new dream

i wandered away from some people i was with; there was more to the dream before this, but it’s gone.   i went outside, onto a large, square deck, moving toward the far left corner.   a heavy-set brunette woman, evidently a neighbor, who seemed familiar from the previous part of the dream, was some distance away, lower than the deck level, down a small hill, out toward the street.   she was grilling something.   she looked up at me, and we acknowledged each other’s presence without speaking.

i turned to my right, moving along the edge of the deck, sort of surveying the area around the deck, and i noticed a young girl, maybe 10 years old, unfamiliar to me, standing quietly on the far right corner of the deck.   she’d noticed me first, aware that i was moving toward her before i noticed her, and i approached her.   she seemed self-conscious. she had dark hair, carefully curled and arranged, and she wore an uncommon amount of makeup for a young girl, but it was very carefully applied; someone obviously took great care to make this girl appear “just so”.   she wore a black and white dress, and she was immaculate in every detail.   she seemed very shy, and only fleetingly met my gaze.   my observations came at a glance, taking only a moment.

as i was about to ask her who she was, where she came from, i heard the grilling lady address me, her voice coming over my shoulder, answering my unasked question, and i turned to look at her as she spoke.   she explained that the girl belonged to a new family, who’d just moved in to the house at the property adjacent to this side of the deck, gesturing toward it with her metal grilling spatula.   i turned back to the girl and introduced myself to her.   she seemed slightly more comfortable now, but she only nodded, still shy.   i looked over her head, through the branches of trees, down toward the property on that side of the deck, and noticed there were others, busy with some tasks.   among them were movers, bringing the family’s things inside.

i realized there were people all around me, in the branches of the trees immediately surrounding the deck.   i expanded my introduction of myself, directing my words toward the crowd surrounding me, “seated” like an audience in many tree branches.

as i spoke, i seemed to stop appearing as myself, becoming instead a clown.   rather, i didn’t “become” the clown; i remained myself, now portraying a clown character.   the comic nature of the clown character was that of a man portraying a female; that is, the “whole” of the character was realized in the minds of the audience by the combination of elements: a comic characterization of a woman, as obviously portrayed by a male clown, which was itself less obviously portrayed by my dream self: a man playing a male clown playing a woman.

i was costumed in a traditional interpretation of clowning, sort of a classic “sad” clown, more shabby than ludicrous, far more subtle than the stereotypical modern American clown.   my costume was directed more toward artistic intent than toward buffoonery, supporting the nature of the character.   though i never saw myself, i knew my face was made up.   my clothes were nothing elaborate, but they contained elements of both the sad clown and the female character which he portrayed.   it was as if i’d come to inhabit this character seamlessly, as i spoke, while the deck on which i was standing transformed, to serve the purpose of a stage without becoming one.   it remained a deck, but the boards inclined and leveled out, following the contours of a steep hill, which was itself surrounded by the trees of the audience.

continuing to speak, i added another layer of depth to the performance.   my words told a story, in the clown’s voice, about the female character which the clown portrayed.   this fictitious story was analagous to and paralleled true things about my dream self, like who “i” was and how “i” fit into this environment.   as i told the story i began to perform as the clown character, which in turn performed as the female character.   i danced a slow, comical ballet that was, by turns, purposely clumsy, to the audience’s amusement, and surprisingly, effortlessly deft, to their wonderment.   the audience seemed to enjoy my performance, and to appreciate / understand its multiple levels of depth.   my performance seemed to be having the desired effect; through it, the people in the audience seemed to accept and gain an understanding of me (that is, my dream self), and my (his) purpose.

as my performance continued, i began to defy physics and gravity.   i would spin impossibly slowly, or slowly descend floating from a leap, coming to rest so lightly on my feet that i seemed to weigh nothing, or ending in an improbably fluid series of tumbles.   no matter how impossible it seemed to recover from some movement, i always regained my composure, and it all seemed effortless.   my more complicated movements were connected smoothly by small, simple dance steps.   the dance demonstrated my words, its elements sometimes mirroring, sometimes comically contradicting their story, and i used both methods to communicate with the audience.

then i pushed off, executing another slow motion, gravity-defying leap, and unexpectedly found myself not descending, which alarmed me.   i grew nervous, and my story stopped, as i floated higher, no longer in control, out over the edge of the hill, where there was a steep drop.   suddenly i was very high up- too high!   but then, before my anxiety could become fear, i seemed to regain control of my motion.   i need not fall, but my performance was no longer effortless; i had to concentrate.   i literally swam through the air, and was relieved when i was back over the area of the hill i started from, and i willed myself to land.   i came to rest on the hill, in a position fully composed in the air: lying down, facing uphill, chest to the ground, elbows resting on a small mound, chin resting on hands.   as if nothing unplanned had taken place, i quietly spoke the final words of the story to the crowd.

then i realized my alarm was going off.

pretty cool dream

Christina Applegate and i were working together to preserve the integrity of the timeline, so the “correct” future would come to pass. we were new friends, thrown together by circumstance, who’d grown close quickly. Christina seemed to be part of a large quasi-military organization, which appeared only tangentally, but our mutual goal was personal, outside of that context. the future we were trying to preserve seemed to be represented by a very complex piece of music; everything hinged on its survival. we both had an understanding of the piece, but Christina’s was comprehensive, and it existed in its entirety only in her mind.

