As I am driving a car up a mountain highway, a black jeep appears and passes me. The jeep is driving backwards. Gandhi is behind the wheel wearing dark sunglasses and fake Elvis sideburns.
We talk and Gandhi tells me his is driving from Alaska to the Big Island. He also tells me that he is a woman.
We arrive somewhere together, a place Gandhi is expected, only no one is around. Confused Gandhi searches a few rooms.
Noticing the cook is gone too, I offer to make Gandhi a meal. I begin cooking.
Before the big rusty busted bus rolls backwards off the cliff, I frantically push the center break pedal with all my strength. The bus doesn’t stop and rather than jump out the open door, I panic.
As the bus begins falling I make the decision to get in a comfortable position and relax. I don’t notice the bus tumbling and flipping down the steep slope.
A few minutes later at the bottom, I am talking to my mother on the phone. I am very upset about being dead.
A yellow dog approaches me and wraps its mouth around my wrist. I fight it. She tells me that I am going about it all wrong, but I know this is how I successfully trained dogs in the past.
But I am dead now, and quite upset. It has been a hard day with the van window getting smashed, being threatened by a drunk tribe of redneck fratboys, and barely making it out intact. Now this.
In tears I say “I want a second chance.”
But I know that I will not get one.
(in my dream) it is the last night of my life. i am going to be exectued. i prepare myself.
wow, this is it. i am going to die. someone convinces me to go buy a nice new shirt to die in. i reluctantly end up in a department store shopping.
the precious, ultimate moments of my life spent buying something i will not need tomorrow. there will be no tomorrow.
i flip through shirts on the rack, annoyed, looking for something in white. i do not know how i will be executed.
i realize if i am going to die i should start thinking about getting in touch with some ghosts. i think about my grandparents. maybe they can help my soul get acquainted with death.
i am in a procession of some kind. i walk next to my father, also present are other old friends (j from centerport....cannot remember others).
i am mentally prepared to die. i am ready. i am still thinking of the ghosts. if i am going to die...FINE, let me die! it is me -- in my current body, my toes, my mind. i'm okay with this.
suddenly news flash. the execution is called off! i am bummed out. my father and the rest of the procession is pleased. but not me. i was ready!
o well. there is a small ladder to climb along our path. we are all walking the same direction. rather than climb the unsafe ladder, i stop and bend down to rig it up more safely for everybody else. there is a small people traffic jam. i am still alive in the sea of people.
four people flying, tied together like kites. passing dangerously under bridges -- we move in and underneath, then about face -- and so on in tricky maneuvers.
the superstitious ladder-worker who politely lifted his impossible rig for us to pass. and the double tangling. up & over the powerline problem, and two others spinning out of control.
L crashes after tangling in a bridge. another wrestles with a tailspin. i go to rescue L, have trouble landing and securing my sail/chute. when i arrive at the scene, L is out of sight, she tangled over a ghost parachute shop, with clown chutes and strange kites tied over wind blowing machines. this is someone's workshop project, abandoned for the time being.
i will continue my trip. the chutes will facilitate my lift.
we are scrambling out on a rocky jetty. on one side is a small calm body of water and on the other a strong current of very cold northwest water rushes out to the open sea.
i am careful not to slip or get my feet wet. C decides to jump in and swim. she and another nameless man tool around in the water and we (?) watch.
i notice her getting closer to the water gravity of the current. i say something like: "be careful, don't get too close to the current."
just then a woman drives up from the open sea with two small children in the car. she parks in nonchalantly about window deep in water. how strange.
i continue watching over C. i notice a look of concern on the woman driver's face. hmmm, maybe she doesn't want to be there. she begins pulling the car closer to shore. one daughter is halfway out the window, the other is still inside.
the tide is rising, but that strong current is still rushing out to sea. it is difficult to speak loudly enough to be heard over the pushing water, not only because of the volume of the water but also because i am having trouble speaking. my voice is a dull, pathetic thing.
i attempt to organize a rescue, but i wake up instead.
