Recently in well i dreamed Category

it was utterly lucid in the sense that i had control, however utterly symbolic as far as the choices i made.

i had the chance to change my life retroactive. reviewed everything real careful. decided i would move to the pacific northwest circa 1990 & like nirvana before they became popular.

so he calls me up and he says, i haven't been sleeping more than three or five hours a night (welcome to my world) and i get these moments that feel like catholicism (yeah i know exactly what you mean only i wouldn't call it that exactly). then he says he wants to fuck (yay!) i can hear by the squawking and barking that he's at the pet store, so i hurry on over almost stopping at the bar for a beer but there he is standing outside smoking and we're climbing all over each other in the parking lot decide we can't do it out there. we discuss the likelihood of either of our roommates (it's like a boarding school, except with a pet shop and a bar, okay?) and by this time i'm naked and we're walking upstairs (and dick clark is not looking at my ass) but his** grandparents are in his room and his gramma makes a wisecrack about boobs and cackles like a madwoman as i back out of the room clutching a pillow. then we're watching this comedy, it's young and kinda urban and contemporary and it's well-written and the actors have flawless timing and we're laughing so hard and finally he catches his breath and asks, why is comedy so much better now? and i say it's because we finally got rid of all those vaudevillians with their playing to the cheap seats.

fade to wake up.

** not dick clark's grandparents. the dreamsex guy's grandparents. who may in fact have been dead, come to think of it. yeah 'cause he said he sent them money and it came back no forwarding address, isn't that dream for dead? hmm.

more an adventure.

during one of my bouts of email-checking wakefulness early this morning, 'roanoke' was suggested to my sleepy, suggestible consciousness, & upon going back to bed, what ensued was fairly ... bizarre. now roanoke was the scene of some mysterious disappearance back when, right? & stephen king might have somewhat covered this at some point? which would explain the gateway to hell aspect, however our escape plans were solid, there was no real reason to worry about the passage. hell, i even broke the glass just to prove the vortex wouldn't suck us through. with my hands, i broke it. in the meantime i got to hear a former employer explain why he liked to varnish the inside of the closet under the stairs (aside from the obvious); later there was the obligatory bloggersex, which was ... quite lovely. also there were the white pants that make my ass look so nice.

all in all the sort of dream which leaves one well-prepared for whatver a day may offer, & even what it might take away.

off work @ four-forty five was it? dreams swimming through a war zone: hiding under the edge, under the tarp draped over the framework: tubing, aluminum? holding on as the thing moves over water, pulling me along, away. back on land i'd been wandering through overwhelming devastation & offering advice on letting go. i think it might have been carol burnett swinging a huge plank at the crumbling columns. until they fell. many things, many many crumbling things, some of them still smoldering. is smoldering the word? glowing embers everywhere & so forth. it seems thousands of years were destroyed here just yesterday, the atmosphere is still thick with history, or the ashes of it at least.

there is no memory of abandoning land, just the afterimage of the decision. there are conflicts here too, it's why i'm hiding. i string a makeshift hammock underneath the tarp draped over the framework of the tubular structure of whatever it is i've chosen here, completely at peace in this terribly precarious place. as the water glides by below, i drift off to sleep.

& up at nine. failed to refrain from dawdling over these keys while this fell out, losing a little of the insane virtue of the whole nineteen hour workday in the process. which was actually only sixteen what with the nap & all.

& now nearly noon, & still here at these keys & still in what passes for pajamas.

so i was in debt to this fast food joint, and somehow i had been paying them in food, buying the food and giving it to the accounting department? and then i started to worry that they hadn't been crediting my account, that they had just been finding greasy bags of food on their desks and eating them not knowing where they came from? so i went down to talk to them and in the waiting room (this was a really elaborate fast food joint, huh?), there was this big, pretty purple inflatable airplaine thingy saying 'join the french foreign legion' and flying back and forth across the room. i try to get pictures of it, which i don't think will come out, and i'm thinking, you know, if i were less responsible, i'd just go join the legion and not worry about the hamburger bill. i decide to investigate. i go on a demonstration mission with them, we're in flimsy boats in a stormy sea, and we manage to land on the beach. we have to return to the burger joint over this bridge with interesting lights, which i'm trying to take pictures of as we hike across, but my camera doesn't have enough functions to get that kind of low light fancy stuff. on the other side there's heavy traffic and these guys are running right across but i hesitate, feeling this feeling of urgency yet not being able to see enough of a clearing in traffic to make my way across.