working counter to our purposes was Aaron Eckhart (the actor who played Harvey Dent/Two Face in “The Dark Night”). he was infatuated with Christina. his complete obsession with her (which included jealousy of our relationship) led him to oppose the “correct” future, in which she belonged to someone else. he confronted us while we were deciding what to do next, and threatened to use a device which could “negate” possible futures by permanently “erasing” elements of the present. the elements to be erased by this unseen device seemed to be controlled by his thoughts, so its effects were therefore limited by his knowledge. it was unspoken but conveyed that he would even erase Christina if necessary- if he couldn’t have her, he’d make sure no one else would either. this gave her/us an advantage, as erasing her was a last resort, and she held the key to our success. our desire to preserve the timeline was independent of any ramifications for either of us personally.

realizing that the entire future depended on this piece of music, which would cease to exist if she were erased, Christina and i used a device to transcribe it, directly from her mind. suddenly i was looking over her shoulder at the sheet music in her hands. below the title “Tapis Rouge” was a dauntingly complex score, continued on multiple pages. we both stood still and stared at it for a moment, absorbing what this accomplishment meant: a physical copy of the music, unknown to the Eckhart, that would survive to preserve the timeline, even if he activated his device. as it sunk in, Christina was overjoyed, and threw her arms around me to hug me. i’d felt a great deal of relief, but that was quickly overshadowed by happiness for her as i was caught up in her enthusiasm.

Christina left the music with me, and rushed off to return to her official duties. i became aware that her romantic interest- the man Echkart was truly jealous of- was her professional peer. he was somewhat awkward, unsure of himself, and he wore thick glasses. i watched as they approached each other in a hallway, while various others dressed in like, grey uniforms went about their business. Christina exchanged a few words with him surreptitiously, seeming not to want to draw the others’ attention. this seemed to reinforce his impression that he had no chance for a relationship with her. they parted company in opposite directions. Christina couldn’t follow through with it, and she called out to him, and they rushed back to each other and embraced. she caught my eye over his shoulder and smiled at me, then (very strangely!) seemed to notice something about one of her fingernails, and started inspecting it, still hugging him. i was close enough to see it was bright white and shaped very oddly, like a spade from a deck of cards, but flat across the top instead of coming to a point. (this seemed as strange to me in the dream as it does now writing this.)

Christina and her man finally parted company for real, and she returned to her duties, entering a huge room that resembled a barn, to my right. the place had weathered, exposed beams everywhere, a high, peaked roof, and straw on the floor. there were bales of hay around, and rough wooden crates. it was crawling with people, working individually or in small groups, with different kinds of equipment that all looked very technical...i didn’t understand anything about what they were doing.

at the far end of this room was Echkart. he approached and confronted her angrily, and she walked away from him. i had a feeling something bad was about to happen and i started to cross the room toward him. Christina passed me, on her way out. Eckhart said something bitter and final and activated his erasing device- literally plugging in the power cord. i turned on my heel toward Christina and saw a wave of vanishing; i could mark its progress by disappearing people and equipment, from the far end of the room toward me. Christina saw it too, and started to turn to face me, but didn’t complete the move before she was erased. the wave passed over me without affecting me, and i turned to follow its progress. it ended with Eckart, who was himself erased. i was alone in this huge and now basically empty room. stunned, i turned back toward the door and saw a piece of tubing and a few other components, the surviving remnants of the transciption device we’d used, lying on a crate. i crossed the room toward it and there, at the base, was the hard copy of “Tapis Rouge”.

short dream

i was with Loren, and we were with a larger group that seems very indistinct now. there was a dark-haired girl there, someone who’d done Loren a serious wrong. we three seemed to separate from a larger group. Loren was concentrating on how to punish the girl, working out how to carry out a confrontation that seemed inevitable. he was going to kill her. she was never far from us, moving around, seeming to busy herself with small tasks, at a refrigerator, and moving from this room to that. she kept a sort of respectful distance while remaining close enough to eavesdrop. she was fully aware of the wrong she’d done, of Loren’s plan to confront her, of me; she was aware of everything. resigned to meeting whatever destiny Loren chose- to dealing with the consequences of her mistake- she seemed both curious to learn what would happen next and indifferent to what was happening.

Loren seemed inclined to confront her with a knife. as this became clear to me, it seemed a previously unperceived element of “support” for the girl sprang into action. there was a bustle in the household, which now seemed to be the girl’s territory, as people prepared for the coming confrontation. i moved through the house, watching these preparations. someone produced a small handgun. i found myself beside a headless, female-proportioned mannequin, very like the ones dressmakers use, which wore a set of Japanese-looking bamboo body armor. each of the stalks was very thin- larger than a pencil but smaller than a pinky finger. the assembly of them was painted, mostly black with green highlights. someone test-fired the gun at the mannequin. i was certain the armor would fail in a burst of splinters, but the bullets- three of the them- did less damage than i expected. each left a neat, round impact “crater”. the girl’s “staff” seemed to conclude that the armor would barely suffice. the armor seemed to be intended for the girl in the coming confrontation.

moving to find Loren, i saw the girl, sitting sprawled on the floor in a small, square kitchen, her legs an improbable tangle, her back against plain wooden cupboards, below a white porcelain sink. above the sink was an uncovered window, through which twilight gave the room a low, blue glow. the girl’s position seemed awkward, but she made no effort to move. i noticed she wore only a plain, thin shift. continuing on, i brought news of the gun and the bamboo armor to Loren, who was now working out his plan on paper, in a sort of storyboard. i stood over the table he worked at, and discussed how this change in circumstances required rethinking his plan. i erased, somewhat ineffectively, what he had on the page, as i explained the circumstances to him. i did so plainly but also gently, trying to break news i judged to be problematic and unwelcome. i left the outer box he’d drawn around his plan- literally the “outline”, and surrendered the pencil back to him, and i watched him, interested to see how he’d proceed.

