Night of 25th February 2010

It's an intimate moment between Nana and me. We seem to be in a dark room, a toilet, somewhere secluded, but still, it is not downgrade or unkempt. The setting seems to be the 1940s: we are members of the resistance, or the underground - at any rate, we have to be on our guard, wary that we may be found out. It's as though this is the first time we have met, fell in love - it all feels miraculous; although we must now be apart. We'll have no way to contact each other in the interim, and our only hope is to make a plan, a future date to meet, now. We must honor it. We're both sad to leave each other, and I feel a very great sense of love and longing for Nana. She departs.

I've missed the rendezvous. I'm heartbroken, frantic, in mortal shock - such is my love for Nana (true in real life, of course). Where has she gone now? What must she have thought seeing I wasn't there at the meeting point? Will she think our last meeting was a lie? I feel as though our chance to be together, something that seemed like sweet destiny, is lost.

I'm trying to find a way to contact her, and some of my ex-colleagues are my best chance. Although I'm not on good terms with them, I must get through that and get them to help me. One of them has a phone or fax machine that he suggests we can use to get hold of her, or someone who knows where she is now. We are meeting on the upper floor, a restaurant lounge, in what seems like a truck stop; it's dusk. He looks to me to input the number, but I have no idea. They are a bit irked that I have no idea, but one of them thinks they know how to get some information on where she could be now.

I have a number. This will provide the answer - where the love of my life is, and how I can finally meet her and be together for good. I want it more than anything. The keys on the phone/fax are plastic touch ones, not with a deep travel, but a very firm "tap" travel - as many Japanese home phones of the late 90s had. It reminds me of the home phone of the Japanese family my parents befriended and I lodged with for a few summers in the past. I don't recall the answer on the other end, or the information given - but I know now what I must do to get to Nana.

I'm nearing the apartment building where I have ascertained I can meet Nana again. It's a large round building - like a multi-story car park with the spiraling ramps up the middle - with grassy walk ways around the back and a river to one side. It looks like it would have been very upmarket in the 90s; it reminds me of a couple of apartment buildings Nana and I lived in in waking life, back in Tokyo. Both of them were too expensive for us, and we had trouble settling down in them.

Finally I've made my way toward the apartment in the building where I think I can meet Nana. I know that I will catch her by surprise, that I will be there before she is (before she returns, as I assume she is living there now). My emotions are peaking. The love, the travail, the journey to get here. Will she remember me? How will she react? Is she lost?

Entering the apartment, I see a blond haired blue eyed teenager typing, or doing some office job, at a desk. There are some polaroid style pictures on the wall - probably related to his job. The teenager is Keiran Hignett - a person I knew growing up. He is as I remember him in youth. He's wearing a white shirt and tie, without a jacket, and is smart and handsome - as he was in high-school. He seems a little shocked to see me burst in, although he is not angry - and is quite amiable when we begin talking.

I instantly ask him about Nana (thinking that I have got the wrong apartment). I can't remember his reply.

At last Nana comes home. We are reunited - however, I have no detailed recollection of what should be the triumph of the dream. We kissed. I felt love.

I'm with the "Kings of Leon." I have something in common in one of the members. It is something I have created, that, in parallel, one of them has created too - although the creations themselves are different (they have the same name, or concept, etc). The creation may be a business, or product, or work of art - I'm not sure. It, the name, was written on piece of paper, and I remember knowing the words very lucidly in the dream; however they are lost on me now.

I'm trying to be personable with the group, make them like me, as an equal, or even envy me, as being cooler or better in some way - but I think I'm making a bit of an ass of myself. I ask who is the member who shares something with me, showing the paper, or having it out in my hand. I'm expecting it to be the vocalist. However it is not. It is the huge black haired (long hair) member. The drummer I think (although I don't think they are literally the King's of Leon, or verbatim images of the members, somehow). I am next to him. We are talking, although it is awkward. I don't think we have much in common, and I think he doesn't like me much (I'm being too much of a dick, talking too much, etc). I wake.

Night of 20th February 2010

My sister's daughter - Harriette - is with me and she's being difficult for her parents. They do not seem to take her seriously, or are tired of her demands; but I am her ally. She comes to me demanding to show me her trick/be an audience for her - and, empathetically, I agree. I am a little shocked at her treatment, her dismissal, by the others, and my consent is in part to spite them, or pass judgement on them.

Harriette leads me outside the house and she plays illuminated by the braking lights of the parked car. I can not remember, in waking, what she did - but I am a willing audience.

At an exhibition hall, a modern architecture avant-garde building, grey, my Boss from previous employment (in clothing), and his ex-business partner (also from that real life job), are at the exhibition with me. I can not remember if this is my exhibition or theirs, or if it is really an exhibition, or our store; regardless, the same animosity we all had for each other, finally, is present.

We seem to be trying to tacitly one up each other. Perhaps through our children (we have all had children in the last couple of years). Again, I notice a lack of care, or attention, on their part, and offer myself as a willing listener/play partner for the children. However, I have no recollection of their children explicitly appearing in the dream.

I'm left holding the baby. I wake.