaped) I see only a few chocolates left over - the offering has been ravaged by freeloaders - there is cocoa powder, a mud brown sand-dune, and on it the last few chocolates. I take some and move onto another box, on the lower shelf of the display counter. It too has been almost emptied - it seems I'm too late, but I'm not saddened. Conversely, I'm very happy that these luxury chocolates, these luxury brands are all here for me to take. I see more brand logos on the boxes (I recall a YSL logo - I saw YSL on a black packet of "YSL" cigarettes found during the pre-sleep research mentioned previously). Helping myself to the free luxury, these new brands of chocolate I had never heard of, I'm ecstatic. I wake.
I'm distraught about the lost ball; but my father appears to help me find it, his presence gratifies me instantly - I feel transported back to childhood, reassured by the protection of my Dad. We go together looking for the ball, and are on the other side of some barrier facing a choppy shore and pebbled beach. Walking along a raised (about a meter up from the beach) storm wall we're looking for the ball, I sense my father is behind me but he is somehow leading the search - showing me where to look. He makes me feel upbeat, he jokes and encourages me as we walk. I see the ball laying still on the raised walk out in front of me. Upon discovery my father congratulates and reminds me that everything was going to be alright; I'm ecstatic, I pick up the ball, turn, and while running back toward my father consider doing a reverse somersault off the wall on to the beach below.
The scene changes. I'm in a crowd and we're watching the live performance on the outdoor stage. The vocalist is a James Brown type figure, older than us, representative of a soul/funk generation, however he is hispanic - mexican, or latin american. He is wearing a black hat, like a fedora, and black clothes, and sings one of his classics, which is very very good. The song ends and he is in different clothes and a different hat - both this time grey - and he begins to speak. He rambles on about something and unsettles the crowd and the management. We think that his music is great; but his philosophies are crackpot and marginal - in the end they undermine his image as a great musician and I think he'd be so much more successful if he just kept them private. But then again, like James Brown, etc., he wouldn't be him if he didn't go off he rails like that. I notice his eyes set in the deep coffee colored face; the black pupils are very prominent against the bright whites of his eyes. They are subtly-but-strangely large (in proportion to the rest of the eye) and their appearance is like that of a snake's or big cat's - perhaps more a snake's. His eyes are drawing and I look at them for a while - impressed by the scary beauty.
The security guard who was unsettled by the singer's monologue and unobtrusively tried to restrain him, is, I think, the same person now posted in front of the elevator I'm waiting for. The outdoor stage was outside the entrance, part of the entrance, to a great tower block or skyscraper, and it is this building's elevator that I now wish to board. I'm going down. It's a short journey, only a floor or two. Having done what I wanted to do downstairs, I go back for the elevator - I think the guard is there again. Two men in suits, about my age, enter the elevator with me, they are chatting to each other in good spirits. As the doors close another two men run for the elevator. I don't do anything; but the two men inside cheerfully make a lunge for the doors to keep them open. I think the guard is inside also, he's helping them. The lift had just begun its ascent and is not flush with the floor, etc., and the two latecomers struggle to get in. They make it and exchange jokes with the two helpers. I'm not involved in the camaraderie.
I'm at the top of the tower. It's night time, or everything is black; there are many polished, glassy, surfaces and they reflect city lights. (I had done something at this juncture, but unfortunately I couldn't note the dream down upon waking and the information is lost to me now.)
With whatever it was done, I'm going back down in the elevator. The elevator doesn't take me all the way back down to the ground floor; it stops part way, and I have to lump it and use the building's grand stairwell to complete the descent. Exiting the elevator, I see the floor's interior is again different: not utilitarian and unadorned like the basement; not modern and glamorous like the top floor; but red brick and steel, lit by tungsten lights - like a multi-story carpark level, or the interior of a train-station. It's busy, people flow like a river through the wide channel (the hallway?) and weave through the brick columns. The floor plan must be a regular design as the columns, walls, walkways are all laid out in a geometric pattern. The elevator shafts are central veins running down the middle of the building, whereas the pedestrian spaces are located further from the centre. Thus, around the exit of elevators there are narrow corridors of calm - no one is walking there. The people seem to be all going the same way, a squared version of the Coriolis effect. It must be home time.
I'm in a rush leaving the elevator and want to work my way into the other rushing bodies flowing round the corners toward the stairwell in orderly fashion. I have hastily turned left (90 degrees left, as everything is geometric) out of the elevator, left again, around the corner, on my right there is a colonnade of brick columns. On the right side of the colonnade, traveling parallel, is the flow of people; on my side of the colonnade no-one. The colonnade stretches out in front of me for about 5m, where there must be another turn, or the entrance to the grand stairs, as the people are no longer parallel, but perpendicular to my view, i.e., as I look down the colonnade, at the end, they are moving from my right to my left. I rush down the vacant corridor created by the shielding colonnade to join the current of people as they enter the grand stairs.
I don't remember the journey but I'm back at the ground floor, or near it - I know just by a feeling of normality. I'm either at a cafe, or a large display: there is a counter with lots of products on it. It feels festive (in waking life it is now the Holiday season) like a special display or seasonal promotion, etc. On the large crescent shaped counter there are some products that look like luxury chocolates - yet the brand marks/logos make me think of luxury tobacco (before sleeping I had been looking at luxury brands of tobacco - I'm thinking of changing brands). The products are free. I can't believe this as the boxes they are in are luxurious and big (a significant loss to the producer/seller), and besides they are luxury brands - nothing this good is just given away. An old lady tells me that, yes they are free, really, take one... and I make my way over.
Lifting the lid of a gold box (either circular or crescent shaped) I see only a few chocolates left over - the offering has been ravaged by freeloaders - there is cocoa powder, a mud brown sand-dune, and on it the last few chocolates. I take some and move onto another box, on the lower shelf of the display counter. It too has been almost emptied - it seems I'm too late, but I'm not saddened. Conversely, I'm very happy that these luxury chocolates, these luxury brands are all here for me to take. I see more brand logos on the boxes (I recall a YSL logo - I saw YSL on a black packet of "YSL" cigarettes found during the pre-sleep research mentioned previously). Helping myself to the free luxury, these new brands of chocolate I had never heard of, I'm ecstatic. I wake.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Night of 22nd November 2009
The other special forces recruits are running ahead of me, I'm in the middle of the group - the first placed finishers of this operation will make the cut, everyone else will be gotten rid of. We are running on an open plain, and come upon the gas test. Ahead of us there is a white fog of noxious gas, front running recruits begin to fall away, unable to take the gassing (we have no protection, this is a test of endurance and pain suppression). This is my chance to win, I have to get through the gas, the others seem unable to endure it. I'm sprinting through the gas and feel it killing me but I continue. The large group has been decimated and I can't see anyone in front of me, beside me, around me. I sprint through the gas.