then Loren’s mother was there. she inserted herself into the situation bluntly, her loud entrance drawing Loren’s attention, as intended. she approached him, moving behind his chair, grasped his shoulders and leaned in close, addressing him directly. she’d obviously assimilated the new information i brought, and her words to Loren pressured him in no uncertain terms to proceed along a course she thought best. i was disheartened by her approach, but didn’t interfere, choosing to hold my tongue while Loren contemplated how to move forward. all this took only a few seconds, and Loren seemed to take it all in quietly, taking no action immediately, not even looking up from his plan. as his mother spoke, his attention seemed focused on me, as if he heard what she said, but hadn’t finished the train of thought from the last change in circumstance. halfheartedly, he redrew some of the lines he’d drawn previously, reluctant to change course, and knowing he must. he drew a “thought bubble” around the entire box, and looked up at me, indicating- first to himself and then to me- that he would continue to think about his previous plan, that he reserved the right to revisit it later.

the scene changed. i was outside in a hilly field on what seemed like a game preserve. it was evident to me that the place was undergoing a change- the animals could not stay. three animals seemed particularly important to me. they were quite varied in anatomy, and all a bit different than anything i’ve seen before, but they seemed quite normal to me at the time. most striking about them was their coloring. each of them was spotted haphazardly, like a cheetah or leopard, black spots on white. strangely, every irregular black spot was surrounded by a ring of lime green. the animals seemed rare, possibly endangered, and the question of what to do with them occupied others present as well.

i stood beside a cart, sort of a cross between a jeep and a golf cart, which was colored like the odd animals. one of the three animals, very dog-like, sat on the ground next to me, and i scratched it behind the ears, while interacting with various people. they asked me questions, and i pointed them off in one direction or another, but whatever was actually going on, i was involved, but not in charge.

i was approached by a girl who was looking for Yogi Bear. people were calling out for him. turning around, facing in the general direction they were calling, where a low hill obscured my view to the left. the base of the hill became a small grassy area, ending at the bank of a stream, which wound from right to left, disappearing behind the hill. as i watched, Yogi skipped out from behind the hill, fully cartoon-like amid a perfectly real-looking landscape. he was in a good mood, and- strangely- as he bounced toward those looking for him, the pupils of his eyes spun around the whites randomly, a cartoon representation of the eyes sometimes seen on stuffed animals, the ones with a little black ball free to move inside a rounded, hollow disk.

another long dream

i was attending an event with (my brother-in-law) Jason and a group of others (seeming to include my family, though none ever appeared in the dream). the highlight of the event would be a concert by Heart. Jason and i were in the lobby of our hotel, near the elevators. we were talking as we made our way toward our rooms. Jason asked me if i’d been awakened by the huge black snake. when it was clear i had no idea what he was talking about, he explained that he’d been awakened himself by a thrashing sound emanating from behind the wall of his suite’s bathroom. investigating, he decided it was probably something in the plumbing and, following the noise, finally caught a glimpse of a huge black snake (he estimated about 100 lbs) passing through the sewage pipe connection at the base of the toilet. as Jason was describing this to me, it was as though i could see everything happening, through his eyes. he thought it might be stuck or something, and didn’t think he could catch or kill it, but he thought he might be able to make it move on, so he prodded it with something long, through the toilet. i think he was successful in getting it to move along through the pipe. then i was back in my own body and, considering the described events, decided it wasn’t too unusual that i hadn’t heard anything, as this had all taken place a fair distance from my suite, and i’m a heavy sleeper.

there was a related, pre-concert event taking place in the hotel. there were a bunch of small, round, black tables set up with chairs (black wrought-iron with filigreed backs), each containing a pad of paper, on which the people present could plan their wardrobe. standing alone at one of the tables, i began putting pencil to paper, and it seemed to function magically: you could write what you wanted to wear, and you were wearing it. discovering this, it seemed like i no longer needed to write, only to touch the tip of the pencil to paper while thinking of my choice, and whatever clothing i imagined would instantly appear on my body. at this point i realized i was wearing a shirt, but no pants- which briefly made me (very mildly) self-conscious. i was aware that there were a few others huddled in pairs or small groups at other tables, working with their own pads (most of them women, incidentally, and seeming to enjoy this whole process), and quickly concluded that, standing close to my own table, it was unlikely anyone would notice my temporary lack of pants. there were choices supplied on the paper, and i chose something resembling burgundy painter’s pants, briefly surveying their hem at my sneakers, but as soon as i saw them i instantly wondered why i’d deviate from my perfectly acceptable “standard uniform”, and again touched pencil to paper, avoiding any supplied choices, switching to a pair of Levi’s. satisfied, i turned my attention to my surroundings.

the large room resembled nothing so much as a bistro, sans brightly-colored tablecloths. there was an area separated from the rest by a knee-high wrought iron fence, behind which Heart was finishing the last song of a short showcase set. it didn’t seem strange to me that i hadn’t heard music or noticed them as i mulled over clothing choices. i wandered a bit closer to the band, choosing a table to lean against. the song ended, and it seemed to me that the material they were presenting at this showcase was unfamiliar. there was a smattering of appreciative applause from the few people present...it was all very relaxed and low-key. Ann Wilson put her microphone back in the stand and, to my surprise, caught my eye, approaching me casually. she was friendly despite not seeming to know me. as we talked about nothing in particular, Nancy Wilson approached me unseen and hugged me tightly from behind, completely surprising me. she seemed as though she knew me well and was quite happy to see me, which also didn’t seem strange to me. i crossed my arms over hers (at my chest) and sort of bent over at the waist, pulling her off her feet and onto my back, and sort of bounced her gently up and down a bit as we exchanged some words.

