Snippets of recent dreaming

1) Porsche up the hill.

I'm driving with my father. We're going up a forest hill; the forest is is damp, green, earthy—a northern place, european. The car's a Porsche Targa. I think I drive.

There's a problem as we near the top. We stop and get out, lift the bonnet and see the engine wasn't bolted on to the chassis: it's slipped off its moorings.

(in waking life, my father phoned me the next morning to ask if I wanted to go with him to a classic car meet; he's a member of the Porsche club)

2) Canoes in the cove.

It's me and another. We're inland, at some kind of shore—it's either a lake shore, or a secluded bay. It's not tropical, quite cool and brisk; like an Alaskan setting.

There's some kind of zombie outbreak, or other calamity that means we have to avoid other people at all costs. You see someone, you run, kind of thing. Paradoxically though, we aren't panicked and don't go haywire when we see some others at the shore (there's a sense we all used to be together). We just slip quietly into the waters and look for the boats/canoes and oars/paddles (there's also a sense that these boats and oars were the other group's).

My partner is in and away. I'm quietly wading in, the water is quite cold so I've got a good deal of clothes on, a bubble jacket the outermost layer. I find my rowboat and manage to board it; in doing so, however, some water has gotten in. I've also lost an oar.

I'm lying prone in the rowboat, so as not to alert the others on shore, and let it glide out a bit. I bump into a rock formation and end up behind it—it's safe to sit up and locate the missing oar. I look through the clear water, see the pebbles and sub-aqua base of the rock I'm hiding behind. The oar is nearby, I make my way over and take it; only to find the oar is tiny. I see another, another two in fact, inside a boat house, leant up against the wall; I take one. It's huge.

(the oars also seem to miraculously change design, the paddle face now has three wide open angular vents in it, it looks as though it wouldn't be much good for propulsion...)

I'm then in someone's house. I've been staying over, or came back here after the trip. I'm still wearing the same clothes as the previous episode. It seems as though we're all in the living room watching my previous exploits on the TV. The house is a grand old victorian one—just like the house I grew up in; but not the same. This one feels more imposing and like an "away" venue for me.

The others, children, are a little wary of me and play nice. A girl compliments my jacket (this bubble jacket is the same shade of olive as the North Face bubble jacket I had a very long time ago in University). The children's parents come in, and are also a little surprised I'm still there, and also a little wary of me—they seem very careful, they try to delicately "handle" me.

After some more time passes, my parents turn up—to pick me up. It's 2 a.m.: I've kept the family up all this time (almost like I was holding them hostage), and this was perhaps the reason everyone was so wary and a little freaked out. I had no idea it had gotten so late, and say "I only thought it was 8p.m., 10 at the latest." I wake.

Night of 22nd May 2010

The setting is similar to the back-end of the family house I grew up in. However the garage is an outhouse where I, and a few other siblings, are living. My parents are in the main house, which while not explicitly identical still looks as though it's the back-end (the back door) of my family home. Family members move between the two dwellings, but I seem to stay in the outhouse.

There is somekind of tension in the air, and all members of the family are out of sorts. We all seem to be very lazy, or not our usual selves. I think my Mum has gone out on a walk—no one knows where. My Dad is also unresponsive or absent.

There's a phone call for me at the main house which my youngest sister, Melody, takes. She says she'll put it through the outhouse where I, and someone else, are laying down; but she mucks up the transfer and the call is lost. I'm very angry—it was an important call, and she fucked it up.

Back in Tokyo, I presume, I'm in favour with my old company again, and my Boss is putting me back on some work. I see him working with the chief graphic designer, Mincho, on some figures—some kind of economic calculation. He shooes me in and wants me to take this job.

It looks extremely simple: a division with a multiplying factor, then an answer. It's probably some kind of lot calculation; how many garments for how much, and how that changes with order size. When passively looking at it, it seems so simple and almost beneath me (I'm a trained Chemical Engineer); but Mincho hands the calcs off to me, and I can't do them—I need more information than is given, and more explanation of what figure is what.

I walk past Doi and Jun, two street-wear sellers known to me in waking life in Tokyo. They are scruffy and dressed like teenagers (as in real life) and walk past me on the right. As we pass they don't acknowledge, or notice, me—they thought I'd left Tokyo for good, after all. I look back as we pass, and sensing me doing this, one of them, perhaps Doi, does a double take—but still doesn't recognise me. I continue to look, they do another double take. Nothing is said, but I think they realize who I am—we both continue walking, nothing is said.

I see the feminine figure, in tight leggings, ahead of me. As I get closer I see it's a man. As I get very close I see it's a fair haired man with 70s style sideburns and facial hair. I know him (only in the dream) and go toward. I approach very friendlily—smiling, and touching him when we meet.

He's irked at me—it's been a long time since I saw him; and he says I owe him money. What for? For the drugs (he uses some kind of slang, unfamiliar to me at first, but soon remembered; I think the drug he refers to is administered by needle)—he got me and him a shot some time ago.

I'm now irked: after all this time, and he greets me in this way—and I seem to be somekind of patron of his too. He instantly asks for the money owed, and is still acting angry at me. He thinks he should get a large sum; and at this point, I unleash some of my anger out at him. I remind him that I did pay my half for that score way back, and continue: "Maybe of you'd asked for 5 pounds, a tenner—yes, then maybe. I have no money now at all, but nevermind that, give me 1000 quid, oh yes" etc., I try to shame him.

It seems to work a little. He softens his stance, we are still touching and I feel the heat of his leg against mine. We begin to walk together, continuing the conversation. I wake.