//flash// i find myself with three other individuals sitting each on a small separate platform mounted inches off the ground. the four platforms are attached to the front end of a speeding tractor trailer travelilng extremely fast along a straight section of highway. we are speaking in raised voices to hear each other over the roar of the wind, although i do not feel the blowingness of any wind. everyone appears calm.
as we converse, the truck regularly passes over speed bumps every ten or so seconds. the truck does not slow for the bumps and we just hang on and deal with them.
i do not recall the topic of conversation, but we speak opening, unsecretively.
one person, a man does the most talking. as we speak he produces five or six blue rings. he places the rings around the diagonal chain that supports his platform. he spaces the rings out along his chain and the added wind resistance from the rings pulls the chain and begins to lift the front lip of the platform.
i realize now that we are in trouble.
i begin to survey my surroundings. each platform is four or so feet apart. i happen to be on the far right platform on the passenger side of the truck. a woman is on the far left, the talkative man next to her, and someone in between he and i. i have no sense of this person, but someone is definitely there.
i hang my head around the side of the cab and am terrified by the churnin, speeding wheel. it makes an enormous sound and i rule that direction out as an escape option. if i were to jump my body would be torn to pieces by either the asphalt or chewed up under the tire.
i look at the speeding landscape where the road meets the grass five feet away from me. by itself the grass is not dangerous, it is soft and green. rather it is the truck's speedy condition that endangers us.
i look back over my other shoulder. i cannot tell is anyone is driving. it is as if the truck has its own mind.
my three companions sneak around the far left side of the truck. they are excaping and disappear from my line of vision.
i stay put. i am the decoy so that the driver still thinks we are on our torture platforms.
i am scared. and alone. i do not know what will happen to me.
i had this bizarre dream where i was talking to a girl and i wanted her to speak about bizarre things.
i would start the sentences and she would finish them.
when she was done she'd look at me with a bizarre look on her face.
a walk with friends. no words. they two stop and sit to chat, i take space and sit on a short hill. i am watching the railroad tracks, waiting for a train.
a mechanical arm begins operating. it is a primitive device: a magnet drops, connects to the third rail, raises it, and swings it around to somehow close the circuit. it is now live.
i keep my distance and wait. over my right shoulder a yellow moving van turns a bend, and makes its way down a dirt road. it makes me nervous. i change my position so that, just in case, i am not run over. it is only moving at 5-ish m.p.h. still i keep an eye on it.
somehow i lose/drop my notebook and it lands next to the third rail. i must now wait until the third rail is turned off to fetch my work. the driver has parked the van 20-30 feet from me and is enjoying a cigarette. he is not the source of my nervousness, it is something else.
he strolls down behind me, and puts his cigarette out on my notebook. i shutter to think that he could have been electrocuted. i let him know about the third rail, then circle down myself to join my friends.
i approach and ask N "what's the matter?" she is obviously upset.
(the dream really beings hours ago but i'll start with the phone number i am dialing:)
9-360-950-CASE. i need to get a hold of m. i just looked at the clock and it is 1:56 pm. i was supposed to be there at 1. i dial. the cell phone doesn't work. i hang up and call again. during an unlikely long wait for the phone to start ringing, i notice the car parked next to us. three people -- one guy in the front seat and a man and young boy in the back. they are laughing and rapping over some karaoke machine microphone amplified through the car stereo. they are amusing and i join laughing with them from a distance. we exchange "howdy's." i gather that these fellas are part of a youth group -- a christian type mission group. although i am already late, when one of the guys gets out of the car to deliver a speech to a gathered group, i stick around to see what happens.
as he beings speaking i slide in behind him. i am not listening to his words, rather the rhythm of his phrasing. i slide my hands up his shirt and out through his sleeves. we become a puppet: him the face, body, and voice, and i am the arms and hands. the audience laughs.
i need to go.
//flash// (time passes, i am leaving things out: a helicopter searchlight looking for me, i disguise myself and continue going about the afternoon, unloading music gear....)
the image of someone doing jet ski tricks (riding backwards, jumps, etc...) down an extremely narrow canal of some sort with the following voice over: "learning to do jet ski tricks is like writing poems that rhyme...you just don't have to do it."
an audience / group of some sort has gathered, although i cannot see them. a woman on a dream watercraft skis into the scene. she holds onto a watersled with an open back. with great strength she jumps off the back and pushes off the water's surface slalom style. she wears water skates of some sort.
the group observes and someone else, a woman, speaks: "this is where the two bodies of water mix, the ______ bay and the ______. if you touch one you have touched the other."