then were were walking outside, kind of wandering around the area nearby but apart from the venue, and i realized we were in eastern Washington, a place resembling the Gorge, but different. i sat down on a hill overlooking the river. Nancy parked herself on the hill to my left. as she started to lean back on her hands, her right hand nearly landed on my sneakered foot, but i moved it quickly, apologizing (unnecessarily) for being in her way. i wanted to be sure she didn’t think i was crowding her, but she was unconcerned. this brief moment was the only point at which i felt remotely self-conscious; throughout our exchanges, the Wilson sisters were very relaxed and casual.

across the river on the far bank were some buildings, most of which were separated from the water by tall chain link fences. our side of the river was all open land, but the far side brought to mind a smallish, old waterfront town. one large, old, Colonial-style house sat on the opposite side of those chain link fences, enjoying access to the river denied the nearby buildings. Nancy explained that the place was privately owned, and had been there a long time. she said it would retain its privileged position as long as the ownership didn’t change hands, and it seemed to me the (unknown, unseen) owners wouldn’t do that lightly. as i was commenting that it was a fantastic spot to see concerts at this venue (incongruously as, from my vantage point, the actual venue was nowhere to be seen), Ann joined us, sitting down on the hill on Nancy’s other side.

my gaze moved to our side of the river, along the steep, undeveloped hills of the river gorge. the area closest to us differed from most of the topography of the area, being mostly covered in light-colored sand, and the top of the ridge held a dense line of thick pine trees. as i was looking at the trees they suddenly dropped, en masse, a large part of their needles, a green wave that roiled and rained down to the sand, kicking up a huge cloud of dust and rolling down the hill. the whole thing moved in slow motion, and as it settled i noticed figures appearing throughout the mass, tiny little people being tumbled along in the wave, eventually poking their heads out and shaking themselves off, as the mass came to a stop. they didn’t seem to mind at all.

i indicated my astonishment at the whole scene, but the Wilson sisters seemed to take it all in stride. i commented that i figured i must not be used to seeing pine trees, explaining that i’d grown up on the east coast, where they’re not as prevalent as hardwoods (which brought to mind a brief image of using fine hardwood to build guitars). i knew this explanation was overly simplistic, but it seemed sufficient to make the point that this area and phenomenon was completely foreign to me. as i finished talking, the trees repeated their needle-dropping wave, and we all watched it play out, again in slow-motion, right down to noticing the tiny little people tumbling and emerging at the end. as all came to rest once more, Ann commented that this motion was where the term “crash and burn” came from, and though i’d never known this, i knew instantly that she was right. i joked that, considering the overall motion, and the way the tiny people seemed to get pounded at the end of the ride, maybe the term should have been “burn and crash”. all three of us immediately “got” the unintended pun and laughed: “burning” (some marijuana) and “crashing” (falling asleep). Nancy vocalized what we were all thinking.

as we sat on the hillside, it grew dark. random geometric patterns of yellow concert lighting played across the far bank of the river, moving across the land and buildings and on the low clouds (the first indication that the aforementioned concert venue was actually present here in some form).

then it was day, and i was standing on a concrete patio, by a railing. Heart was working out their set list, deciding what to play at their show. i was kind of just hanging out, not really involved, and not really paying much attention. someone broached the subject of my playing a song with them during their encore, and Nancy approached me, asking me if i played music (which, incidentally, indicates that although others had known she’d been unaware). i answered, simultaneously proud of the work involved and aware of how unremarkable the experience actually is, that i’ve played for 26 years, more than 10 of them in groups. the group floated different ideas of songs on which i could join them on the encore, and while the idea sounded fun (and i pictured myself onstage doing it), and though i felt confident i could fake my way through some of their more well-known material, i wasn’t really eager to join them onstage. i was flattered to be asked, and i would have loved to join them, but i considered being included an unnecessary friendly gesture, and felt i’d detract from their performance unless i knew the material better.

the scene changed again, and i was looking for a good place to settle in and watch Heart, who were now onstage performing the actual concert. it was a bright, sunny day, and the outdoor venue was immense, big enough to walk in freely despite a huge crowd. the ground was flat, and there were no chairs. people were variously standing and watching the show or walking around, many of them carrying clear plastic cups of beer. i found a spot i liked, the plywood sound gear platform in the middle, where i could sit on the edge. there were some other people sitting there already, back from the edge a ways, and i sat down somewhat tentatively, not sure if i’d be blocking their view, prepared to move if anyone complained. no one did.

as i turned my attention to the show, i occasionally felt something bumping lightly against the top of my head. it seemed strange, and i hardly noticed at first, but it became more persistent. i finally looked up to see a little bundle, consisting of (strangely) a cat and a little branch, both held in a ridiculously huge hand at the end of the outstretched arm of an enormous man off to my right. seemingly uninterested in the show, he was holding this little bundle over my head and bopping me with it, trying to annoy me. it worked. he continued to hold his bundle over my head (though he’d stopped bopping me with it) and made no effort to conceal what he’d done, appearing to want me to confront him about it, and i did- which appeared to gratify him somewhat. he made some rude comments to me, including something about my inability to stop him from doing whatever he wanted to me, basically daring me to do something about it. he was right about that; i had no illusions that i could physically force this guy to stop, and i considered just moving along, but i liked this spot, and i was angry. i took a step toward him, poking him hard in the chest and expressing my annoyance. this only amused him, and he verbally antagonized me some more, including making a rude comment about how difficult it must be for me to satisfy women with so small a penis. our exchange continued for a short time, until i concluded the jerk posed no real threat. as he was most interested in annoying me, i began ignoring him and turned my attention back to the show.