I've made it to the other side, and am met by a drill sergeant. He doesn't speak but shows me a ground schematic. Without rest, I know I have to ambush the people shown in the schematic. The ground is like a small park: there is a huge mound of dirt to my right, a few meters high, it seems man made, or an adaption of a natural formation; there is a tree in front of me. The schematic the drill sergeant handed me was faithful to these features, it was a blue sketch on white paper, a plan view of the mound with the location of the hostiles indicated by thick circles. Some other recruits trail in from behind, and I'm eager to get the mission completed and win. I instantly recognize I can climb up the tree and snipe the targets from above; I leap over-enthusiastically for the tree's lowest branch. It looked simple enough to scale, but for some reason I can't get my body up and on the first branch. I hang upside down, swinging like a pendulum - incapable of righting myself and getting up the tree. It's shocking that I can't get up the tree - I can't understand why it is so hard.
I'm scaling the mound, and have gotten to the top. I have my rifle ready. Peeping over, I take a look to see if I can spot my targets. I see 5 (I think, I can't properly recall) circles, what look like barrel, or keg, tops, partially buried in the ground - only the top 20% of them is protruding. The kegs are made of wooden planks with metal rings around the tops, and are not empty but seem to be full of thickly packed heavy soil. Behind each keg is a person.
For some reason, I am now looking down on them from a vantage point up in the tree. I have to clearly identify each person for the drill sergeant to make sure they are the people I'm supposed to assassinate. I have my weapon ready to present. In the dream I very clearly identified each one, and was shown a close up of each - and remember doing this very slowly, purposefully, and lucidly. However, the information is lost on me now (in waking). I think there were two middle aged men, two middle aged women (one with short brown hair), and a child. The adults were very portly. I do remember how harmless they seemed; and how in tune with nature they seemed. I think they may have been tending little wood fires in front of themselves. And perhaps the older ones were married (two couples).
I'm now at the picket fence, and the surroundings, although the same place, are different - like a seashore cliff. The previous drill park is behind me. There is long grass and sandy, rocky earth. It is warmer and I'm aware of the drop behind the unadorned wooden picket fence. There is a hole in the fence, and I leave through it, still in my military fatigues and with my sniper's gun.
We're in the ground floor of the apartment, in our beds. There are three of us: me, against the back wall facing the other two beds and the front door; and the other two backs against the wall - the front door is to the right of them (my left) and there is a window looking out on to the street behind the right person's bed. I think this is the down time before going out; but we are in bed. We are friendly and are having some banter. The person who's bed was nearest the door is out of bed and getting ready to go - goading me to get up and out of bed too. He is a young, early 20s, alabaster skinned skinny boy, with fair, brown and red, hair (the same color as the adults previously). I think he is gay, or homo-erotic in some way. He is wearing nothing but some black spandex pants, like tights but not see through, and is horsing around. He jumps on my bed - landing on his right side, in a sleeping position (legs bent, arms bent). I can see his testicles slightly protruding out between his legs/buttocks, and reach over with my left hand and squeeze them, reciprocating the horse play. He is instantly very angered by this and jumps up, shouting insults at me. I'm a bit confused. He is now near the door, still remonstrating at me.
The person in the other bed was a girl (a young woman), and she has made her way toward me. She hands me a red lighter (a cheap butane lighter, like the ones you buy at the convenience store). Suddenly the lighter is huge - the size of a television remote control (more like two side by side). The lighter is rested on the headboard of my bed, or on a bedside table, and is back to normal size. I wake.
{I woke very early in the morning; something that has never happened before}
I've made it to the other side, and am met by a drill sergeant. He doesn't speak but shows me a ground schematic. Without rest, I know I have to ambush the people shown in the schematic. The ground is like a small park: there is a huge mound of dirt to my right, a few meters high, it seems man made, or an adaption of a natural formation; there is a tree in front of me. The schematic the drill sergeant handed me was faithful to these features, it was a blue sketch on white paper, a plan view of the mound with the location of the hostiles indicated by thick circles. Some other recruits trail in from behind, and I'm eager to get the mission completed and win. I instantly recognize I can climb up the tree and snipe the targets from above; I leap over-enthusiastically for the tree's lowest branch. It looked simple enough to scale, but for some reason I can't get my body up and on the first branch. I hang upside down, swinging like a pendulum - incapable of righting myself and getting up the tree. It's shocking that I can't get up the tree - I can't understand why it is so hard.
I'm scaling the mound, and have gotten to the top. I have my rifle ready. Peeping over, I take a look to see if I can spot my targets. I see 5 (I think, I can't properly recall) circles, what look like barrel, or keg, tops, partially buried in the ground - only the top 20% of them is protruding. The kegs are made of wooden planks with metal rings around the tops, and are not empty but seem to be full of thickly packed heavy soil. Behind each keg is a person.
For some reason, I am now looking down on them from a vantage point up in the tree. I have to clearly identify each person for the drill sergeant to make sure they are the people I'm supposed to assassinate. I have my weapon ready to present. In the dream I very clearly identified each one, and was shown a close up of each - and remember doing this very slowly, purposefully, and lucidly. However, the information is lost on me now (in waking). I think there were two middle aged men, two middle aged women (one with short brown hair), and a child. The adults were very portly. I do remember how harmless they seemed; and how in tune with nature they seemed. I think they may have been tending little wood fires in front of themselves. And perhaps the older ones were married (two couples).
I'm now at the picket fence, and the surroundings, although the same place, are different - like a seashore cliff. The previous drill park is behind me. There is long grass and sandy, rocky earth. It is warmer and I'm aware of the drop behind the unadorned wooden picket fence. There is a hole in the fence, and I leave through it, still in my military fatigues and with my sniper's gun.
We're in the ground floor of the apartment, in our beds. There are three of us: me, against the back wall facing the other two beds and the front door; and the other two backs against the wall - the front door is to the right of them (my left) and there is a window looking out on to the street behind the right person's bed. I think this is the down time before going out; but we are in bed. We are friendly and are having some banter. The person who's bed was nearest the door is out of bed and getting ready to go - goading me to get up and out of bed too. He is a young, early 20s, alabaster skinned skinny boy, with fair, brown and red, hair (the same color as the adults previously). I think he is gay, or homo-erotic in some way. He is wearing nothing but some black spandex pants, like tights but not see through, and is horsing around. He jumps on my bed - landing on his right side, in a sleeping position (legs bent, arms bent). I can see his testicles slightly protruding out between his legs/buttocks, and reach over with my left hand and squeeze them, reciprocating the horse play. He is instantly very angered by this and jumps up, shouting insults at me. I'm a bit confused. He is now near the door, still remonstrating at me.
