May 27th, 2013
Living in cramped quarters with hundreds (perhaps thousands) of refugees. We reside in a tall building, probably 30 stories high. At first, it is not clear to me from where we are seeking refuge. As the days pass, we sense that the folks who live on the upper floors (where there are far fewer people and therefore much more space) are conspiring against us.
One day, some folks from the top floors come through the lower floors and force us to leave our possessions and our tiny homes (some of which are in the stairwells). When we resist, they become brutal toward us, shoving, pushing, and beating us forward, up the stairs to the top floors.
When we reach the upper floors, it becomes clear that the folks who live there are holding us captive. I approach one man who is dressed in a gray business suit. He appears uneasy in our presence. I begin shouting at him and he cowers, putting his arms over his head as if to ward off my blows--though I'm not hitting him. I believe he is trying to deny that his people are holding the rest of us captive, and so I shout the truth at him and he seems deeply disturbed.
Others come to his rescue--they pull me away from him.
A person from the lower floors approaches me and shows me how to sneak out of the building. Once outside, we find ourselves in a Chinese marketplace. There, I learn that the year is 1966, that we're Jewish prisoners held by Nazis who escaped at the end of WWII. No one knows we're being held in a skyscraper.
Suddenly I am inside a pure white room in nearby building. I am not physically present, but I am able to view what's happening as though I am in the room.
A black man appears. He's dressed in a button-down yellow shirt and a black tie. He sits at a bright white table and plugs in his laptop. A sign on the table reads, "World News." Other journalists appear and sit at other tables in the room.
One begins talking to the group about how he suspects that a band of Nazis are holding a large group of Jews captive. The others point out how crazy that sounds, but he is undeterred and simply says he needs to find evidence.
At that point I realize we'll be saved.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Monday, May 20, 2013
Saturday, May 18th, 2013
I'm on one of the top floors in the new World Trade Center tower: One World Trade Center.
It is daytime and I can see the city below. One part section of windows is missing. I approach, lose my balance, and fall over the edge. I quickly grab the floor, which is uneven and difficult to grasp. I keep slipping and having to readjust my grip. Someone grabs me and pulls me back to safety. I still feel that the floor is sloped in the direction of the window and I can slide out anytime.
A tour guide is explaining some of the features of the new building, which is quite beautiful. We move into another section of the floor. It appears unfinished and the tour guide explains there was not enough money to finish the project. The room is large and empty, with ugly marble floors that are wet. I feel as though I'm in a dirty public restroom.
We leave that space and find a small TV (not flat-screen, but an old fashioned tube model) suspended over narrow, carpeted steps--the setup reminds me of stadium seating at a movie theater, except that only one person can fit on each level. On screen is an old film (from the 70s or 80s) I think I recognize. The main character is played by Robert De Niro. De Niro has long black hair and looks to be about the age he was when he filmed Taxi Driver. He's with a group of guys in their early twenties. They're hanging around heckling each other. I seem to know the words and I laugh with the crowd standing around me.
It is daytime and I can see the city below. One part section of windows is missing. I approach, lose my balance, and fall over the edge. I quickly grab the floor, which is uneven and difficult to grasp. I keep slipping and having to readjust my grip. Someone grabs me and pulls me back to safety. I still feel that the floor is sloped in the direction of the window and I can slide out anytime.
A tour guide is explaining some of the features of the new building, which is quite beautiful. We move into another section of the floor. It appears unfinished and the tour guide explains there was not enough money to finish the project. The room is large and empty, with ugly marble floors that are wet. I feel as though I'm in a dirty public restroom.
We leave that space and find a small TV (not flat-screen, but an old fashioned tube model) suspended over narrow, carpeted steps--the setup reminds me of stadium seating at a movie theater, except that only one person can fit on each level. On screen is an old film (from the 70s or 80s) I think I recognize. The main character is played by Robert De Niro. De Niro has long black hair and looks to be about the age he was when he filmed Taxi Driver. He's with a group of guys in their early twenties. They're hanging around heckling each other. I seem to know the words and I laugh with the crowd standing around me.
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Thursday, April 4, 2013
I am in a factory where cows are being dropped into large vats in which they are liquified. A man who is in his early forties explains to me that this is the real way in which fuel oil is produced (apparently it's not actually drilled out of the ground).
"And we can only use ultra-lean cows. The fat cows...we just have to destroy them. We cannot convert them into oil."