immediately i skipped forward to some point after the show. i was walking along with (a previously unseen, imaginary, male) friend, recounting my experiences at this event. many others seemed to be making their way along the sidewalks toward their cars or hotels, etc., and we walked along talking, passing shops and various things. i bummed my friend a cigarette and lit it for him. he stopped and talked for a moment to a guy in an overcoat leaning up against a chain link fence, and we continued on our way. looking down the side streets, i saw a canal, and realized that if we’d come to water, we’d passed our turn-off. alerting my friend to this, i headed down the side street, crossing the canal to backtrack the short distance to the hotel.

it was at this point that my neighbor’s fully annoying, perennially ignored, ceaselessly barking dog woke me up.

short dream

i was in my living room. Loren was sitting on the couch, doing something with his laptop. there was a young brunette girl present, maybe 10 years old, who seemed to belong, as if we were familiar with each other. since i can't place her, i assume she was imaginary. she was trying to set up a computer in my den, an old one i had lying around that i'd given her. she needed assistance, so i started helping her.

soon she needed some information from a CD, which she retrieved from Loren in the living room, but she was unable to get the computer to read the data from it. i took the CD and checked it out. it was a typical silver-faced writable CD, and the (non-factory) markings on it were in pencil, which is unusual. the pencil markings had worn off to a large degree, and some were obscured, scratched out with more pencil marks. i could make out fragments of writing, presumably telling what was supposed to be on the CD, and though i recognized my own handwriting (all capital letters, in this case), i couldn't make heads or tails of it, and i don't remember what those fragments were now. so i tried to read from the disc.

the contents were corrupted so i tried some more things, eventually discovering that the disc contained the fragmented remains of image files. a little more tinkering and i was able to start displaying them. rather than loading the whole image before displaying, the pictures were painted progressively, much as they are on progressively-encoded images downloaded through slower internet connections. strangely, rather than rendering full rows of pixels from the top down, the images were rendered in a progressively larger block which grew from the top left corner toward the bottom right.

as i watched the display of the first image progress, the first thing i could make out were the backs of two people's heads, in greyscale. on the right was a woman's, the left a man's. the woman's head was inclined affectionately toward and touching the man's. she had long, light-colored hair, drawn back in a pony tail; he had short dark hair, disheveled in a way that's somewhat common among male models. as the visible area of the image progressed, i could see, further to the right, the back of another man's head, similar to the first, and that both men were wearing shirts, and that the woman was shirtless, her back bare. the second man was leaned in affectionately toward the woman, and both men had the arm closest to her around her waist. at this point the image reminded me of an old Calvin Klein or Jordache jeans ad, depicting a calm, basically benign (as opposed to pornographic) but obviously suggestively amorous scene involving three people.

as the bottom of the image kept expanding, i could make out two more figures, these closer to the camera, another man and woman. the man was mostly obscured, as he was bent over at the woman's waist, removing the woman's jeans, which were part way down her thighs. the woman was (again) viewed from behind, and she was leaning on the man, steadying herself while he undressed her. the woman's back and buttocks were bare, and her backside was hideously skinny, resembling that of a concentration camp prisoner or some other victim of starvation, to the point where bones were visible beneath her skin.

the display of the image reached the bottom before it reached the right edge, and the remainder of the picture continued to fill in with vertical columns of pixels proceeding from the left. first revealed here was another man, farther from the camera than any of the others, dressed in similar fashion to the rest, reaching out, toward...another woman, this one fully clothed, the only figure represented facing the camera. she was recoiling from his grasp, with a terrified look on her face, as if the picture was snapped just as she turned to flee.

having finished painting this image to the screen the computer moved on to the next. slowly revealed, in the normal manner, with successive rows of pixels added from the top down, was an alien beach, at night. the sky was completely black, and the water (which seemed like an ocean) was also black, fading into sky at the horizon, each indistinguishable from the other except close to shore. the sand on the beach was a deep maroon, or a dark purple, like garnet sand, and on the beach stood an abstract sculpture, about the size of a man, which i might best describe as resembling an extrusion of some shiny, yellow metal, originally about 1' square in cross-section, about 6' in length, placed upright in the sand, and squished, or bent, or twisted in different places, to remove any regularity the shape once held, much as if it was putty formed by hand. all the contours were rounded widely, its cavities enshadowed, its curves gleaming in light from an unseen source...truly abstract.

looking at this scene, i became aware i was no longer viewing the picture on a monitor, but actually there, and though my point of view seemed to be from the beach itself, i was hearing the scene described by an unseen narrator, which drew my attention as i listened.

the narrator described a noble bird: a large, dark-feathered bird of prey, and as the voice spoke i became aware of the bird approaching the sculpture before me. the narrator described how the bird traveled space, between worlds, on some great, eternal mission i cannot now remember. the bird seemed to be judging something about the inhabitants of this alien world, and approached the sculpture. though the bird gave no outward indication of such, the narrator indicated that the bird found the inhabitants lacking. in the good-natured, optimistic tone often present in narration of nature programs, the narrator suggested that a resolution to their problem might yet exist for these alien people, to be found in the future.