The person in the other bed was a girl (a young woman), and she has made her way toward me. She hands me a red lighter (a cheap butane lighter, like the ones you buy at the convenience store). Suddenly the lighter is huge - the size of a television remote control (more like two side by side). The lighter is rested on the headboard of my bed, or on a bedside table, and is back to normal size. I wake.
{I woke very early in the morning; something that has never happened before}
Friday, November 20, 2009
Night of 20th November 2009
{2 partials, there was a short waking moment between them I think}
I am getting ready to time travel - using the application in the iPhone. I'm aware there are three things, or stages, that I need to complete before pushing the button and time traveling. These are not related to the software, but to outside events. I'm sure the main event I'm trying to avoid is a nuclear explosion. I'm disorganized and trying to get ready on the fly; there is someone with me, maybe more than one person, but I can't remember them now. I miss the stages that I should've gone through before jumping, and the event I'm trying to time travel away from is beginning. We run for cover; although I should be worried, I'm not too worried - thinking I can just wing my way through. All the while it seems amazing to me that time travel is now possible, and through an application on an iPhone. As I'm tapping through the application menus, the phone is giving me security checks - checks to make sure the user is sure where they are jumping to, that they know what they are doing. The application is asking me questions, asking me to verify things, mostly about the future. Initially the answers can be scrapped together from my present knowledge of future plans, but soon enough the questions become so hard I wouldn't know them unless I'd already been to the future i.e., if I'd already been where I wanted to go. It is at this point I know I can't make the jump I wanted; and that this was more serious than I'd thought - missing my intended jump time has altered everything. I begin to think over "double jumping": jumping back in time to make the original jump in time. The mechanism baffles me, but seems profound.
The scene changes, we seem to be in a kind of museum or display room. There are two people with me. I still have the iPhone. There are three items of clothing on a brown circular plinth - like a cut off tree trunk, but not natural, the plinth is man-made I'm sure. The other two do something to the clothes on display; but I disagree and move them aside. I begin to neatly fold a down jacket as I'd learnt, in waking life, working in fashion. The other two are very skeptical of my skill and jeer a little. Feeling the pressure I concentrate even more, and fold the jacket slower and more purposefully - but I know I can do a professional job, unlike them. The two are won over and are impressed by my skill. As I'm laying the neatly folded jacket on the plinth for display, they come closer, right next to me, and perhaps lend a hand. I lay the jacket very deferently on the plinth, but the display of the three items isn't right. I begin to rearrange it.
All the while I've been aware of a music issue with the iPhone. There was a music playlist, however in the middle of the list was a solitary "random song." This song was always chosen at random from the library, and this choice changed all of the following playlist. I see it graphically as a planar (2D) input/output style figure. The playlist, displayed as a single line, approaches a square or rectangular box, hollow, upon hitting the box, the "random" song, the playlist line is shifted down one of either two playlist possibilities. The random track has changed the outcome, and we can never know in advance which.
{waking moment}
I'm in a bath tub outside, taking a shower. The naked fat girl approaches, she is very fat; but her face has a very profound beauty, and her skin is a lovely milky white. I sense she is some kind of pariah, and I am an alpha male. Convention would have it that we not socialize, but I pity her and make overtures. It seems she wants a shower, and I decide to shower her (with her). We are face to face and I am flirting. She touches my penis and gently massages it, perhaps a little shy, or inexperienced. I want to show her that I'm not turned off, even though I am a little (her body is unattractive). I can not get a full, hard, erection for her, but manage to get my penis turgid. She lets go of it, and I flex it, twice, trying to show her that she was turning me on. She gets in the tub and I am showering her. She is shy to turn around; but I manage to get her to do it by some horse play and an accepting manner. When she turns, she reveals a huge tattoo, covering her whole back. The tattoo is of many many dark green (and perhaps blue) leaves, overlapping each other. She crouches down, half turned away, there is a wooden book cabinet behind her, some of the compartments are slid shut, some are open (and hence I saw the books, and knew it was a book cabinet); I hold the shower head and spray warm water over her body. She seems grateful. I wake.
{there was more to this story: something happening in the background; a more detailed scenario, relationship between us; but I lost it all at waking}
I am getting ready to time travel - using the application in the iPhone. I'm aware there are three things, or stages, that I need to complete before pushing the button and time traveling. These are not related to the software, but to outside events. I'm sure the main event I'm trying to avoid is a nuclear explosion. I'm disorganized and trying to get ready on the fly; there is someone with me, maybe more than one person, but I can't remember them now. I miss the stages that I should've gone through before jumping, and the event I'm trying to time travel away from is beginning. We run for cover; although I should be worried, I'm not too worried - thinking I can just wing my way through. All the while it seems amazing to me that time travel is now possible, and through an application on an iPhone. As I'm tapping through the application menus, the phone is giving me security checks - checks to make sure the user is sure where they are jumping to, that they know what they are doing. The application is asking me questions, asking me to verify things, mostly about the future. Initially the answers can be scrapped together from my present knowledge of future plans, but soon enough the questions become so hard I wouldn't know them unless I'd already been to the future i.e., if I'd already been where I wanted to go. It is at this point I know I can't make the jump I wanted; and that this was more serious than I'd thought - missing my intended jump time has altered everything. I begin to think over "double jumping": jumping back in time to make the original jump in time. The mechanism baffles me, but seems profound.
The scene changes, we seem to be in a kind of museum or display room. There are two people with me. I still have the iPhone. There are three items of clothing on a brown circular plinth - like a cut off tree trunk, but not natural, the plinth is man-made I'm sure. The other two do something to the clothes on display; but I disagree and move them aside. I begin to neatly fold a down jacket as I'd learnt, in waking life, working in fashion. The other two are very skeptical of my skill and jeer a little. Feeling the pressure I concentrate even more, and fold the jacket slower and more purposefully - but I know I can do a professional job, unlike them. The two are won over and are impressed by my skill. As I'm laying the neatly folded jacket on the plinth for display, they come closer, right next to me, and perhaps lend a hand. I lay the jacket very deferently on the plinth, but the display of the three items isn't right. I begin to rearrange it.
All the while I've been aware of a music issue with the iPhone. There was a music playlist, however in the middle of the list was a solitary "random song." This song was always chosen at random from the library, and this choice changed all of the following playlist. I see it graphically as a planar (2D) input/output style figure. The playlist, displayed as a single line, approaches a square or rectangular box, hollow, upon hitting the box, the "random" song, the playlist line is shifted down one of either two playlist possibilities. The random track has changed the outcome, and we can never know in advance which.