Peering down inside one of the vats, I see various cows in various stages of liquefaction.
I am in a factory where cows are being dropped into large vats in which they are liquified. A man who is in his early forties explains to me that this is the real way in which fuel oil is produced (apparently it's not actually drilled out of the ground).
"And we can only use ultra-lean cows. The fat cows...we just have to destroy them. We cannot convert them into oil."
Peering down inside one of the vats, I see various cows in various stages of liquefaction.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
March 27th, 2013
I sneak into the basement of a mansion. It's a modern structure with lots of straight angles. The basement is large. At one end is a bathhouse--I head there, towel and a change of clothes in hand. As I step inside the bathhouse I notice that the walls are covered with large cedar shingles--the type you would normally find on the exterior of a home. I turn on the water and begin showering. There is white calcification forming on one single; I figure I'll bleach it out later.
As I shower, I grow nervous that the owner of the mansion will catch me here, so I cut the shower short, dry off, and get dressed. As I'm leaving, Dustin Hoffman arrives--it's his home. He's not at all angry and we chat for awhile.
I sneak into the basement of a mansion. It's a modern structure with lots of straight angles. The basement is large. At one end is a bathhouse--I head there, towel and a change of clothes in hand. As I step inside the bathhouse I notice that the walls are covered with large cedar shingles--the type you would normally find on the exterior of a home. I turn on the water and begin showering. There is white calcification forming on one single; I figure I'll bleach it out later.
As I shower, I grow nervous that the owner of the mansion will catch me here, so I cut the shower short, dry off, and get dressed. As I'm leaving, Dustin Hoffman arrives--it's his home. He's not at all angry and we chat for awhile.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Saturday, March 23, 2013
I'm in a field of tall, dead grass. There is an oddly shaped lake nearby and a few, leafless trees grow in various spots around the field. A cow is in the field and I hear a voice tell me, "You must save the cow." In fact, I have the strong feeling that in order to save all humankind, I must save this cow. It's not grazing and the first thing I do is encourage it to eat some of the dead grass. Then I realize it's dehydrated, so I lead it to the lake, where it drinks. The cow suddenly turns into a tall, Mr. Stay Puft marshmallow man (the thing from the Ghostbusters movie), except that instead of being made of marshmallow, it is made of meat--raw, red slabs of meat. The meat giant seems friendly and walks slowly into the water. It dives under the water and swims around like a manatee. I see an alligator swimming toward the meat monster and I jump in to wrestle the alligator away.
I'm in a field of tall, dead grass. There is an oddly shaped lake nearby and a few, leafless trees grow in various spots around the field. A cow is in the field and I hear a voice tell me, "You must save the cow." In fact, I have the strong feeling that in order to save all humankind, I must save this cow. It's not grazing and the first thing I do is encourage it to eat some of the dead grass. Then I realize it's dehydrated, so I lead it to the lake, where it drinks. The cow suddenly turns into a tall, Mr. Stay Puft marshmallow man (the thing from the Ghostbusters movie), except that instead of being made of marshmallow, it is made of meat--raw, red slabs of meat. The meat giant seems friendly and walks slowly into the water. It dives under the water and swims around like a manatee. I see an alligator swimming toward the meat monster and I jump in to wrestle the alligator away.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
I'm in my 18' Precision sailboat. My wife and two friends are with me. It's daytime and we're afloat on an inter-coastal waterway that has thick forests on either side. There are lots of other boaters out. One of my friends asks what our motor looks like and I point to a small, blue electric outboard that looks nothing like our motor. I turn to my wife and tell her, "I forgot the battery." I'm referring to the lithium-ion battery that powers our electric motor. Even so, I get the motor working and we begin zipping along through the waterway (we're not sailing, just motoring around). The water is milky like an eye with a cataract, but the edges are turquoise. The water level begins to drop rapidly. Large masses of mud seem to rise to the surface. I have to do some slick steering to avoid them--and I don't avoid all of them. We skim over one mud mat and I both hear and feel the keel scrape the bottom. I'm worried we'll break the prop on the motor, but it just skims the top of the mud and we continue on. I grow increasingly more worried for the safety of the boat--and its passengers--as the water level drops even more.