then the narrator intoned that even this great bird needed sustenance, and as i watched, the bird moved away from the sculpture, on foot down the shore. i followed it off to the right, watching as it eventually picked up a small, perfectly spherical stone in its beak. the stone was the exact color of the beach sand. the narrator had fallen silent, allowing the 'audience' to take the scene in on its own. the bird, taking a few steps toward the water, dropped its chin and flung the stone in, and it skipped on the surface a couple times before sinking. another small, black bird, much smaller than the first, emerged from under the water with its prize, walking out of the surf onto the beach, dropping the stone in the sand, calmly settling down on the beach over it, as if the stone were food and it was preparing to eat it. the narrator's voice returned, explaining again in words what i watched unfold: the first bird slowly walked to the second, and bent to deliver (what the narrator explained was) a precisely placed, painless, mortal wound (which involved smoothly removing, with its beak, a good-sized chunk of the smaller bird, at the join between wing and back) that would allow the smaller bird to die peacefully before being consumed, its attention focused all the while on its small stone prize, as its life ebbed away, and the larger bird waited patiently.

more dreams

had a dream as close to a nightmare as i ever have last night. it actually woke me up at 4:30 AM, something dreams almost never do.

i was hangin' out with Loren, and we got into some long, involved discussion about something. before i knew it, we'd spent all night talking and it was 6 AM- on a school day. i felt really bad for being irresponsible enough to keep him up all night, and sorry for setting him up for a hard day at school, but i still wanted him to go. at first he seemed game, but kept finding ways to wriggle around getting ready, while time ticked away. i tried to keep refocusing him on it, but he kept deflecting it somehow; sometimes he managed to distract me, sometimes made himself scarce but screwed around instead of getting ready...i couldn't seem to get him moving.

i was getting angry with him, but i also knew that i'd presented him with the problem by keeping him up all night, and he was probably really tired. i figured he really wanted to skip school and get some sleep, but didn't want to come out and contradict me. it was only natural that he didn't want to go to school, and i didn't want to really lay into him. i knew he was in for a hard day already, and i didn't want to make it worse right off the bat, especially not immediately following all the time we'd just enjoyed. (i find it interesting how easily i compartmentalized the school day and the time that passed before, as if we'd crossed some arbitrary line, like a border into a new place with different governing rules.)

i tried reasoning with him, telling him he was at the very limit of absences before he started losing credit for classes (which was true in the dream and has often been true in reality, which is both frustrating and mostly beyond my control) and also why, in the dream, i felt so strongly about him going in the first place. i apologized for keeping him up all night, but explained that it didn't change anything. i tried telling him how little time we had left before we had to go. nothing was getting us any closer to leaving. finally i confronted him in his room and bluntly ordered him into the shower, immediately. the direct approach brought on an argument. (i should mention that Loren's developed some pretty respectable debating skills, and he can be surprisingly effective when his objective is to obfuscate an issue, or keep a subject on the table, or avoid complying with instructions.) by now it was 8 AM, and he was already half an hour late for school. i managed to coerce him into the bathroom, but i couldn't get him into the shower.

it finally boiled down to having to physically impose my will on him to enforce my authority. but how do you force a 16 year old to take a shower? in the dream, my answer was to punch him in the chest, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to do any real damage. it didn't work. a couple more equally-half-hearted attempts at manhandling him didn't work either. by this time i was getting angry. Loren was digging in his heels, prepared for a war. the next thing i knew, i had both hands on his face and i was digging my fingers into his cheeks, distorting his face into a disturbing shape, while he did nothing to resist, and his eyes displayed a completely flat aspect. he gave no ground, no reaction...completely passive resistance. and i snapped awake.

i looked at the clock, rolled over, and went back to sleep, and had a completely different dream, which was more oblique and less unsettling.

this time i was watching some movie footage with Loren, in a living room with the exact same configuration as mine, but larger. it was basically a war movie, something we were both enjoying. i've seen it before, and it seemed like Loren may have, too. while i was giving Loren some background about how it was made, my parents wandered in and settled in the room, listening to me, so i included them in the conversation. i backed the film up so they could see the particular scene i was talking about. the set for the scene was a monumental undertaking of earth work, a huge battlefield with tons of period-specific heavy machinery and hundreds of soldiers, complete with a long, winding river running through it, various plumes of smoke rising from the hills all around, etc. the action of battle was over, and troops were on the move. all of this was recreated in exacting detail on a sound stage, and i was explaining the logistics of this to everyone. (this is interesting, from a real-world perspective, because large groups of soldiers and the presence of bodies of water are recurring themes in my dreams, and in this dream, though they weren't represented in first-person terms they appeared on a TV screen, and the dream events transpired in such a way as to allow me to back this part up and replay it.)

eventually the dream scene changed, and the movie gave way to footage of Joe Satriani playing music, live. (this is probably a dream reference to some youtube footage i was watching before i went to bed last night.) in the dream, my father was standing on the stairs, impressed by a particular song. i was surprised at this, since it's out of character for my dad to enjoy that particular type of music. while i was talking with him about it, my mom came in and asked me to move my truck (as opposed to my SUV, which is only interesting because the truck's actually dead with battery issues in my driveway at the moment) as rearranging the cars in their driveway would allow both her and my father to get out later, without having to jockey the cars around.

then the alarm went off and i was up, to see a rather chilly but gloriously sunny morning :)

add a little coffee and it's a reasonably pleasant start to some job hunting.

wierd dream: interpretations welcome

i'm in the living room of a well-appointed house i've never seen, decorated in a style that reminds me somewhat of an ex-girlfriend's parents. it's night, there are a few lamps on, and i'm making my way across the room to the far corner, where i enter a bathroom, filled with blue-green light, pretty dim. someone, evidently one of my sisters, is taking a shower, and my parents are asleep in the next room. there's a short exchange of words in hushed 'don't-wake-up-the-parents' tones, and i want to get out of the bathroom. as i'm leaving i look down and notice some clothes on the floor, including some shoes and a couple black lace bras. for some reason i understand that these belong to my mother. i turn to go, and somehow one of these bras is hooked around my arm at the crook of my elbow. i can't figure out how it appeared there, but it has to go. as i'm removing it i notice it's ridiculously large. i fold it as carefully as someone who knows nothing about folding a bra can, and place it with the others, and leave.