i look around at the snow dusted shoreline and slushy waters.
she continues: " you wouldn't last very long if you fell in." i watch the water skater push her craft fluently over the cold water. the audience caravan is now split into a number of different water vessels: a kayak, a canoe, etc. we begin to turn around toward the warmer waters.
as we make our turn, somehow a young boy falls out of a boat. i see his head bobbing up and under the water level. next thing i know i am paddling in the water on a surfboard wearing a wetsuit. i reach for the child and grab a hold of him. he is unconscious.
i paddle to another boat, pass his limp body to the others, and tell them: "someone is in charge of his heart, talk to him and use his name. keep him awake. take his clothes off, dry him, and warm him up."
i climb out of the water myself and dry off with a towel. i do not feel the cold. when i join the group the boy is awake and smiling. he is talking and says: "i was just with my father. he wanted me to stay with him, but i came back." his father died when he was very young.
i reach out to touch his small, brown hands. they are warm.
she (?) begins raking sand over the ground level grill. what a lovely spot on the beach she had. she must be moving out or something.
i tell her "you should use that as a fire pit rather than burying it." "naw, the office doesn't let you do that anymore," she replies. i surveyed the inventory of dry beach wood everywhere, but give up on the idea.
i begin to notice the perfect waves -- big barrels with tubes -- and a small herd of people playing a strange bodysurfing game. these are, now i notice, shore breakers.
their game goes like this: 15-20 swimming trunk wearing beachers make their way into the water. they line up in the water shoulder to shoulder and catch the same wave. the wave carries them head first up the beach and they ride the bare sand on their chests. inevitably a few of them crash into unsuspecting sun bathers, and a few lucky others go off "the jump" -- some sort of device which shoots them up in the air.
it is a strange game but more and more people join in each time. the third time as the ranks swell, i too am invited to join. i am persuaded and find myself walking into the water with the others.
among the group are a few costume-wearing superheroes...a young punky snowman with a black eye dressed in a completely commercial sweatshop store-bought costume. as he talks loudly his eyes cross mine and one of his eyes is jaundiced yellow. he walks away with a snowman on the back of his jacket.
we all get in the water and ride a lame wave up the beach. no jumps. nothing exciting happens.
the next time we all walk down the beach farther to get in next to a seaside mechanics garage. there are spare parts and grease everywhere in the sand. here the ocean floor is cement.
i walk down to the water with M.T. and we examine a strange hole with parts in it. he pulls out a bicycle crankshaft with two pedals attached by a long chain to some other part. i imagine the thing to have been used to generate electricity at some point.
as if there is nothing else to do with it, M puts the apparatus around his neck. "a strange thing to do" i think as it tangles and gets stuck around his head. i help him free himself and am now unsure what to do with the busted device. (if you pick up a piece of liter and then drop it again is that littering?) i give it to M and upon returning it i notice some sticky silver sludge on my finger.
superhero or not, i do not want to ride any more waves here. i walk back up the beach.
finding myself walking down sherry court. past the house where we used to cut across the lawn, but i stay on the road. up in a squash tree on my left, someone has cut the bottom's off of two low hanging yellow gourds. "how strange," i think to myself and consider harvesting the remaining fruit.
i round the sherry court bend and in the distance see T loading his jeep. he drops a load in the car then goes back inside the house for another.
we make eye contact and continue toward one and other. T cuts through the bushes between his house and the W's old place and momentarily disappears. as he vanishes from sight, a weird, decrepid looking bear appears.
it seems very natural to me that a bear would be living in the centerport wild. i quickly determine that the animal probably lives in the vanderbilt woods, and gets in and out through a little hole in the chain link fence. of course! it all suddenly seems very logical.
being afraid of bears, i become scared. T comes face to face with the bear, but doesn't seem to be too concerned. T then disappears.
i seek shelter in one of the houses on the right side of the street. the garage door is open and i let myself in. an unusual screen door hangs between the garage and the kitchen. i can hear someone inside, so i enter. i tell the woman "there is a bear outside," so "sorry i'm coming inside."
just then the bear appears in the open garage door. i am face to face with a poorly drawn dream bear.
abrupt end of dream.
hills, impossible, unbicycle-able hills. these hills only go up!! and like some ridicuolous spoof of san francisco.