I'm in my 18' Precision sailboat. My wife and two friends are with me. It's daytime and we're afloat on an inter-coastal waterway that has thick forests on either side. There are lots of other boaters out. One of my friends asks what our motor looks like and I point to a small, blue electric outboard that looks nothing like our motor. I turn to my wife and tell her, "I forgot the battery." I'm referring to the lithium-ion battery that powers our electric motor. Even so, I get the motor working and we begin zipping along through the waterway (we're not sailing, just motoring around). The water is milky like an eye with a cataract, but the edges are turquoise. The water level begins to drop rapidly. Large masses of mud seem to rise to the surface. I have to do some slick steering to avoid them--and I don't avoid all of them. We skim over one mud mat and I both hear and feel the keel scrape the bottom. I'm worried we'll break the prop on the motor, but it just skims the top of the mud and we continue on. I grow increasingly more worried for the safety of the boat--and its passengers--as the water level drops even more.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
March 11th, 2013
My wife and I are walking on a street in a busy town (could be a suburban-looking part of a city). It's night time and we're strolling along under an overpass. I'm feeling joyous and eating an apple. My wife turns to face me and walks backwards as we continue on our way. She seems very playful. A police cruiser pulls along side us and crawls forward, matching our speed.
I think that the officer is displeased with my wife's carefree attitude, and that he is especially upset by the fact that she's walking backwards. I shrug.
We reach a large, Victorian house where my aunt lives. My wife remains outside for a moment while I go in. I grab a couple of cans of sparkling water and go back out to an empty front lawn. My wife is gone. I look around the hedges, up and down the street, but I see her nowhere in sight.
I'm suddenly panicked, thinking she has been taken by the officer who was following us. I begin shouting her name, each time increasing in volume until I am shrieking her name.
No response.
I think that the officer is displeased with my wife's carefree attitude, and that he is especially upset by the fact that she's walking backwards. I shrug.
We reach a large, Victorian house where my aunt lives. My wife remains outside for a moment while I go in. I grab a couple of cans of sparkling water and go back out to an empty front lawn. My wife is gone. I look around the hedges, up and down the street, but I see her nowhere in sight.
I'm suddenly panicked, thinking she has been taken by the officer who was following us. I begin shouting her name, each time increasing in volume until I am shrieking her name.
No response.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Sunday, February 24, 2013
February 22, 2013
Driving with a friend in a parking lot at a large strip mall.
The lot in front of the store we want to visit has only handicap parking: row after row of blue-lined spaces. I grow frustrated and am tempted to park in one, but decide against it thinking I'd get a ticket.
We park in the adjacent lot in front of Target. This lot is filled with rows of good for sale--reminds me of a flea market. Elderly folks are picking up linens, marveling at them.
Driving with the husband of a friend and his three small children. He sits in the front passenger seat, a small toddler on his lap, two children to his left (both a bit bigger than the one on his lap). He wears a white T-shirt. I've never met him before.
We drive over a bridge from Philly to NJ. As we approach the town where I live, we see two teens, on opposite sides of the street, pointing guns at each other. At first, this makes no sense to me and I continue driving, but suddenly we find ourselves in the middle of a gun fight. I become terrified as bullets whiz past the car, just missing us. The man next to me tells me to back up. I do and we simply drive down a parallel street.
I'm now in the back seat. No idea who is driving, but the man is still in the front passenger seat surrounded by his children. We discuss the gun fight. I lean way over the seat so I an look at him and his children with complete seriousness, "You will raise good children, and that is how we'll have hope for the future."
Driving with a friend in a parking lot at a large strip mall.
The lot in front of the store we want to visit has only handicap parking: row after row of blue-lined spaces. I grow frustrated and am tempted to park in one, but decide against it thinking I'd get a ticket.
We park in the adjacent lot in front of Target. This lot is filled with rows of good for sale--reminds me of a flea market. Elderly folks are picking up linens, marveling at them.
---
Driving with the husband of a friend and his three small children. He sits in the front passenger seat, a small toddler on his lap, two children to his left (both a bit bigger than the one on his lap). He wears a white T-shirt. I've never met him before.
We drive over a bridge from Philly to NJ. As we approach the town where I live, we see two teens, on opposite sides of the street, pointing guns at each other. At first, this makes no sense to me and I continue driving, but suddenly we find ourselves in the middle of a gun fight. I become terrified as bullets whiz past the car, just missing us. The man next to me tells me to back up. I do and we simply drive down a parallel street.
