I haven't really been remembering my dreams lately, maybe it's the change in weather, maybe other things; I've usually just been waking up with a generalized sense of dread and the thought that I had dreamt but not at all what the dreams were about. Maybe they're too powerful and secret for me to handle yet. Maybe it's just the hell the weather is playing on my sinuses lately. Either way, it makes for very tired mornings I can assure you. Jamie had a doozy of a dream last night, and I had my first memorable dreams in almost a month; apparently the storm blew in our minds as well. Here is the first, less-well-remembered dream.
This dream involves a train. It starts at Pac-Rail, the company I used to work for. We would take in big-rig truck trailers and load them on flatbed rail-cars with giant machines called the packer and tailer. The packer doesn't pack (it picks up and loads), and I have no idea what 'tailing' is, but whatever. I was visiting Pac-Rail, and many of my old coworkers were still there. They would probably be there until they died as is the way of old-fashioned working-class jobs like the railroad. I traded how've-you-beens and so-what's-news with Abraham and Sal, and put up with pig-faced Roger Brooks' good-natured ribbing out on the ramp, watching Ray and Gage load the train with the packer.
Standing here talking with these familiar faces my period of employment at Pac-Rail seemed impossibly far in the past but being back felt strangely like a homecoming. It is a profoundly nostalgic feeling. I complained while I worked there, but it was actually quite a good time in my life, work included. Perhaps it is the nature of the evolutionary drive to be eternally unsatisfied with the status quo. If I were to truly settle in I would probably wither and die.
There is a gap in my recollection of this dream, maybe I drifted toward consciousness and the train is the only thing that stuck in my mind to tie these two parts together.
The next thing I remember is a giant, cartoony freight train not unlike Thomas the Tank Engine, but somewhat more sinister; maybe a cross between Thomas and Blaine the Mono. The train hurtles through a broad green field with nothing at all on the horizon. It finally stops with almost magical speed, bisecting a giant set of concentric stone circles in the ground that span the entire length of the train. On each ring is a strange pattern. Each ring then rises to meet the underside of the train and they begin to spin in alternating directions. Sparks fly from under the cars and the whole train shudders and quakes with a terrible grinding noise.
I wonder what could possibly be happening when, just as suddenly as it began, the grinding stops. The rings then sink below the ground, revealing a slowly descending staircase around the inside of the newly-formed chasm below the train. Somehow the train stays suspended above this gulf and I descend the stairs to get a look at it's undercarriage. There is a soft light glowing from within the pit, and as I look up, it plays glintingly off of a beautifully intricate pattern of lines and waves carved into the golden underside of the train.
I think I drifted awake at this point and later in the evening I had the following dream.
I pull the keys from my pocket and click the 'unlock' button. I open the door and climb into the silver rental (I think it's a newer Impala, but I'm not 100% certain). It has a lush black leather interior with wood-grain trim. As I turn the key to start the car I realize that this is one of those dreams where my body just won't listen to me.
I have a hard time seeing peripherally, and my ability to manipulate things is that of a mostly numb child with downs syndrome. I think in my mind I must be drunk. I put the car in drive and hit the gas, but the wheel is cranked all the way to the right and the car flails wildly in a circle. I immediately panic and try to jam on the brakes but my foot hits nothing but accelerator. I try and try, but the car only speeds up. I try to look down at the pedals but my eyes won't cooperate. I think: I'll have to just drive it like this until I can find a hill to slow down on. All of my attempts to straighten the wheel end with it either all the way left or all the way right and the car just keeps careening shambolically down the street, faster and faster. I finally talk my head into looking down and notice that there are 3 pedals at my feet despite the car being an automatic. They're all gas pedals. I look up just in time to see another big silver car parked right in front of me as I slam headlong into it.
I am shaken awake by a police officer leaning into the car. I am completely dazed and have a hard time gathering my thoughts. The officer tells me that I hit my head and to sit there until I feel better. He takes my driver's license from me to run it in the computer. I finally regain my faculties and realize that my driver's license is suspended, I'm trashed, and I just wrecked a car. I realize that I am massively fucked.
All of a sudden I hear the police dispatch radio for all units to respond to a crime in progress. All of the cops pile into their cars and speed off, taking my license with them in their haste. I get out of the car and stagger drunkenly away from the wreckage when my alarm goes off.
I hope this is a return to form for me, dreams wise. We'll see.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
Too Deep To Dream
Something about an epic Gaga-esque pop song, and laying in bed, it's really just flashes, I slept deep last night, too deep to even see but snippets of dreams.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Ruckus (Bringing & Brought)
This dream is fairly hazy in my memory, and not having time to write it out for 3 days hasn't made it any clearer in my mind. There may have been a preamble to where my recollection starts, but it has since faded.