as i re-enter the living room, a rather surprisingly plump and cherubic Christina Ricci- who looks about 12 yrs old- is having a conversation with a black man who evidently has some sort of super powers. he's trying to convince her that she needs to make use of her own powers; she's insisting that she doesn't need to use hers to go after bad guys. their conversation is also taking place in hushed tones and they don't seem to notice me.

suddenly i'm high in the air, looking down, over the shoulder of the black super-powered man, who's 'superhero costume' is a clown suit, predominantly yellow. he's levitating in a stationary position over some clouds, i'm above and behind him, slightly to his right. through a break in the clouds i can see city streets. from this i can tell we're about a thousand feet up. it's all bright and sunshiny.

suddenly i'm seeing Reginald VelJohnson, the actor who played the junk-food eating cop in the movie Die Hard. he's sitting at a dead stop in traffic, at night, in a police uniform, and he's in a hurry. he strikes the steering wheel of his car with the open palm of his hand, losing his patience, yelling, "Come on!" i realize i'm looking at this from beside him, in my own car, stuck in the same traffic.

somehow a path forward opens to me, and i take it, leaving Reginald behind. the 'bad guy' we're both evidently chasing is up ahead. i punch the gas. the roads are cleared out, the bad guy's speeding ahead recklessly with me on his tail. the road narrows to a couple lanes, and he just barely clips the corner of a chain-link fence, taking a 90-degree right hand turn. i take the corner better than he does, and gain some ground. the chain-link fence is flashing past us on the right. there's a white tractor trailer ahead in the right lane. the bad guy darts into the left lane to pass, i follow him. i'm right on his tail. the road ahead takes another sharp right turn; the bad guy jumps back into the right lane, i do likewise, he takes the corner with me right on his bumper- the road turns immediately to the left and dead-ends. the bad guy swings it wildly to the left, i skid around the corner behind him, and he plows into a dumpster in the closed-off area behind a building, i screech to a halt, blocking the exit. he jumps out of his car, i do too. i get a look at my ride, it's a large mid-70s sedan, looks like a cross between a Monte Carlo and a Cadillac.

next thing i know the bad guy's on the ground, and i'm on top of him with my knee in his collarbone. i've got a handful of the hair on the top of his head in my right hand, and my left hand balled up in a fist. he's not struggling. i release the hair. there's no doubt in my mind i can pound him at will. Reginald The Cop arrives on the scene in his car, followed by Christina Ricci in hers (evidently she's old enough to drive?). the whole back lot of this place is bathed in yellow-green sodium-vapor industrial lighting. Reginald convinces me to let the guy up; i stifle the urge to smack the bad guy's head against the pavement and i stand up, leaving him on the ground. Reginald packs him into his car, as Ricci does something with the trunk of her car. they exchange words, and she gets in Reginald's car and they drive off. that's when i notice there's a blonde girl on the scene, with her own car, a red, late 70s Mustang convertible.

she's a pretty girl with blonde, curly, shoulder-length hair, dressed in a very 80s fashion, including a red blazer. we leave together.

suddenly the two of us are driving on a bright sunny day, through what i took for Emerald Hills in Edmonds, though the streets were somewhat different. she's wondering which way to go, and paying surprisingly little attention to the actual task of driving. she's so relaxed she's slumped far down in the seat, so far that i wonder how she can see the road. she's leaning toward me in the passenger seat, and she asks me which way to go. we're at a 5-way intersection (that doesn't exist in Emerald Hills) and i can see a short bridge leading toward "town" (i can see the sign of a Burger King), as well as a few other directions we could turn. i'm not exactly sure where we're headed, and a bit unsure of exactly how to proceed, so i pick the next street to the right of the bridge, and we take it. it leads to a place that's a direct mix between the ferry-terminal/Main Street/Sunset Beach intersection in Edmonds (as it existed before they rebuilt the ferry terminal) and the Marina area of South Lake Union in Seattle, but it's located in downtown Edmonds. the road i chose merges onto a roundabout around a fountain (which isn't really there), and we drive along. as we reach the far side, she comes perilously close to hitting a police car, but the cop doesn't seem to notice, or mind. we take a right turn and start heading up the hill toward the shops along the main drag. she seems to be getting worse at driving, at one point nearly driving into the corner of a building, which i prevent by grabbing the wheel and steering us back on the road. i ask her if she wants me to drive. she declines, but sits up and seems to take the driving a bit more seriously.

suddenly we're walking together, at night again, in a deserted building that could be a museum, or an art gallery...something like that. the lights are all off and it's dead quiet, the place is obviously closed. (it reminds me, now, of something out of a John Hughes movie.)  the brightest thing in the room is one of those long wave-making machines behind plexiglass, which is internally lit and has food-coloring-blue water in it, and is turned on and working. it takes up a whole long wall of a large room. we're just strolling along it, talking. at the far end of the room we come to a passage that's sort of a narrow, zig-zaggy hallway. the entrance is a few feet off the floor, and we have to climb up into it to walk down it. it takes random twists and turns, and is lit by overhead lights at odd intervals, so that our path alternates between light and darkness. periodically there are alcoves off to the sides, with things i'm not noticing in them; i'm involved in the conversation- or maybe more precisely involved in having the conversation with the girl, since i can't remember what we talked about. at one point one of the alcoves ahead is basically a bathtub, filled with water, with a young woman giggling softly in it, and a young man climbing into it. my companion and i find this amusing and try to pass as unobtrusively as possible. we soon exit the far side of the passage, into something that reminds me of a mall. i cross the ground to the girl, who strikes me as unpretentious and is incredibly lovely. i put my arms around her and touch my forehead to hers, and we stand there silently for a few moments, then she pushes me away.