finally returning to the burger joint, one of the accountants shows me last month's trial balance, and sure enough some of my payments were received, but not all. it's ok, i reason, since i've now realized how weird it is to pay a restaurant in their own food. the owner of the restaurant has a construction company, and he's looking for painters. hey! i used to work for a painting contractor, maybe ... no, i don't know ... and i wake up

#1: the bad news: i really do have radio transmitters in my head! more equipment than my dentist has ever seen! he doesn't think he can do much about the voices in my ear, i just have to learn to deal with it. i wonder if i can make them play Tool songs?

the good news: if i concentrate real hard, i'll be able to dial phones with my brain. it will take some practice, because i have to think the letters, not the numbers.

#2: stacey is telling me about a funny scene in a movie. as he describes it, i can picture it. ok, so this one guy says, 'well fuck me in the eyeballs' and then cut to a scene of that guy holding his face and screaming, and the other guy smoking a cigarette and looking satisfied.

and that's all i remember.

so i came home from work and took a quick nap. woke up, went out for dinner and smokes and stuff, came home, ate my potato, and passed out.

dreamt about bathrooms. the girls' bathroom had a long line for one stall but other stalls open. i wondered what was wrong with them, but hey, when ya gotta go, so, went in another one, toilet was really low to the ground, i sat on it then realized i didn't know if there was something else wrong with it. turns out it was full of those seat protector papers, still, creepy enough. i wandered into another bathroom, it was all steamy because there were showers going too. i went into a roomy stall and was ready to sit down when a chubby, dripping wet asian man walked by, naked except for a towel that he was just holding around himself, it didn't go all the way around. i apologized profusely for being in the wrong room and he just shrugged. back to the girls' bathroom, where there was a bomb in one of the stalls. i quickly ducked into the next one and had this awareness of what it would be like to have the metal walls of my stall explode towards me, and how it would probably kill me. then i woke up. 11PM. went potty, answered some email, now going back to bed, wondering what will happen next.

woke up this morning early thinking it was sunday. it felt like the last day of a weekend. i searched my brain for memories of a saturday, if any, and determined it probably wasn't sunday. probably.

went back to sleep and dreamt of terrorists. i'm not sure we had him hostage or he had us - we were in a hotel room and he had a missile and we were afraid to call the FBI because they'd think we were harboring him. he looked like an aging rockstar still sporting the 80's big hair, though it was streaked with grey. he was very vain about his hair, kept brushing and teasing it, and kept wanting to sleep, but you could never tell if he was really sleeping, we worried. finally we called the FBI, and they chased us out of the room so we wouldn't see the special instruments they were using on the missile. i think the terror rockstar guy got away, but we had to get to the 24 hour picnic. there was going to be a beer concession selling premium beer in small cups and i had this great idea that we should bring a kegger of cheap beer and sell it in BIG cups for the same price. there was general excitement about big cups of beer. but i forgot the cups. the end.

it is saturday right?

so in the dream i was crossing a pit on a saggy piece of plywood, over some sort of construction zone. there were little mini-guys (not midgets, just miniature men) on little mini-horses, dressed like movie mexicans as portrayed circa the turn of the (twentieth) century, big wide hats and multicolored saddle blankets and bandoleros (they were cute, really). they were crowding me, and i was bitching at them to get away from me, and they were taunting me by not getting away from me. so when we got to the other side of the pit the little guy in front of me jumped off his little horse and was getting all feisty with me and i was just trying to hold him off. i didn't want to hurt him, he was just a little teeny man. and then this huge guy, like eight foot tall and half as wide, comes up and stands in front of me, arms crossed, blocking my path. and i said, hey, this is my dream, who are you? i've seen you before, but what are you supposed to symbolize? and he said, what do you think i'm supposed to be? he wouldn't tell me. even though it was my dream, and when you identify it as such, it's supposed to do what you want, right?

and then kitty puked and woke me up.