I'm now in the back seat. No idea who is driving, but the man is still in the front passenger seat surrounded by his children. We discuss the gun fight. I lean way over the seat so I an look at him and his children with complete seriousness, "You will raise good children, and that is how we'll have hope for the future."
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Monday, February 4, 2013
February 1st, 2013
I am standing in a field. I walk forward and suddenly fall into a pool I hadn't seen. It's an in-ground pool with cement sides. I fall like a stone and watch the sides of the pool slip past me.
Panic.
Fearful I will drown, I try to stop my rapid descent, but nothing I do slows the pace.
The cement sides of the pool are now gone; replaced by earth and stone. I'm in a subterranean pool that seems to have no bottom. I try to breathe and discover I can in a limited way.
I realized I'm dreaming and try to awaken. My body shakes violently. I've had sleep paralysis in the past. I feel like an etherized patient awakening in the middle of surgery. I sense a force or presence more powerful than me holding me down, preventing me from awakening--which is typical of sleep paralysis.
In college, I fell asleep after a morning class. I opened my eyes about half an hour later, but couldn't move my body. I could only move my eyes. As I scanned the room, I could see the sun on the carpet, my desk and computer, my roommate's desk. I heard the sound of a TV with no reception--often described as "snow" (but I've never heard snow in this way, only the soft flap as it piles up on the ground). I hear sinister laughing and sense an evil presence holding me down. This experience terrified me, but I later learned about sleep paralysis and that these are typical symptoms / experiences. I also learned that such episodes are thought to be the source of reports of alien abduction. Turns out folks who think they were abducted by aliens and probed or operated upon, may have merely been suffering from this sleep disorder. I completely understand how such a mistake could be made. I certainly have never been abducted by aliens (a fact I find quite sad).
I am standing in a field. I walk forward and suddenly fall into a pool I hadn't seen. It's an in-ground pool with cement sides. I fall like a stone and watch the sides of the pool slip past me.
Panic.
Fearful I will drown, I try to stop my rapid descent, but nothing I do slows the pace.
The cement sides of the pool are now gone; replaced by earth and stone. I'm in a subterranean pool that seems to have no bottom. I try to breathe and discover I can in a limited way.
I realized I'm dreaming and try to awaken. My body shakes violently. I've had sleep paralysis in the past. I feel like an etherized patient awakening in the middle of surgery. I sense a force or presence more powerful than me holding me down, preventing me from awakening--which is typical of sleep paralysis.
~~~
In college, I fell asleep after a morning class. I opened my eyes about half an hour later, but couldn't move my body. I could only move my eyes. As I scanned the room, I could see the sun on the carpet, my desk and computer, my roommate's desk. I heard the sound of a TV with no reception--often described as "snow" (but I've never heard snow in this way, only the soft flap as it piles up on the ground). I hear sinister laughing and sense an evil presence holding me down. This experience terrified me, but I later learned about sleep paralysis and that these are typical symptoms / experiences. I also learned that such episodes are thought to be the source of reports of alien abduction. Turns out folks who think they were abducted by aliens and probed or operated upon, may have merely been suffering from this sleep disorder. I completely understand how such a mistake could be made. I certainly have never been abducted by aliens (a fact I find quite sad).
Thursday, January 31, 2013
January 30th, 2013
1
found a sock I had been missing
a Wigwam
so pleased
2
Old man teaches me how to punch properly.
"Make a triangle with your knuckles, like this," he arranges the knuckles of my fist into a triangle.
"Then, when you punch, flick them like this at the last moment," this he demonstrates with his own fist.
3
Driving in the dark through an old city--probably Philly. Three-story row homes line the streets, with taller apartment buildings interspersed. I pass a row home fire on my right. Firefighters are already attacking the blaze. I turn right and a ball of fire explodes from the top floor of another row home. The concussive force of the blast shakes me. I drive further along and a third row home bursts into flames. This one prevents me from continuing on the same road. I turn left and find more fires and wonder how many fires the fire department can handle. I realize they'll need to call in fighters from other towns.
I'm frustrated because I cannot continue on my journey. I always drive the same route and now I am disoriented.
1
found a sock I had been missing
a Wigwam
so pleased
2
Old man teaches me how to punch properly.
"Make a triangle with your knuckles, like this," he arranges the knuckles of my fist into a triangle.
"Then, when you punch, flick them like this at the last moment," this he demonstrates with his own fist.
