I'm in a kitchen.
It's long and narrow. The style is 70s: fake brick walls.
May aunt is kneading dough. She has two clumps: one is white and gelatinous, the other looks like regular bread dough.
I ask her what she's doing and she explains she's making bread with deer fat. The white, gelatinous clump is the deer fat. She's making deer fat bread from a deer my cousin (her son) recently hunted down.
I look to my left. I can see into the living room. The deer is sprawled out on the couch--its hind legs stretched back. It's breathing rapidly. I see a wound on its right side--the wound is oozing a dark red/brown fluid.
My cousin enters the living room (where I am now standing), rubbing lotion into his hands. I ask him, "How long before you can kill the deer?" I feel horribly sad for the beast.
"Soon, but I gotta' keep 'em alive for now. I get the best juice out of 'em when they're still alive."
Suddenly the deer lurches to its feet and hobbles toward me. It continues on into the kitchen. I feel very strongly that this deer needs to be put out of its misery.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Sunday, January 5, 2014
January 3, 2014
I am at the Cherry Hill Mall in NJ. The mall has been merged with a hospital. I am walking through a large, open atrium; the floor is covered in white tile. As I near a section of offices, I leave the atrium and enter a hallway that is still quite large. Cobalt blue and white tiles cover the floor now. As I pass an office with an open door (on my left), a man inside beckons me to come in. He is wearing a light brown suit, and appears to be in his late sixties or early seventies. His skin has a light yellow tinge, he is slightly overweight, and his hair is a small white, untrimmed shrub. He and I discuss my job / career. I tell him about some of my frustrations and he encourages me to ignore what is not important, but to be true to myself. The phone rings and he answers it. He has a booming voice. I move to get up, but he gestures for me to stay. When he hangs up the phone, we discuss a few more things and then I leave.
In the hallway, I see a sign with symbols for male and female restrooms. I walk to the end of the hallway, where another hallway runs perpendicular to the one I was just in. Directly ahead of me, and extending the length of the new hallway, are enormous windows that let in a blinding amount of light. I'm still looking for the restroom, though. I turn back into the previous hallway and see a person open a door that has a special lock on it (one that requires a pass-card). I grab the door just before it closes and enter the room. This is the restroom I've been looking for...
I'm now walking through a new section of the facility. In a bright, large room I see a professor who has been working with my wife on a book on Langston Hughes. He seems preoccupied and when I approach him, he looks at me with squinted eyes and wrinkled brow, "I don't have time right now. Let's talk another day," he says and passes.
I am now in the hospital wing, which is also open and very bright. I want to leave, but for some reason I head toward the elevators. There is an open space where the elevators should be. There are several large squares of cobalt blue tiles arranged in rows on the floor. I step onto one. A black man steps partially onto the same square. The square begins moving down and the man becomes confused. The square stops moving and a person in a white gown approaches and asks us if we know how to ride in an elevator. The black man laughs and says something about this being unlike any elevator he's ever seen. The white-gowned person helps him to get onto the platform with me, and the elevator continues to move down...
I am leaving the hospital wing and headed back through the hallway with offices. As I pass the brown-suited man's office, he gestures for me to come in. When I enter, he holds up a multi-colored bathrobe that belongs to me. He wants to return it to me. I also ask him if it would be okay for us to chat some more. He says, "Sure. How about over a drink?" I agree to meet him in the cafeteria, which is in the large atrium.
In the atrium, I find a cafeteria sectioned off by ropes. An awning covers part of the seating area, which consists of round tables and chairs. I order a pizza for myself and join the man in the brown suit. He has my robe and returns it to me.
In the hallway, I see a sign with symbols for male and female restrooms. I walk to the end of the hallway, where another hallway runs perpendicular to the one I was just in. Directly ahead of me, and extending the length of the new hallway, are enormous windows that let in a blinding amount of light. I'm still looking for the restroom, though. I turn back into the previous hallway and see a person open a door that has a special lock on it (one that requires a pass-card). I grab the door just before it closes and enter the room. This is the restroom I've been looking for...
I'm now walking through a new section of the facility. In a bright, large room I see a professor who has been working with my wife on a book on Langston Hughes. He seems preoccupied and when I approach him, he looks at me with squinted eyes and wrinkled brow, "I don't have time right now. Let's talk another day," he says and passes.
I am now in the hospital wing, which is also open and very bright. I want to leave, but for some reason I head toward the elevators. There is an open space where the elevators should be. There are several large squares of cobalt blue tiles arranged in rows on the floor. I step onto one. A black man steps partially onto the same square. The square begins moving down and the man becomes confused. The square stops moving and a person in a white gown approaches and asks us if we know how to ride in an elevator. The black man laughs and says something about this being unlike any elevator he's ever seen. The white-gowned person helps him to get onto the platform with me, and the elevator continues to move down...
I am leaving the hospital wing and headed back through the hallway with offices. As I pass the brown-suited man's office, he gestures for me to come in. When I enter, he holds up a multi-colored bathrobe that belongs to me. He wants to return it to me. I also ask him if it would be okay for us to chat some more. He says, "Sure. How about over a drink?" I agree to meet him in the cafeteria, which is in the large atrium.
In the atrium, I find a cafeteria sectioned off by ropes. An awning covers part of the seating area, which consists of round tables and chairs. I order a pizza for myself and join the man in the brown suit. He has my robe and returns it to me.
January 1, 2014 (first dream of the new year)
I'm in a nondescript room looking in a mirror. Several large blisters are clustered on my left cheek; six large abscesses are aligned in two neat rows on my right cheek. Other people are with me--I do not recognize them, but they are there to comfort me and prepare me for the public (for the day). I apply a white ointment to my face and the people in the room with me reassure me everything will be fine.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)