I open a wooden gate into a large, hedge-rowed backyard. The first thing that strikes my attention is the giant tree in the middle of the lawn. It is a giant oak, the trunk probably twenty-five feet around, and the canopy stretching into the sky, the first branch beyond my reach by at least twenty feet. The sun's rays play softly through the leaves. Then I notice the people.
There are at least fifty or sixty people of all ages sitting around the tree, all looking at something at the back of the yard that is being blocked from my view by the trunk. Sitting among the people are a group of dogs, maybe 2 dozen of all different breeds, big, small, shaggy, well groomed. The people are silent and the only noise is the soft breeze rustling in the leaves.
As I walk toward the tree, I step on a twig with a SNAP! that seems doubly loud in the tranquil silence of the yard. At the sound the dogs hop up and begin to fight and growl, snapping at each other and the people indiscriminately, pouncing on people and tearing at them with their jaws.
The crowd panics at the sudden violence and begins running en masse toward the house, toward me. As the panicked crowd pushes past me, I notice that everyone in the group is greyish-white in all features. Grey frizzy hair, ashen faces, and pale clothing, every one. The only color on those rushing forms is the occasional crimson smear from the dogs' savagery.
Suddenly, from out of the house, men in full riot gear charge out toward me, pushing their way past the rushing horde with their shields. I start to back away, but the dense crowd prevents me making any headway. The black-clad men fall on me with their nightsticks and I soon lose consciousness.
I awake on a wooden bench on the patio behind the house, and judging by the sun it is morning. I sit up and check myself for injury when the sliding door of the house opens up and two pairs of the grey people come out, carrying two men in blue swim trunks on stretchers. When they get to the edge of the patio the unceremonially upend the stretchers and the limp, betrunked bodies crumple to the floor like sacks of rice as the men head back inside without a word.
I rise from the bench and head over to where the bodies lay. I turn them face-up and to my horror the two men are my father and my uncle Mitch. They are both pallid and my dad is covered in a crusted red substance I take for blood. I start to back away when they begin to stir.
Mitch sits up first, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, and immediately the color begins to return to his face. My dad sits up next and looks over at me, slightly bewildered.
"I-I thought you were dead." I say to my dad, who laughs.
"No way, we just drank way too much last night and passed out on the floor so they threw us out!" Mitch replied.
"But what about the blood?" I ask, confused.
"Oh, this?" my dad asks, pointing to the red crust clinging to his bare throat and chest, "We were making margaritas and salsa, and things got a little out of hand with the blender! This is salsa!" He and Mitch start to laugh. I start to laugh too at the absurdity of it all when my alarm wakes me up.
I open a wooden gate into a large, hedge-rowed backyard. The first thing that strikes my attention is the giant tree in the middle of the lawn. It is a giant oak, the trunk probably twenty-five feet around, and the canopy stretching into the sky, the first branch beyond my reach by at least twenty feet. The sun's rays play softly through the leaves. Then I notice the people.
There are at least fifty or sixty people of all ages sitting around the tree, all looking at something at the back of the yard that is being blocked from my view by the trunk. Sitting among the people are a group of dogs, maybe 2 dozen of all different breeds, big, small, shaggy, well groomed. The people are silent and the only noise is the soft breeze rustling in the leaves.
As I walk toward the tree, I step on a twig with a SNAP! that seems doubly loud in the tranquil silence of the yard. At the sound the dogs hop up and begin to fight and growl, snapping at each other and the people indiscriminately, pouncing on people and tearing at them with their jaws.
The crowd panics at the sudden violence and begins running en masse toward the house, toward me. As the panicked crowd pushes past me, I notice that everyone in the group is greyish-white in all features. Grey frizzy hair, ashen faces, and pale clothing, every one. The only color on those rushing forms is the occasional crimson smear from the dogs' savagery.
Suddenly, from out of the house, men in full riot gear charge out toward me, pushing their way past the rushing horde with their shields. I start to back away, but the dense crowd prevents me making any headway. The black-clad men fall on me with their nightsticks and I soon lose consciousness.
I awake on a wooden bench on the patio behind the house, and judging by the sun it is morning. I sit up and check myself for injury when the sliding door of the house opens up and two pairs of the grey people come out, carrying two men in blue swim trunks on stretchers. When they get to the edge of the patio the unceremonially upend the stretchers and the limp, betrunked bodies crumple to the floor like sacks of rice as the men head back inside without a word.
I rise from the bench and head over to where the bodies lay. I turn them face-up and to my horror the two men are my father and my uncle Mitch. They are both pallid and my dad is covered in a crusted red substance I take for blood. I start to back away when they begin to stir.
Mitch sits up first, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, and immediately the color begins to return to his face. My dad sits up next and looks over at me, slightly bewildered.