{waking moment}
I'm in a bath tub outside, taking a shower. The naked fat girl approaches, she is very fat; but her face has a very profound beauty, and her skin is a lovely milky white. I sense she is some kind of pariah, and I am an alpha male. Convention would have it that we not socialize, but I pity her and make overtures. It seems she wants a shower, and I decide to shower her (with her). We are face to face and I am flirting. She touches my penis and gently massages it, perhaps a little shy, or inexperienced. I want to show her that I'm not turned off, even though I am a little (her body is unattractive). I can not get a full, hard, erection for her, but manage to get my penis turgid. She lets go of it, and I flex it, twice, trying to show her that she was turning me on. She gets in the tub and I am showering her. She is shy to turn around; but I manage to get her to do it by some horse play and an accepting manner. When she turns, she reveals a huge tattoo, covering her whole back. The tattoo is of many many dark green (and perhaps blue) leaves, overlapping each other. She crouches down, half turned away, there is a wooden book cabinet behind her, some of the compartments are slid shut, some are open (and hence I saw the books, and knew it was a book cabinet); I hold the shower head and spray warm water over her body. She seems grateful. I wake.
{there was more to this story: something happening in the background; a more detailed scenario, relationship between us; but I lost it all at waking}
Friday, November 6, 2009
Night of 6th November 2009
I have two small square spoons, like ice cream spoons, with very sharp edges, in my hands and am attempting to cut my toe nails with them. I sense that the two pieces were once part of a single device for cutting toe nails, one that worked much better - but I have to make do, and try to do the job with the two pieces. I place one underneath the nail and try to chop down on the nail from above with the other. The first attempt is successful and feels very pleasant. I get a bit blase and am not as careful as I should be; with the next cut I chop off a slab of my toe, and the pain is excruciating. I see the cleavered toe - the pink glassy flesh is misting over as the air hits it. The pain is excruciating. I wake up.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Night of 3rd November 2009
I'm outside, it's dusk, and I'm hiding. I seem to be loitering around the carpark of an expensive apartment complex, trying to keep from view. The garbage is outside the apartment - arranged as it is in Japan for pick up by the removal men (it is not typical refuse but the larger things that can not be taken by the dump truck). I notice my printer, from waking life, in the stack. Although I'm not sure if it is mine, it could be Stephen Fry's. I'm worried about this doubt of ownership and try to get nearer the printer. As I'm right on it, I'm found out and it seems to be Stephen Fry who has seen me. He stands near the printer, but is not angry - the printer is mine. The printer is working, the light is on. I look at the photos that are in the exit tray: I can't remember them now, but one may have been a solid sky blue, and the other was a person, with a yellow amber background, but I don't remember the person. I do remember the quality of the print was bad and Stephen Fry, or me, may have commented on it. The expensive sedan, like a bentley, comes out of the parking garage past us at the printer, and I steal into the boot of the car to escape (still having to hide).
The scene changes (though this is still the same story) it's still dusk, and I'm looking onto a spacey open air terrace. The terrace is stepped, layered - with mezzanines and patios, lots of fauna around, it is very impressive, like the gardens of babylon or an aztec architecture. I'm looking down on it from the highest level, and I see my grey sofa, from waking life, in fact many of them, the same model, littered all around, on all the levels of, the terrace, flush up against the walls. Looking at one of the square cushions (there are no such cushions on the real sofa) I'm a little concerned about the sofa being left outside, and my initial awe of the patio, and impression of relaxation from the sofas is dampened by the thought that they are left out in the elements and may not be so inviting after all. I'm suddenly aware that this is NaS's (the rapper's) house. I make my way down the levels.
I find a little flow of water in the lower level, similar in size and current to one of those flows in a water-park (water amusement park). I think I must still be trying to get somewhere, or elude something, or hide from something because I get in the flow - knowing it will take me on, and somehow knowing in advance where it's going.
The flow speeds up, and I'm heading for the waterfall. I pass through a very small (only just big enough to get through curled up) arched stone gateway over the lip of the waterfall. This gateway is brown and rough, un-fashioned, but the surrounding wall around the arch is cream color and seems more uniform or fashioned - this huge wall separates the patio section from the drop of waterfall on the other side. The waterfall side is cavernous or enclosed; as opposed the the open air terrace. I haven't gone over the edge with the water, I seem to be waiting at the lip, unperturbed by the strong current. Perhaps, in hindsight, this is where I knew the patio was NaS's house...
I make the decision to go over; it seems as though I've done this jump before, because the drop is suddenly much much larger than I knew it to be - it has become a drop of 5 or 6 stories, or many more. I realize a few seconds into the fall that I'm going to die if I hit the ground - the pool at the bottom is too shallow (I can see the bottom of it, it's like a water fountain bed). The scenery during the fall reminds me (now that I write it) of a Jackie Chan stunt in one of his films where he jumps between stories in a shopping mall; or like a similar stunt in the film Commando where Schwarzenegger swings on a mall decoration and onto elevators in a shopping mall. The scenery on this side of the waterfall is still quite aztec, but writing the previous sentence, I think it could have been a shopping mall - I was falling from the top level of a shopping mall toward the bottom. The surfaces were made of the small laminate bricks shopping malls often use, and the greenery dotted about was very shopping mall-esque. I'm falling and I know I'm finished. At this moment I notice an octagonal structure, only big enough for one person to stand in/on, floating, or situated at any rate, well below me but well above the ground (where I will die upon impact). The octagon is made of the same design, laminate bricks (sand or tan color as all the others). It is not directly below me however, to survive this fall I must get to it. As I fall, skydiver style, it is infront and below me - I must get forward in time in order to land on it, or at least to get a hand on it. My fall speed is increasing quickly. I swim with my arms and make progress getting forward as I fall. I think I'm going to make it. My fall speed is so fast now I'm aware that I might not be able to grab the octagonal platform; that the collision will be so violent I'll just break my arms grasping for the octagon. But I must try, the alternative is death. I'm swimming through the air, it's getting closer, it's within reach - I brace for a huge impact on my arms, prepare to try and hold on, at least break my velocity a little so that if I can't hold on the rest of the fall may not kill me. Impact! The collision is violent but I feel no pain, and getting a hold on the edge of the platform was not as hard as I thought it should be. I instantly, desperately, try haul my self onto the octagon. This too is suprisingly easy - I can't haul my body weight up by the power of my arms alone in real life (pull-ups) and so am suprised I can here. There are two burnished steel pipes in the middle of the octagon; they are upside down "u" shapes, but square "u"s, with short curves joining the perpendicular sections of the "u"s. They are like the bars on swimming pool steps - except their shape is, as said, different. They are flush in the center of the octagon and I'm glad I didn't get perfectly over it as they would have broken my back if I'd landed on them. I'm hauling myself onto the octagon and grab these bars, it's as if they were intended to aid people hanging on to the octagon for dear life.