she tells me i don't understand, and parts her blazer with her hands, placing them on her stomach. she's wearing a loose-fitting green knit top, but she pushes it down onto her stomach as she's speaking, and as she does, i notice her slight belly-bulge- she's pregnant. she's obviously into me, and she's tearing up, upset about telling me this, thinking i'm going to react badly. she turns away and walks toward a wall, putting her forehead against it and starting to cry softly. i close the distance, put my arm around her back, and she does the classic, wordless "i don't want you to touch me or see me like this but i really do need to be comforted" thing. i ask her how far along she is, and she tells me almost 12 weeks. (it occurs to me now that i have no idea how pregnant a girl looks at 12 weeks, and if what just occured is even possible.)

CUT to a new scene. i'm with the same girl, but it's all changed. we're making out on a desk in a home-office of some house, and everything's happening more quickly, the overall tone is more fast-paced and comedic. i'm on my back and she's lying on me. the place is a mess, all unorganized, loose papers everywhere. we seem to be messing it up even more. Christina Ricci is suddenly back; she walks in and pulls something from a file cabinet adjacent to the desk we're using, dead-panning some particularly sardonic comment (which i don't catch) in a typically Ricci-esque manner, then she's gone. soon my blonde friend jumps up, upset with me for something. her clothes are different- evidently some time has passed- and i have no idea what the hell is going on; i'm still surprised to find myself in this new scene. she says something to me, somewhat bitterly, and leaves the room. i hop down off the desk and follow her. she turns to me in the next room and says, "i saw you take the shoes." (...ok...?)  i gather that our behavior (both of ours) has become more and more crazy and random over time, and she tells me that she saw me surreptitiously exchange my somewhat-worn pair of sneakers for an identical pair that looked brand new (somewhere previously) which didn't belong to me. i don't remember doing this, but i don't think she's wrong, and i don't argue. i'm a little ashamed of myself. she's very upset by my actions and she's about to leave.

CUT to a new scene. i'm in a large hall, resembling a huge gymnasium. Barack Obama is onstage to my right, giving some kind of pep rally, and the place is packed. the house lights are down. i'm alone, wandering around the floor, looking around. mostly people are paying attention to the stage; no one notices me and i don't feel out of place. there's music playing. on the far side of the gymnasium are bleachers, also packed. i decide to make my way up there and find a seat toward the top/back. as i'm nearing the very top, approaching a section that's mostly black people, dressed in shiny, choir-esque robes in different pastel colors, with leis of yellow flowers around their necks, they all suddenly stand up, and start to crowd surf some guy down the bleachers. i get caught up in this- i'm lifted off my feet- the crowd around the whole place notices what's happening in the bleachers, and they start to react in a panic- and at the exact moment that i'm (VERY quickly) crowd surfed down the bleachers (which was fun!), Barack's voice booms over the P.A.: "STOP! it's alright!"...and evidently it's part of the show. everyone relaxes and takes their seats again. i'm back down on the floor. some music starts up, some sort of crossover contemporary pop/R&B thing, and there's suddenly room on the floor for dancing. the couples are doing some wierd, choreographed square-dance/waltz-type hybrid thing, and nearly every couple is an older middle-aged person dancing with a pre-teen kid.  low-rent disco lights, like something out of a high school dance, make multi-colored spots revolve around the room, playing across the dancers and everything else. i'm conspicuously alone and uninvolved, in the middle of the dancing, so i'm trying to get out of everyone's way. i finally manage to get to the edge of the floor, and take up a position at the end of the bleachers, where i lean against the end of a railing, and turn to watch the crowd for a moment.

i hear a voice address me, and turn back around to see my blonde female companion sitting alone at a table right behind me. she seems interested to see me, and i approach her and we start to talk. this seems disconnected from part of my dream in which she was upset with me; as if everything before happened long enough in the past that it doesn't matter anymore. she mentions her new dog, which she calls, and it approaches us from the shadows of a nearby corner. it's a tan-coated puppy, and really playful, all bounce and wagging tail and puppy teeth. i kneel down and play with it while we're talking, putting my hand in its mouth, grabbing it's teeth, etc.  i glance up toward the stage, which i can now see from the side.  Obama's standing on the floor of the auditorium, about 20 feet from me, busting out some really smooth, flamboyant dance moves with a little kid.  he's wearing a blue button-up shirt.  i'm surprised he's got moves like that.  then i'm distracted by the puppy, and the conversation with the girl, and i look out at the floor, which is clearing of dancers, as the music stops.  Obama's once more obscured by the speakers at the edge of the stage, but i hear him introducing "a fine young musician" from somewhere blah blah.  the musician is a teenage boy at the far edge of the hall, spotlit.  there are a few other musicians; drums, bass, etc.  the boy's seated on a chair, and he starts into an acoustic rendition of some Goo Goo dolls song (at least that's what it seems like at the time to me- i couldn't place the song), singing and playing guitar. he's interesting enough to hold my attention for a bit, and he segues from acoustic into an electrified arrangement that's spontaneous and dynamic and loose and struck me me as far better than anything the Goo Goo dolls would have done. i'm still talking with my blonde friend when the arrangement goes electric, and i look up to see him standing, winging it on a Strat.

and suddenly i'm awake, and (as always) really grateful to remember the whole thing (which can never happen often enough to suit me), and feeling like i ought to write it down. and now i have.

INTERPRETATIONS WELCOME. :)