3
Driving in the dark through an old city--probably Philly. Three-story row homes line the streets, with taller apartment buildings interspersed. I pass a row home fire on my right. Firefighters are already attacking the blaze. I turn right and a ball of fire explodes from the top floor of another row home. The concussive force of the blast shakes me. I drive further along and a third row home bursts into flames. This one prevents me from continuing on the same road. I turn left and find more fires and wonder how many fires the fire department can handle. I realize they'll need to call in fighters from other towns.
I'm frustrated because I cannot continue on my journey. I always drive the same route and now I am disoriented.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
January 26th, 2013
I'm in an old building with many people. We're hot, thirsty, and hungry. We've been vacationing nearby and visited this location which seems to be an amusement park of some kind. The power has gone out, which is why we're so hot (no A/C) and cannot escape (electric locks on the gates will not open). The sun is bright and one positive is that we can go outside. However, we must be cautious because there are many dangers in this park, which reminds me of Jurassic Park (except that we do not see any dinosaurs--there just seem to be many hidden dangers).
We're growing restless. Everyone seems to have a plan that, we quickly discover, will not work. One person suggests that we try scaling the walls (which are made of stone, and are about twenty feet high with electrified wires at the top--power still seems to be running through them).
We travel to the entrance of the park, which is a long, narrow, enclosed bridge with windows on either side. We seem to have avoided traveling through the center of the park (which is the most dangerous) and made our way to the entrance safely (it wasn't far from the building where we were sweltering). The bridge connects the outside world to the park. When we reach the end of the bridge (we're traveling away from the outside world for some reason), we are greeted by FBI agents who only reveal that they are in the FBI because of the dire situation. They wear mirrored sunglasses. A middle-aged FBI agent tells us we cannot continue on into the park. "You shouldn't be here without special glasses...you're not supposed to see this place." We're lead to understand that the government has been hiding the true purpose of this park and that the special glasses visitors are required to wear prevent them from seeing what is actually in the park.
Realizing the peril we're all in, the agent allows us to continue into the park without glasses.
Friday, January 18, 2013
January 17th, 2013
At a large, open-air stadium with friends from Delaware and my wife. We're there to see Springsteen or someone like him. The stadium is packed. The North Korean army marches in and takes a seat in the center of the stadium. They face us. I'm suddenly worried about being publicly beaten. I flash back to a vivid memory of my last public beating in this very place. I'm standing on a stage in the center of the stadium. I'm a bloody mess. North Korean soldiers surrounded me. It was apparent to me that the audience did not approve of my beating, but they remained silent and watched.
The memory fades and I am growing increasingly more anxious about my impending beating. I tell my wife and friends I am going to get something to eat--I really intend to escape. For some reason they (my wife and friends) do not recall my former beating, or, it's possible they just refuse to mention it. I walk down the cement steps, past the concession, and into the parking lot. There, a North Korean soldier approaches me and says, "Bryan?" I just look at him and he adds, "There's no escape." He smiles and gently leads me to a room where other soldiers are present. They shove me around a bit and laugh, relishing the knowledge that they'll have a chance to beat me very shortly.
I am ushered out of the room and onto the field in the center of the stadium. I see that President Obama and Michelle Obama are in the audience, sitting in the second row. I now look forward to being beaten because I'm certain Obama will intervene. But then I recall that a former president (couldn't remember which one) was in the audience the last time I was beaten. When the pummeling began, the secret service swiftly surrounded the president and pulled him to safety before he could help me.
And now I realize the same will happen again--Obama will be pulled to safety and I will face the merciless fists of North Korean soldiers.
At a large, open-air stadium with friends from Delaware and my wife. We're there to see Springsteen or someone like him. The stadium is packed. The North Korean army marches in and takes a seat in the center of the stadium. They face us. I'm suddenly worried about being publicly beaten. I flash back to a vivid memory of my last public beating in this very place. I'm standing on a stage in the center of the stadium. I'm a bloody mess. North Korean soldiers surrounded me. It was apparent to me that the audience did not approve of my beating, but they remained silent and watched.
The memory fades and I am growing increasingly more anxious about my impending beating. I tell my wife and friends I am going to get something to eat--I really intend to escape. For some reason they (my wife and friends) do not recall my former beating, or, it's possible they just refuse to mention it. I walk down the cement steps, past the concession, and into the parking lot. There, a North Korean soldier approaches me and says, "Bryan?" I just look at him and he adds, "There's no escape." He smiles and gently leads me to a room where other soldiers are present. They shove me around a bit and laugh, relishing the knowledge that they'll have a chance to beat me very shortly.