Paradoxically (because it was so easy to grab the octagon and haul myself), I can't get my whole body up onto the octagon, no matter how hard I try. I get my arms well around the pipes and my upper body is well up onto the platform too. My legs dangle over the edge. But I'm relieved to have saved myself and am thankful for, satisfied with, this result. I see a shot, from directly above, of myself half hauled onto the octagon - my arms are making two v shapes as I'm slumped, head resting left, on the platform. The snap-shot looks like someone who'd just saved themselves from drowning, recuperating/relieved. I wake.
The scene changes (though this is still the same story) it's still dusk, and I'm looking onto a spacey open air terrace. The terrace is stepped, layered - with mezzanines and patios, lots of fauna around, it is very impressive, like the gardens of babylon or an aztec architecture. I'm looking down on it from the highest level, and I see my grey sofa, from waking life, in fact many of them, the same model, littered all around, on all the levels of, the terrace, flush up against the walls. Looking at one of the square cushions (there are no such cushions on the real sofa) I'm a little concerned about the sofa being left outside, and my initial awe of the patio, and impression of relaxation from the sofas is dampened by the thought that they are left out in the elements and may not be so inviting after all. I'm suddenly aware that this is NaS's (the rapper's) house. I make my way down the levels.
I find a little flow of water in the lower level, similar in size and current to one of those flows in a water-park (water amusement park). I think I must still be trying to get somewhere, or elude something, or hide from something because I get in the flow - knowing it will take me on, and somehow knowing in advance where it's going.
The flow speeds up, and I'm heading for the waterfall. I pass through a very small (only just big enough to get through curled up) arched stone gateway over the lip of the waterfall. This gateway is brown and rough, un-fashioned, but the surrounding wall around the arch is cream color and seems more uniform or fashioned - this huge wall separates the patio section from the drop of waterfall on the other side. The waterfall side is cavernous or enclosed; as opposed the the open air terrace. I haven't gone over the edge with the water, I seem to be waiting at the lip, unperturbed by the strong current. Perhaps, in hindsight, this is where I knew the patio was NaS's house...
I make the decision to go over; it seems as though I've done this jump before, because the drop is suddenly much much larger than I knew it to be - it has become a drop of 5 or 6 stories, or many more. I realize a few seconds into the fall that I'm going to die if I hit the ground - the pool at the bottom is too shallow (I can see the bottom of it, it's like a water fountain bed). The scenery during the fall reminds me (now that I write it) of a Jackie Chan stunt in one of his films where he jumps between stories in a shopping mall; or like a similar stunt in the film Commando where Schwarzenegger swings on a mall decoration and onto elevators in a shopping mall. The scenery on this side of the waterfall is still quite aztec, but writing the previous sentence, I think it could have been a shopping mall - I was falling from the top level of a shopping mall toward the bottom. The surfaces were made of the small laminate bricks shopping malls often use, and the greenery dotted about was very shopping mall-esque. I'm falling and I know I'm finished. At this moment I notice an octagonal structure, only big enough for one person to stand in/on, floating, or situated at any rate, well below me but well above the ground (where I will die upon impact). The octagon is made of the same design, laminate bricks (sand or tan color as all the others). It is not directly below me however, to survive this fall I must get to it. As I fall, skydiver style, it is infront and below me - I must get forward in time in order to land on it, or at least to get a hand on it. My fall speed is increasing quickly. I swim with my arms and make progress getting forward as I fall. I think I'm going to make it. My fall speed is so fast now I'm aware that I might not be able to grab the octagonal platform; that the collision will be so violent I'll just break my arms grasping for the octagon. But I must try, the alternative is death. I'm swimming through the air, it's getting closer, it's within reach - I brace for a huge impact on my arms, prepare to try and hold on, at least break my velocity a little so that if I can't hold on the rest of the fall may not kill me. Impact! The collision is violent but I feel no pain, and getting a hold on the edge of the platform was not as hard as I thought it should be. I instantly, desperately, try haul my self onto the octagon. This too is suprisingly easy - I can't haul my body weight up by the power of my arms alone in real life (pull-ups) and so am suprised I can here. There are two burnished steel pipes in the middle of the octagon; they are upside down "u" shapes, but square "u"s, with short curves joining the perpendicular sections of the "u"s. They are like the bars on swimming pool steps - except their shape is, as said, different. They are flush in the center of the octagon and I'm glad I didn't get perfectly over it as they would have broken my back if I'd landed on them. I'm hauling myself onto the octagon and grab these bars, it's as if they were intended to aid people hanging on to the octagon for dear life.
Paradoxically (because it was so easy to grab the octagon and haul myself), I can't get my whole body up onto the octagon, no matter how hard I try. I get my arms well around the pipes and my upper body is well up onto the platform too. My legs dangle over the edge. But I'm relieved to have saved myself and am thankful for, satisfied with, this result. I see a shot, from directly above, of myself half hauled onto the octagon - my arms are making two v shapes as I'm slumped, head resting left, on the platform. The snap-shot looks like someone who'd just saved themselves from drowning, recuperating/relieved. I wake.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Night of 2nd November 2009
CKY style stunts are going behind an end credit sequence. Shopping trolleys are being rammed toward curbside bushes, and there is a lot of debris, rubbish, lying around what looks like a carpark. The carpark is now a windowed room, quite spacious, like an emptied gym, with carpet. I sense that the room was once a smart place, but is now run down - debris is all around, and I think I'm engaged in the continuing CKY stunts.
I'm talking to my mother and father in the room; I can't recall speaking to my mother but remember she was there, my conversation was principally with my father. The mood was happy and we are enjoying talking to each other, although a hint of sadness that the room has become so rundown is felt. At this instant a black bird - small, the size of a blackbird, but not with yellow beak, it is completely black - flies in and perches on my right shoulder. The bird is introduced as "the India Bird" - I think it is my father who says this. The bird speaks to me and claims, proudly, that the room is its room now, and it is responsible for the current condition. Although I previously felt some sadness, even shame, that the room has become so derelict, I hide my feelings and commend the bird in a friendly manner. I look at the bird's face, I see the left side of it, completely black, and the bird's eye is quite dead - like a shark's. I know that the windows have disappeared and the room is a subterranean one. I wake.