"I-I thought you were dead." I say to my dad, who laughs.
"No way, we just drank way too much last night and passed out on the floor so they threw us out!" Mitch replied.
"But what about the blood?" I ask, confused.
"Oh, this?" my dad asks, pointing to the red crust clinging to his bare throat and chest, "We were making margaritas and salsa, and things got a little out of hand with the blender! This is salsa!" He and Mitch start to laugh. I start to laugh too at the absurdity of it all when my alarm wakes me up.
Friday, February 26, 2010
opposite day
So apparently not drinking = not dreaming/waking up feeling like crap. Two nights in a row implies a pattern. Definitely having a few before bed tonight as an experiment. Although maybe I'm just getting a cold. Results forthcoming.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Rex, Drugs, Rock & Roll
I dreamt that I was at work and Rex, a hedge fund analyst from downstairs, announced at a meeting that it had come to his attention that "certain individuals" were bringing "illicit substances" to work but that he would turn a blind eye to it if they got rid of the substances and allowed a search of everyone's bags and desks.
I got back to my desk and realized that my bag was unzipped. I bent down to close it and realized that it was almost overflowing with drugs: bags and bags of mushrooms, about a dozen ounces of weed, a crapload of coke, pills galore. I began to panic.
I snuck my bag into the bathroom and dumped my contraband, thinking I was in the clear, but as soon as I pulled my bag back on, Rex walked into the bathroom and gave me a "what were you just doing" look. I bolted back to my desk to find that my computer had tons of webpages open to porn. Hundreds upon hundreds of windows. I was furiously trying to close all of them before someone noticed when I woke up.
I got back to my desk and realized that my bag was unzipped. I bent down to close it and realized that it was almost overflowing with drugs: bags and bags of mushrooms, about a dozen ounces of weed, a crapload of coke, pills galore. I began to panic.
I snuck my bag into the bathroom and dumped my contraband, thinking I was in the clear, but as soon as I pulled my bag back on, Rex walked into the bathroom and gave me a "what were you just doing" look. I bolted back to my desk to find that my computer had tons of webpages open to porn. Hundreds upon hundreds of windows. I was furiously trying to close all of them before someone noticed when I woke up.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Heavy Rain and the Offer
This dream was total bullshit; I woke up pissed off.
I was checking out an accounting position I had seen on craigslist since I needed a job pretty badly (apparently this takes place before I got my current job, if dreams can be said to "take place" at any time at all).
The interview was at a strange-looking house, quite run-down and covered in vines and moss, though architecturally reminiscent of my grandparents' house in Torrance. An old man with a shaggy greying moustache and lank, unkempt hair answered the door and beckoned me inside. He introduced himself as an inventor and that I'd be doing the books for his invention company which he ran from his garage. He led me through the dingy front hall and into his dimly lit garage which was filled with what looked like complete junk. Springs, old car parts, tanks of compressed gas lay about, and all manner of tubes and ducting spanned the ceiling. There was a thick coating of grease and dust covering nearly every surface and hardly any light. I was very apprehensive immediately.
He led me to a secluded corner where an old wooden desk strewn with papers had been set up with an old green-glass desk lamp and a rudimentary wooden stool. He said that this is where I was to be working and that I'd have to start by sorting out his disorganized files and starting an account ledger from scratch based upon his notes scribbled on whatever was handy at the time and filed haphazardly in a heap on the desk.
At this point I decided to ask about compensation, since the job seemed completely awful. The old man seemed conflicted at first, but then he came out with it in a rush. He wanted me to work pro bono until something "revolutionary" he was working on came to fruition, then I would get a stake in the profits going forward. I immediately waved him off, as I was dead broke and needed something, anything that would pay my rent. He asked me to stay, and when I refused he said that I "lacked vision". I apologized and asked him to show me the door, when he offered me the job one final time. I refused again, and he sighed with regret. "Suit yourself" he said, as he opened a door in the wall of the garage I hadn't noticed before and waved me through.
Through the door lay an opulently decorated mansion, with brightly colored and gilded Louis XV chairs and sofas, gold-leaf wallpapers, and intricate oriental rugs. On the chairs were impeccably dressed young men and women, all eating and drinking, laughing and carousing.
I turned to the old man, and, to my surprise, he had been transformed. His dingy clothing had been replaced by a finely tailored three-piece suit, and his hair and moustache were neatly trimmed and waxed. I asked what was going on, and he replied: "This is what you could've been a part of had you only the vision. These young men and women are my apprentices and with them I share my fortune and my inventions. I was hoping you would join my team, but you have failed the test, and now you must leave, never to return."