I am ushered out of the room and onto the field in the center of the stadium. I see that President Obama and Michelle Obama are in the audience, sitting in the second row. I now look forward to being beaten because I'm certain Obama will intervene. But then I recall that a former president (couldn't remember which one) was in the audience the last time I was beaten. When the pummeling began, the secret service swiftly surrounded the president and pulled him to safety before he could help me.
And now I realize the same will happen again--Obama will be pulled to safety and I will face the merciless fists of North Korean soldiers.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
January 16th, 2013
I am standing on my 18 foot Precision sailboat. The river I'm sailing through is narrow and murky: brown, churning waters filled with debris. Up ahead a broken airplane wing (full-size) floats atop the water on the right; the tail of an airplane floats on the left. They leave only a one foot gap through which I must sail. I grow incredibly nervous as I near the objects and the impossibly small passage between them. The river pulls the boat forward rapidly. I have no choice but to make an attempt. When the bow is just a few feet from the wing and tail, I hold tight to the lifelines, bracing myself for the worst. I try to steer as carefully as possible, aiming for the narrow break--the tumultuous water thwarts my efforts. At the last moment, the boat glides smoothly between the two metal objects.
I am standing on my 18 foot Precision sailboat. The river I'm sailing through is narrow and murky: brown, churning waters filled with debris. Up ahead a broken airplane wing (full-size) floats atop the water on the right; the tail of an airplane floats on the left. They leave only a one foot gap through which I must sail. I grow incredibly nervous as I near the objects and the impossibly small passage between them. The river pulls the boat forward rapidly. I have no choice but to make an attempt. When the bow is just a few feet from the wing and tail, I hold tight to the lifelines, bracing myself for the worst. I try to steer as carefully as possible, aiming for the narrow break--the tumultuous water thwarts my efforts. At the last moment, the boat glides smoothly between the two metal objects.
Monday, January 14, 2013
January 13th, 2013
I'm at an in-door water park. The voice of a TV news anchor narrates (though not the entire time). I'm with a group of people that includes my wife. I turn to her and mention how exciting it is to be at this particular water park. We had been on vacation and I found this place on a map and we immediately made it our next destination. It's located somewhere in northern Florida. The news anchor's voice says, "Tonight, we take an inside look at a local water park that has become popular, but just take a look at what these two expert water park goers experience." Although I'm not physically with them on the slide, I merge with them and see water rushing down a flume and a very small pool at the bottom surrounded on all sides by a wall. We rush down and I grow terrified for a moment, but the experts maneuver safely down. The anchor again, "Does this look like a place you should take your family? We've heard dozens of reports of injuries and other unsafe conditions."
I'm back in my body and standing with my wife and friends again. We're in a long line in a corridor connecting two major sections of the water park. We're headed for the river rapids, which are down a huge flight of steps. Behind us, a woman and her sister tend a large group of children I presume are theirs. A tiny boy runs ahead. He's wearing blue swim trunks and a white T-shirt. His mother shouts, "Jimmy, you get back here!" But the boy ignores her and keeps running. She doesn't go after him. I watch him run into the stairwell and I grow deeply worried because there is a 40 foot drop to the floor below to the left of the stairs, and there is no railing. The boy hops down about ten steps and then leaps over the side.
~News anchor: And you won't believe what happens when this man helps a little boy who's drowning.~
I cringe and expect that he will break both of his legs. But he's miraculously okay and just keeps running along. I now see a man-made river. It's blue and narrow and the water is calm, barely moving. The mother is shouting again and I run down the steps after the boy. I jump over the side as he does, with my kayak under my arm (everyone must ride on a kayak). Jimmy is now on the other side of the river and I'm terrified he'll jump in and drown. He does jump in the moment the park ride we're now on gets in motion (it's a river rapids ride that runs through cycles when it's calm so that folks can get safely into the water). The water is getting rough and Jimmy has serious trouble staying above the water. His mother is screaming. I jump in and dip the bow of the kayak under him and try to lift him up. The mother shouts, "You better not hurt my son!" Although he's now on the kayak, I have trouble keeping him above water and he is having trouble breathing. The waves increase. I finally am able to scoop him up and drop him on the bank of the river (which is a blue, spongy substance). The boy hops away. I get in line for the next attraction. The mother catches up with us and gives me hell for hurting her boy.