I'm talking to my mother and father in the room; I can't recall speaking to my mother but remember she was there, my conversation was principally with my father. The mood was happy and we are enjoying talking to each other, although a hint of sadness that the room has become so rundown is felt. At this instant a black bird - small, the size of a blackbird, but not with yellow beak, it is completely black - flies in and perches on my right shoulder. The bird is introduced as "the India Bird" - I think it is my father who says this. The bird speaks to me and claims, proudly, that the room is its room now, and it is responsible for the current condition. Although I previously felt some sadness, even shame, that the room has become so derelict, I hide my feelings and commend the bird in a friendly manner. I look at the bird's face, I see the left side of it, completely black, and the bird's eye is quite dead - like a shark's. I know that the windows have disappeared and the room is a subterranean one. I wake.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Night of 26th October 2009
{Two dreams, with a short waking interval between them... I had a sharp recollection of the first one, but after dreaming the second dream I only remember a few details of the first.}
At sea, aboard the research platform owned by the leader of the conglomerate - I can't recall who he is, but there is a sense that he is not reputable: he's like some kind of mastermind from a James Bond story. There is another on board although I can't remember much of him either. We're in some sort of crisis situation, and I'm warned that I shouldn't flush the toilet. But I flush the toilet and a huge underwater explosion occurs. The sea heaves and rolls and I see the scene as if viewing it from the hull of a ship: a heavy swell tips the boat and I see the platform straining under the disruption.
Nana and me are in the kitchen of the home I grew up in. I notice a jet black, catapillar like, thing on the wooden beam above the hob. It has very striking thick yellow lines on its back - I count three full lines and one partial line. The partial line is the one nearest the tail, the three above it are full. Nana is scared of the insect (as she is in real life) and warns me not to mess with it. I get in closer for a better look as I think the insect is wonderful, and insects are harmless. The lines are now blue, I haven't seen the change; but I am sure it's the same catapillar. I go to touch it, and as I try to mount it on my finger I see a close up of the insect's head, features are indistinguishable, but I notice its mouth is quite sinister, at this moment blue silk (I only guess it is silk) streams out the mouth. I don't know if this is a defense mechanism or an attack. I'd like to think it was defense but Nana is saying "I told you so", and I am a little shocked by the insect's reaction - I'd like to get rid of it now. I go to throw it out of the kitchen window on my left, but as I do more and more of the blue silk streams out of the catapillar, and the silk is attached to me - I can't get the catapillar off me (by connection through the silk). I think the catapillar is dangerous and desperately try to un-attach myself - to no avail. I wake...
I watch a panning shot of the base of a tall building - I sense it is some sort of research building again, although this time it's on land - there are green shrubs all around the base of the building. The panning shot is just like a dolly shot in films, and we are tracking the shrubs along what I somehow know is the right hand side of the building: the side right of the entrance side (if you were walking toward the entrance it would be the side on your left). The shrubs are small, only shin height, but the building seems to be several stories high - made of brick and glass, not a modern design, perhaps something from the 70s. There are many palm sized, thick, square glass blocks in the walls - as is popular on some californian houses. Some of the glass surfaces (windows I think) are dark glass, I think there is a tint of brown in them. I somehow know that the building is in the middle of nowhere, away from population centers, other buildings, etc. As the dolly style shot reaches the end of the wall the scene changes.
We are outside another building. This time an apartment block: tall, thin, not very up-market. Again, I'm looking at it from what I seem to intuit is the right hand side. There is an open entrance space, doorless, on my side, and one (identical design) on what I have intuited is the "entrance" side. Both openings are rectangular (height longer than width), in unadorned, grey, concrete. The car pulls up outside the "entrance-side" opening. A tall, late middle aged, man steps out wearing jet black aviator sunglasses. I notice he has a large belly - just as an executive may have - I notice his height again. He is wearing a sweater - not a sports seater, a wool or cashmere sweater - with cotton pants. All the colors are muted and dark; but I think there is dark green and a kind of overcast grey in there. A woman is with him. She seems quite glamorous for him: slim, younger (but not young), and I think she wears red. They make their way toward the entrance for what I can only guess is an affair or sexual encounter. I notice now that he seems quite hurried. As he is taking the first step through the entrance, he trips, and I see him fall and strike his face on some steps (leading upward). His hands do not come out to break his fall - he seems to fall over flush on his face. It is now, or just previous, that I notice the leader of the conglomerate (from the previous dream) heading into the same building - he has come from behind me and on my left, and is heading toward the entrance closest to me. It seems implicit that he was hunting, or after, the man in aviator sunglasses. The leader of the conglomerate is a short, fat, bald man; but has young features for a man as old as he is. He appears from the entrance pulling the woman by her hand - however, she's no longer in red. She is a birdy woman, and reminds me a little of Sondra Locke - but she has short hair. The man in sunglasses, I no longer notice if he has them (they may have been broken in the fall), is behind them and wants the woman back. The scene changes.
Inside the elevator of the apartment block - it is red lighted, or painted red, I'm not sure now - the leader of the conglomerate is ravishing the woman. They both, however, appear as different people. I can't really be sure if the woman is the same woman, she has black curly hair and seems less skinny than before; but although the man is younger and leaner and taller, I sense he is the same person, he still has a suit. His clothes are ripped off, he's almost naked, and hers are less so. He is between her legs, although paradoxically I see she wears a long grey skirt. I sense that the man is having sex with the woman, although I see no image of this - I now see only small details in close up shots. The man seems to be doing it from the ceiling of the elevator (which is going up): he has his arms and legs pushed out with great force against the elevator car walls and is holding himself and the woman up by this effort. I see he has tribal tattoos over his legs, and am shown a close up of his right foot and ankle - pressing against the closed elevator door as he holds himself up. The metal surface is moving (we're going up) and I'm scared for a moment he will be injured (his foot in the doorway) but it turns out to be OK. The surfaces are all red, and his black tattoos look like maori patterns - simple linear decoration. I wake up.
At sea, aboard the research platform owned by the leader of the conglomerate - I can't recall who he is, but there is a sense that he is not reputable: he's like some kind of mastermind from a James Bond story. There is another on board although I can't remember much of him either. We're in some sort of crisis situation, and I'm warned that I shouldn't flush the toilet. But I flush the toilet and a huge underwater explosion occurs. The sea heaves and rolls and I see the scene as if viewing it from the hull of a ship: a heavy swell tips the boat and I see the platform straining under the disruption.