He ushered me across the room, through ornately carved double doors into an enormous marble-floored ballroom. More well dressed people were dancing to a string quartet and drinking punch, laughing all the while. The old man pushed me onward, toward the opposite end of the room where a small servants door awaited me. He opened it perfunctorily and shoved me out into the rainy night, slamming it behind me. The door seemed to disappear into the brick wall of the mansion. It was pouring down rain and I was already soaked.
I was no longer in Portland; I was in Eastern Europe somewhere, looking through the downpour into a city square with trolleys running through it. Out of the rain, a black-cloaked figure ran toward me, waving a hand gloved in black lace. When the advancing figure finally pulled back her cowl I realized it was Jamie. She had heard from mom about my job interview and, because of the rain, she had come to pick me up. I told her about what had happened to which she replied: "That's fucking bullshit, bro." We ran to the nearest trolley and climbed in out of the rain. Then I woke up.
I was checking out an accounting position I had seen on craigslist since I needed a job pretty badly (apparently this takes place before I got my current job, if dreams can be said to "take place" at any time at all).
The interview was at a strange-looking house, quite run-down and covered in vines and moss, though architecturally reminiscent of my grandparents' house in Torrance. An old man with a shaggy greying moustache and lank, unkempt hair answered the door and beckoned me inside. He introduced himself as an inventor and that I'd be doing the books for his invention company which he ran from his garage. He led me through the dingy front hall and into his dimly lit garage which was filled with what looked like complete junk. Springs, old car parts, tanks of compressed gas lay about, and all manner of tubes and ducting spanned the ceiling. There was a thick coating of grease and dust covering nearly every surface and hardly any light. I was very apprehensive immediately.
He led me to a secluded corner where an old wooden desk strewn with papers had been set up with an old green-glass desk lamp and a rudimentary wooden stool. He said that this is where I was to be working and that I'd have to start by sorting out his disorganized files and starting an account ledger from scratch based upon his notes scribbled on whatever was handy at the time and filed haphazardly in a heap on the desk.
At this point I decided to ask about compensation, since the job seemed completely awful. The old man seemed conflicted at first, but then he came out with it in a rush. He wanted me to work pro bono until something "revolutionary" he was working on came to fruition, then I would get a stake in the profits going forward. I immediately waved him off, as I was dead broke and needed something, anything that would pay my rent. He asked me to stay, and when I refused he said that I "lacked vision". I apologized and asked him to show me the door, when he offered me the job one final time. I refused again, and he sighed with regret. "Suit yourself" he said, as he opened a door in the wall of the garage I hadn't noticed before and waved me through.
Through the door lay an opulently decorated mansion, with brightly colored and gilded Louis XV chairs and sofas, gold-leaf wallpapers, and intricate oriental rugs. On the chairs were impeccably dressed young men and women, all eating and drinking, laughing and carousing.
I turned to the old man, and, to my surprise, he had been transformed. His dingy clothing had been replaced by a finely tailored three-piece suit, and his hair and moustache were neatly trimmed and waxed. I asked what was going on, and he replied: "This is what you could've been a part of had you only the vision. These young men and women are my apprentices and with them I share my fortune and my inventions. I was hoping you would join my team, but you have failed the test, and now you must leave, never to return."
He ushered me across the room, through ornately carved double doors into an enormous marble-floored ballroom. More well dressed people were dancing to a string quartet and drinking punch, laughing all the while. The old man pushed me onward, toward the opposite end of the room where a small servants door awaited me. He opened it perfunctorily and shoved me out into the rainy night, slamming it behind me. The door seemed to disappear into the brick wall of the mansion. It was pouring down rain and I was already soaked.
I was no longer in Portland; I was in Eastern Europe somewhere, looking through the downpour into a city square with trolleys running through it. Out of the rain, a black-cloaked figure ran toward me, waving a hand gloved in black lace. When the advancing figure finally pulled back her cowl I realized it was Jamie. She had heard from mom about my job interview and, because of the rain, she had come to pick me up. I told her about what had happened to which she replied: "That's fucking bullshit, bro." We ran to the nearest trolley and climbed in out of the rain. Then I woke up.
Minimal Wave Cupcakes
I had the stupidest dream last night.
I dreamt that I went on eBay to search for records and all I could find was auction after auction of some person selling cupcakes with the Minimal Wave logo on them for $50. They were chocolate with neon blue frosting and she would hand-deliver.
At this point I woke up briefly to marvel at how moronic of a dream that was and then went back to sleep and had a more interesting dream that I'll type up next.
I dreamt that I went on eBay to search for records and all I could find was auction after auction of some person selling cupcakes with the Minimal Wave logo on them for $50. They were chocolate with neon blue frosting and she would hand-deliver.
At this point I woke up briefly to marvel at how moronic of a dream that was and then went back to sleep and had a more interesting dream that I'll type up next.
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