~News anchor: Instead of being grateful, this mother reams out the very man who saved her son's life.~
The dream cuts to a basketball court where I'm working with my "shooting" coach. I try to take a shot, but drop the ball and go into the next room where I place my head on a table in dejection. The coach shouts at me from the court. Another coach comes up to me and I tell him about the events at the water park and that I cannot play basketball anymore because I'm disturbed over the events. He tries to soothe me.
2nd Dream
Purchased a city apartment with a chapel in the center.
3rd Dream
Sharing a room with my brother. Wake up and want to close and lock all the windows to keep Al Capone out.
Will try to flesh out the second and third dreams as they return to me.
Friday, January 11, 2013
January 10, 2013
A hurricane far worse than Sandy struck the eastern seaboard. The darkened town seemed lifeless. When light returned, we all wondered how many others survived. We felt the whole world had experienced this hurricane. All we could do was wait for news from other towns, other states. We lived in a world suspended between what had been normal the day before, and the wrecked landscape that now stared at us.
I'm living in a large, one-story structure that has an open floor plan. Lots of folks are milling about. I don't recognize any of them, but I seem to know them nonetheless. Another man and I need to have an operation (I get the feeling we were injured during the hurricane). We're told we need to inject ourselves with a sedative. I roll up my right sleeve and search my arm for a good vein. Lots of blue veins stand out on my arm. I'm reluctant, though, to stick myself with a needle. The other man feels the same. We wipe our forearms with cotton balls saturated in alcohol and then wander from room to room, asking folks who pass us to inject us with this sedative. The first few who pass ignore us. A man wearing a white lab coat agrees. He jabs my arm next to a large vein. He then tells me to hold still and he inserts the needle above the left side of my mouth. He asks me to turn my head, I do and I cringe as he jabs the syringe into my neck.
He's finished and I feel the sedative working. I grow increasingly more relaxed and sleepy.
I awaken from having the operation (no idea what part of me was operated on) and need to urinate. I enter a large bathroom filled with urinals and stalls. All the urinals and toilets have yellow sticky notes on them saying, "Do not use." I understand that they're not working due to the hurricane.
I find a dental chair with a toilet built into it. The chair is for disabled people and allows them to urinate or defecate without having to get up during dental procedures. This is where I urinate.
A hurricane far worse than Sandy struck the eastern seaboard. The darkened town seemed lifeless. When light returned, we all wondered how many others survived. We felt the whole world had experienced this hurricane. All we could do was wait for news from other towns, other states. We lived in a world suspended between what had been normal the day before, and the wrecked landscape that now stared at us.
I'm living in a large, one-story structure that has an open floor plan. Lots of folks are milling about. I don't recognize any of them, but I seem to know them nonetheless. Another man and I need to have an operation (I get the feeling we were injured during the hurricane). We're told we need to inject ourselves with a sedative. I roll up my right sleeve and search my arm for a good vein. Lots of blue veins stand out on my arm. I'm reluctant, though, to stick myself with a needle. The other man feels the same. We wipe our forearms with cotton balls saturated in alcohol and then wander from room to room, asking folks who pass us to inject us with this sedative. The first few who pass ignore us. A man wearing a white lab coat agrees. He jabs my arm next to a large vein. He then tells me to hold still and he inserts the needle above the left side of my mouth. He asks me to turn my head, I do and I cringe as he jabs the syringe into my neck.
He's finished and I feel the sedative working. I grow increasingly more relaxed and sleepy.
I awaken from having the operation (no idea what part of me was operated on) and need to urinate. I enter a large bathroom filled with urinals and stalls. All the urinals and toilets have yellow sticky notes on them saying, "Do not use." I understand that they're not working due to the hurricane.
I find a dental chair with a toilet built into it. The chair is for disabled people and allows them to urinate or defecate without having to get up during dental procedures. This is where I urinate.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
January 9th, 2013
My friends, immediate family and I are having a picnic at a lake. We're in the grassy area where the tables are. No one knows about the lake. I discover it while taking a trip to the bathroom. It's a large lake with a calm, iridescent surface. Diving in is bliss. I discover a shack where the owner of the lake/picnic facility lives. He's an older man (in his mid to late 60s). He's tall and has got a thick, grey-white mustache. He proceeds to tell me he and his buddies invented the 1960s. This, of course, makes perfect sense to me. I return to the others and tell them about the man I met who invented the '60s. I also invite them to dive into the lake. This seems like a spiritual rite of some kind. At the very least, I lead people to the lake so that they can find bliss...it feels nice.