Nana and me are in the kitchen of the home I grew up in. I notice a jet black, catapillar like, thing on the wooden beam above the hob. It has very striking thick yellow lines on its back - I count three full lines and one partial line. The partial line is the one nearest the tail, the three above it are full. Nana is scared of the insect (as she is in real life) and warns me not to mess with it. I get in closer for a better look as I think the insect is wonderful, and insects are harmless. The lines are now blue, I haven't seen the change; but I am sure it's the same catapillar. I go to touch it, and as I try to mount it on my finger I see a close up of the insect's head, features are indistinguishable, but I notice its mouth is quite sinister, at this moment blue silk (I only guess it is silk) streams out the mouth. I don't know if this is a defense mechanism or an attack. I'd like to think it was defense but Nana is saying "I told you so", and I am a little shocked by the insect's reaction - I'd like to get rid of it now. I go to throw it out of the kitchen window on my left, but as I do more and more of the blue silk streams out of the catapillar, and the silk is attached to me - I can't get the catapillar off me (by connection through the silk). I think the catapillar is dangerous and desperately try to un-attach myself - to no avail. I wake...
I watch a panning shot of the base of a tall building - I sense it is some sort of research building again, although this time it's on land - there are green shrubs all around the base of the building. The panning shot is just like a dolly shot in films, and we are tracking the shrubs along what I somehow know is the right hand side of the building: the side right of the entrance side (if you were walking toward the entrance it would be the side on your left). The shrubs are small, only shin height, but the building seems to be several stories high - made of brick and glass, not a modern design, perhaps something from the 70s. There are many palm sized, thick, square glass blocks in the walls - as is popular on some californian houses. Some of the glass surfaces (windows I think) are dark glass, I think there is a tint of brown in them. I somehow know that the building is in the middle of nowhere, away from population centers, other buildings, etc. As the dolly style shot reaches the end of the wall the scene changes.
We are outside another building. This time an apartment block: tall, thin, not very up-market. Again, I'm looking at it from what I seem to intuit is the right hand side. There is an open entrance space, doorless, on my side, and one (identical design) on what I have intuited is the "entrance" side. Both openings are rectangular (height longer than width), in unadorned, grey, concrete. The car pulls up outside the "entrance-side" opening. A tall, late middle aged, man steps out wearing jet black aviator sunglasses. I notice he has a large belly - just as an executive may have - I notice his height again. He is wearing a sweater - not a sports seater, a wool or cashmere sweater - with cotton pants. All the colors are muted and dark; but I think there is dark green and a kind of overcast grey in there. A woman is with him. She seems quite glamorous for him: slim, younger (but not young), and I think she wears red. They make their way toward the entrance for what I can only guess is an affair or sexual encounter. I notice now that he seems quite hurried. As he is taking the first step through the entrance, he trips, and I see him fall and strike his face on some steps (leading upward). His hands do not come out to break his fall - he seems to fall over flush on his face. It is now, or just previous, that I notice the leader of the conglomerate (from the previous dream) heading into the same building - he has come from behind me and on my left, and is heading toward the entrance closest to me. It seems implicit that he was hunting, or after, the man in aviator sunglasses. The leader of the conglomerate is a short, fat, bald man; but has young features for a man as old as he is. He appears from the entrance pulling the woman by her hand - however, she's no longer in red. She is a birdy woman, and reminds me a little of Sondra Locke - but she has short hair. The man in sunglasses, I no longer notice if he has them (they may have been broken in the fall), is behind them and wants the woman back. The scene changes.
Inside the elevator of the apartment block - it is red lighted, or painted red, I'm not sure now - the leader of the conglomerate is ravishing the woman. They both, however, appear as different people. I can't really be sure if the woman is the same woman, she has black curly hair and seems less skinny than before; but although the man is younger and leaner and taller, I sense he is the same person, he still has a suit. His clothes are ripped off, he's almost naked, and hers are less so. He is between her legs, although paradoxically I see she wears a long grey skirt. I sense that the man is having sex with the woman, although I see no image of this - I now see only small details in close up shots. The man seems to be doing it from the ceiling of the elevator (which is going up): he has his arms and legs pushed out with great force against the elevator car walls and is holding himself and the woman up by this effort. I see he has tribal tattoos over his legs, and am shown a close up of his right foot and ankle - pressing against the closed elevator door as he holds himself up. The metal surface is moving (we're going up) and I'm scared for a moment he will be injured (his foot in the doorway) but it turns out to be OK. The surfaces are all red, and his black tattoos look like maori patterns - simple linear decoration. I wake up.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Night of 23rd October 2009 - Partial...
...My father is showing me around town. We make our way to a bar. The bar is a large oval shaped room with a high ceiling, but quite narrow with sharp ends. It feels something like a bar in an up-market hotel - a boutique hotel, modern and designed. The ambient light is purple. An image of the word "VIT" (pronounced V-I-T) is the next thing I see, the only thing. The word is captioned in Japanese speech marks: 「VIT」. I think it's something to do with value-added tax, VAT; but this is not correct. I have the impression that my father knows, voices in the bar are heard debating what VIT is...
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Night of 20th October 2009
Nana and I are walking home at night. We're close to the final stretch of the walk: before the small park and crossing the river over to the back streets that lead to our apartment. We're still on the main road, almost exactly the spot where I found a lost passport on the ground in waking life the previous day. But the main road is dark and there are no signs of traffic. The group of yobs and hoodlums are just ahead of us. They are not black, but seem to be hispanic, asian: brown-skinned, youngsters - teenagers and kids. I know they are bad, and are looking to start something. We walk past and I make sure Nana is on my right side, to be furthest from the group, who are on my left. As we pass them, they fan out from the shade of the buildings. I don't know what they did, but it is clear they started something, and it is Nana they threaten. I shepherd her on, past the danger zone; I hit one of the yobs. Somehow one of them has tried to grab at Nana - I find and strike him very violently. The yobs don't fall back, but stop pursuing us. I catch back up to Nana, and turn around to them. I want them to know that I'll attack again more than to know I'm checking if they are following or not. But this seems to provoke the group. I'm running back toward the mass of them and pick one out, I hit him, he falls and I kick him, with all my might, in his face. I'm making my way back. A small boy from their group seems incensed and runs out to me, screaming he has a gun, he seems very cocky. I think I'm scared, but I know I'm more incensed than him, and scream back that I don't give a fuck, and start to attack him too. He shoots me many times but I don't go down, or feel pain, or feel inhibited by the wounds; I know I'm bleeding but I continue the attack. I punch him very hard in the face and continue to beat him, I think I kill him. He collapses under the attack. I want to out crazy him, and show him he is weak, make him afraid of me.
