Dream from last night: 10/24/2012

Two enormous planets float
in tar-black space.
One planet has a thin, green halo.
The other has a thin, blue halo.
The green is the green of a firefly.
The blue, the blue of a violet.
On each planet, strands of white clouds.
Dark shadows below--land.
A third, smaller planet swings in view.
This one has a thin, yellow halo.
The yellow, the yellow of blonde hair in sunshine.
A voice, "You have two choices. You can either link the planet in orbit between the two giants, or you can smash it into one, merging it."
I feel that I can control the orbit of the small planet.
I pull (What? I don't know. An invisible chord? A string I cannot feel?)
And the small planet swings precariously between the giants--
it is nearly crushed between them.
I keep pulling on the chord--the energy-field that is linked
to my hands. The planet orbits faster...feels more stable.
"I don't want it to collide," I say to the faceless voice.
As the planet makes another lap, I slacken the chord.
It speeds toward the green-haloed planet.
I fear they will collide, obliterating the smaller one.
At the last second, I pull the chord tight,
and the planet settles between the two
in a gravity-lock.

Dream narrative, 10/18/12

I am driving in my 2001 green Honda Civic.
The ceiling fabric droops down, partially covering the rear window.
Splashes of dried glue pock its surface--failed attempts to reattach it.
(Why put fabric on ceilings anyway?)
I am driving on Route 130, heading North, but I'm on the left side of the road.
I am driving with traffic, even though it seems we're driving on the wrong side.
I pass endless strips of stores that sell stuff I don't need:
Doughnuts, car parts (except perhaps a new ceiling liner), Metro PCS, and a farmer's market.
I see a souped up, red Honda Civic in my rear view.
It has a whale tale and racing stripes.
A woman in her late 40s or early 50s is driving.
She has long blonde hair that probably hasn't been washed in weeks--some of it blows in the wind.
Bam! My body is flung violently forward.
I stop the car and see that I've been hit by the woman in the red, souped up Honda.
I pull into the shoulder and she follows me.
When I get out, she speeds away.
"Damn!" I shout and try to get her license plate number, but I just can't make it out.
The plate was white--I think she's from NY.
I look at the damage and shrug.
It's not really that bad.

Dream from 10/2/2012...

I'm in Philly. 
It's raining and dark. 
It must be about 9pm. 
I enter a large row home. 
Looks like a brownstone near Rittenhouse Square. 
It's filled with well-dressed people. 
Servants come out with platters. 
Each is placed on a separate pedestal in the center of the room. 
Human heads are on the platters. 
"Do you eat the brains," asks a female guest. 
Looks like she's in her 30s and she works out. 
Someone holds up a heart.
It's a cooked heart.
It's gray. Not bleeding.
"I like the heart myself." 
He begins eating it. 
Folks are slicing off parts of the heads as if they're lumps of deli meat. 
I approach a head that looks like Ted Kennedy. 
His eyes seem about to open.
His face is pink and needs a shave.
I try cutting a slice off of his left side, but I just can't do it. 
Suddenly I think, "Wait! This is cannibalism! 
This is how mad cow disease started. 
We can't do this!" 
But I see that I'm out-numbered. 
I leave.

Dream from 10/17/12

My neighbor, Bob, found a dead body in his bathtub. 

Bob calls me over to help him and his son move the body...they're not sure how it got there. Like the good neighbor that I am, I agree to help. 

The dead man is bald, shirtless, wearing wire-rimmed glasses, and electric blue pants. He's mostly submerged in water. "It'll stink," says Bob. Bob's son, Bob jr. covers his nose. 

Later, I'm helping them put the body at the curb for garbage collection and my main concern is, "Will the trash men take a dead body?" This really worries me, so I cover it in a blanket and tie its legs so they don't dangle all over the place--I recall that the township wants us to bundle sticks for garbage collection, and so I bundle this man's limbs. But I'm still worried and I get Bob to help me put the man in a cardboard box. That's better. Now I'm just wondering if the trash men will be able to pick the man up. I burn several sticks of incense around the boxed up body to conceal the smell, but also to honor his passing. Bob tells me the reason he decided to throw the body away instead of reporting it is because the state of NJ charges you $20,000 if you report finding a dead body in your tub.

interpret...