I'm on a city street near the picnic / lake area. A twelve year old African American boy comes starts harassing me. He seems to be "acting tough" for his friends, who form a semi-circle like a small audience. The kid is giving me a hard time for being a white guy. He seems to think that I'm racist because I'm white. His father arrives. This man is a huge, muscular black man with dreadlocks. I realize he could beat the piss out of me with just his pinky and I grow frightened. But we quickly recognize each other and he gives me a huge bear hug. Turns out we used to work together when I was in high school. The two of us and his son get into the man's old Chevy Impala. He says he knows where the lake is and will return me to it, but we keep driving down this long city street, past old buildings--we pass a roller coaster too--but he seems to have forgotten where it is. I suddenly find myself driving the man's box truck--the one he uses for his business (not sure what his business is), and one identical to the one we used to drive when we worked together years before. The brakes are incredibly squishy and I'm deeply concerned about my safety and the man's safety (he's not with me, but I'm worried that he'll get into an accident if he doesn't get the brakes fixed).
I finally make it back to the picnic / lake area. I go back into the shack where the '60s guy lives. A bunch of his old friends are milling about. One of them shows me a bunch of guestbooks from various decades. He hands me one that's quite old and looks more like it's from the 1860s than the 1960s. I flip through it and see that it's a scrapbook. The man points to one of the first pictures and tells me that was taken the day the '60s started. The image is of the same shack I'm standing in now, but the owner of the lake and about six of his buddies are there. They're clearly a bunch of drunk college kids just laying around working off their collective buzz. The next images I must censor due to their graphic nature--I'll humbly ask the reader to use her own imagination here.
I return to the banks of the lake where people are diving into the yellow-green rainbow.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
From January 8th, 2013
My wife and I are getting married. We, and all the guests, are in an old village somewhere in western Europe. The ceremony must have already taken place, because we're outside at an enormous banquet table. The reception is being held outside in a graveyard. The long, narrow table is in the center, tombstones run parallel to the table on either side, their rounded tops match the shape of the backs of the chairs. A stream runs through the center of the graveyard, sometimes running under the table, and sometimes weaving between tombstones. There are also a few puddles of standing water, brownish in color.
One of the guests, a tall woman, looks at some children drinking out of the stream, "That's fine, but they should not drink from the puddles because those go deeper into the ground--that water may have mixed with the bodies beneath us." I agree that we should only drink from the flowing stream.
I see mountains far off on the horizon perpendicular to the banquet table. My parents, my new wife, my in-laws, my siblings, and I walk across a vast, barren plain toward the mountains. At the foot of the mountain range is an enormous tree. Its roots grow along the surface of the ground and they're like large, smooth arms. A waterfall cascades down from the heights of the mountain, flows over two enormous, arm-like roots, and continues across the plain where it feeds the stream that runs through the graveyard. We all climb the massive tree.
My wife and I are getting married. We, and all the guests, are in an old village somewhere in western Europe. The ceremony must have already taken place, because we're outside at an enormous banquet table. The reception is being held outside in a graveyard. The long, narrow table is in the center, tombstones run parallel to the table on either side, their rounded tops match the shape of the backs of the chairs. A stream runs through the center of the graveyard, sometimes running under the table, and sometimes weaving between tombstones. There are also a few puddles of standing water, brownish in color.
One of the guests, a tall woman, looks at some children drinking out of the stream, "That's fine, but they should not drink from the puddles because those go deeper into the ground--that water may have mixed with the bodies beneath us." I agree that we should only drink from the flowing stream.
I see mountains far off on the horizon perpendicular to the banquet table. My parents, my new wife, my in-laws, my siblings, and I walk across a vast, barren plain toward the mountains. At the foot of the mountain range is an enormous tree. Its roots grow along the surface of the ground and they're like large, smooth arms. A waterfall cascades down from the heights of the mountain, flows over two enormous, arm-like roots, and continues across the plain where it feeds the stream that runs through the graveyard. We all climb the massive tree.
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