We are sitting in the hospital, waiting for treatment of my wounds. I'm aware of a blood-leaking hole in my shin. My condition is critical but I don't feel weakened or in mortal danger at all. Two of the yobs appear at the hospital, sitting in the same waiting room, for treatment of the injuries I've inflicted. They start up verbal abuse again. I'm standing over the youngest one, he is very young, maybe only 7 or 8; but he lashes the most foul-mouthed insults at Nana, and I can't let him live. I smash him in the mouth, and he starts to cry quietly. Someone feels sorry for him and gives him a picture book to look at. He reads the book and suddenly I'm aware of a pure adolescence in him. I'm squatting down, looking up at him read the book with heavy tears welled in his eyes, but not running down his cheeks. I'm not empathetic or sympathetic, yet. I'm looking very hard at him, trying to judge if he is acting or not - I'm still not sure he has turned over a new leaf, but I'm prepared to believe in it.
I see the other yob, he's the one who shot me - I'm behind him as he still sits in his chair. I have to hurt him, I have to make him sorry and inferior. I strike him, or pull his head, either way his head is over the back of the chair, I am using all my force. I overpower him as roughly as I can. With his head clamped, trying to break his neck over the back of the chair, I lean in and bite his nose hard, biting out a thick curl of flesh. I wake up.
We are sitting in the hospital, waiting for treatment of my wounds. I'm aware of a blood-leaking hole in my shin. My condition is critical but I don't feel weakened or in mortal danger at all. Two of the yobs appear at the hospital, sitting in the same waiting room, for treatment of the injuries I've inflicted. They start up verbal abuse again. I'm standing over the youngest one, he is very young, maybe only 7 or 8; but he lashes the most foul-mouthed insults at Nana, and I can't let him live. I smash him in the mouth, and he starts to cry quietly. Someone feels sorry for him and gives him a picture book to look at. He reads the book and suddenly I'm aware of a pure adolescence in him. I'm squatting down, looking up at him read the book with heavy tears welled in his eyes, but not running down his cheeks. I'm not empathetic or sympathetic, yet. I'm looking very hard at him, trying to judge if he is acting or not - I'm still not sure he has turned over a new leaf, but I'm prepared to believe in it.
I see the other yob, he's the one who shot me - I'm behind him as he still sits in his chair. I have to hurt him, I have to make him sorry and inferior. I strike him, or pull his head, either way his head is over the back of the chair, I am using all my force. I overpower him as roughly as I can. With his head clamped, trying to break his neck over the back of the chair, I lean in and bite his nose hard, biting out a thick curl of flesh. I wake up.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Dream Images From Some Weeks Ago
I can't really remember my dream from last night, but these are some images and symbols that seemed important to me in recent dreams:
(1) The Beast
A hulking great ape of a man is sat down in the laboratory. He seems like a human gorilla (a hairless gorilla with a human face), very similar to Mr.Hyde from the motion picture "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen." He has a ripping musculature, and looks very dangerous - just as an uncaged wild animal may seem. But I am not afraid, I'm in awe of him. He has jet black hair, I think. My eye is drawn to him because his face seems distressed and sweat is flowing in a torrent all over his body, as if he were under a running shower head. I notice the streaming water more than anything else. The doctors have syringes in his left arm (the arm visible to me), although they are not stuck "in" as much as slid under the skin - I know because I can see the flesh of his arm tent up as the beast-man is scaredly struggling. There are four needles in his arm, in a square formation, each needle forms a corner of the square, the needle points all point inward in an "x" like manner. (What I suppose is) Sweat continues to gush down him.
(2) Stones from the Cellar
The girl and me are in the cellar of the home I grew up in. I'm not comfortable down there at all, and am in a rush to get up the stairs and out. But I have to do something first. The girl is not scared at all, and waits for me at the foot of the cellar stairs, as if to say "what are you worried about?", whilst I dally on the steps - choosing between escaping or doing what she wants. I am in one of the cellar rooms and have to take four round disc like stones up stairs and out the cellar. I carry them one at a time - not remembering anything past ascending the stairs; as I reach that point, I'm back in the cellar room getting the next stone. The stones are grey, rough, coaster sized and shaped. They look like something a caveman might have made, very imprecise and basic, dusty. I have the last stone at the top of cellar stairs, look down, the girl is waiting for me at the bottom - I know she wants me to come down again, it should be clear to me now that there is nothing to be afraid of. But I'm afraid. I shut the cellar door. I wake up.
(3) Picture at the Museum
The girl/woman (I can't distinguish which) and me are at the museum. We come, or she has shown me, to a huge painting - twice my height tall, twice my height wide, square - in an intricate and classic frame. The picture is a circular explosion of red and yellow colors - like a frozen image of a bomb at the instant of detonation. The paint is roughly daubed, I can see the texture of it. We look silently at the picture together. Although it is a huge and impressive work, it seems a little disappointing to me: the picture tries to depict an explosion, yet is very static - in a museum, not moving, the dried paint daubs, etc. The dream ends.
(4) Red Lettered Message
It feels as though I'm lying in a hospital ward, but it's my room. I know because the bed is a mattress on the floor. I see my desk in front of me, and I see a colleague from my former work. He was a creative director. He's walking on crutches, I see a close-up of his swollen toe. The woman appears next to me on the right, laying in bed as I am, propped up against the pillows against the wall. She's middle aged, but I can't make out her features. She smiles and talks to me, although I can't now remember what she said. I remember I spoke to her in very formal Japanese, which betrays our intimacy, though she is not offended. She asks me something about "Akagi" and I say, deferently, "ah, Akagi-san." She points her red nailed finger to a page in the baseball almanac I have in my hands. The page appears like a diary, or ruled, ordered, page. I see the word "Akagi" in red lettering. The dream ends.
{ "Akagi" could be a compound Japanese word: the combination of "red" ("aka") and "skill" ("gi"); or it could refer to the title of a Japanese Manga story about a character "Akagi" who gambles with his own blood, siphoned off by a drip, at Mahjong. These seem the only possible interpretations of "Akagi" to me at the moment }
Night of 14th October 2009
The girl, I think it's Nana, and me are walking toward the Tsutaya at Roppongi Hills. I am wrapped in a towel as I've just been swimming in the sea - I'm still dripping wet. I am naked underneath the towel and would like to wear something. Although the real Tsutaya is a DVD rental store, it is here an up-market clothing mall. I walk ahead of Nana, anxious to get in the shops and find a pair of adidas tracksuit bottoms that I've been thinking of buying recently in waking life. I enter Tsutaya, Nana is not with me anymore. It's still early in the morning, Tsutaya has only just opened, and there are few sales staff or customers. I'm relieved as I'm sopping wet, naked, and wrapped in a towel. I look for the pants I wanted but the store only seems to sell ladies garments... I see a pair of adequate size for me, although not the color I wanted, and feel relieved. I want to get them before being discovered. Now I realize that being naked and wrapped in a towel, I have no wallet. I wake up.
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About Me
- Tom
Likes: writing
Dislikes: those things where you find yourself writing in third-person like someone else wrote the bio on you; but we all know how this works...