we (?) first travel up, toward something. and the sky and everything before us glazes over yellow. like looking through the frosted glass of a sliding shower door and trying to color between the lines. i am, or was, driving the red car up this hill. others are walking or biking or walking their bikes. shops are open for business even though visibility is slightly less than a fingernail's length.
it was a very wierd afternoon.
seemingly hours later we reach the top.
there lies a factory-ish version of the parthanon: a rectangular building with enormous cement smoke stacks. it is not as pretty as the greek's architecture. but it is not acout the mecca, it's about the trek.
i turn back down the hill immediately.
low light, headlight highway ahead, low volume but important music. my eyes are closed. i am driving.
N wakes up herself and wakes me. something along the lines of "you shouldn't sleep when you drive." i confess that i have been snoozing for a while, then tell her i am pulling over to change drivers.
i find a pulloff and stop the car next to a brick building. it is the middle of the night and there is snow on the ground. it is not clear where we are traveling, but this unimportant fact does not enter my tired mind. i get out of the drivers seat and into the backseat of the car.
N also gets out.
i close my eyes and the car begins to roll. my eyes briefly open and i notice N running after the car. no one is driving!
i reach over into the front seat and shift the car in neutral. the motor disengages but i am still rolling forward into the dark. the car veers off the pavement and tall bushes cover the windshield as i reach for the steering wheel. still in the back seat i turn the wheel but it is impossible to find the road. then the car rolls.
left side over right, car and i tumble down the side of a cliff. a few seconds of spinning then all stops. i have apparently landed, but only one problem...i am dead.
death doesn't hurt physically, the music has
stopped and there is no car wreckage, no special effects flames.
only still flat darkness and cold.
i am aware of N's presence above on the edge of the cliff, of her sudden saddness, and that she is alone stranded in the cold. (7/11/03)
the alarm went off at 6:16 am today. although N and i were already half awake. she startled me awake with her words every few minutes. she got out of bed, kissed me twice, then left. i went back to sleep and dreampt of:
running errands, lots to do. was around the corner from wendy's and thought i'd peek in to the window to see if anyone was home. through the window i see tyler, wendy, and crikket. oh yeah, crikket's in town! i decide to say hello.
but first i sit down on the curb and listen to aaron str8 chat with a new fellow he had just met. then pop up the stairs and peek around the corner of the housey. T sees me and comes to the door. he mentions to C that i'm outside.
C gets up from his spot under a blanket on the couch. as he rises i see 8 or 9 rented movie cases littered around. i make some joke about couch potato-ing. we chat briefly.
weerd dreem interlude here of someone digitally working on one of my songs. a lullaby, verticle wave forms that spelled out the title like a bar code (??) then i'm playing a recorded song for C. the song plays (cannot remember now if it was written or un). drums (crikket playing) come in after a guitar and me singing the intro. it gets big with didgeridoo and i am impressed with myself. i leave while the song is still playing and make my way down the street on a bicycle. the song follows me.
i am now riding my bike through the city. my understood destination is to catch a bus which i'm already late for. i pedal through unfamiliar streets making my way "left." up a biggish breathtaking hill, then coasting and catching my breath. i think to myself "if i'm going overnight, i hope i'll be warm enough later."
i stop to peek into my shoulder bag and find a change of clothes -- brown corduroys, pink snap up shirt, green sweatshirt, heavy red and orage striped sweater, and the orange/brown hat L made under everything. phewy. satisfied i keep pedaling.
i think i'm in a transformed seattle landscape.
i meet a friend on foot. it is N. she trots along with me as i ride and will deliver me to the bus stop. or is it that she is leaving? after checking my bag it is down, down a hill and we ride / run gathering speed. a roundabout in the road forces me into a backyard through a small garden and i meet up with N on the other side of the house.
having already lost my speed from the hill, i recognize the street as a dead end. but N keeps chugging up a small foot path i did not see. i follow her but have to dismount and push the bike. i reach a tall rock ledge and experiment with a couple different ways of getting the bike and i up on top of the ledge.
N is already up. i turn around, lifting the bicycle over my head and bend backwards. my body, arched back over my spine, rests on a rhododendron shrub on top of the stone. not only am i up on the stone, buy my limp body is floating, swaying in a loose spin as the rhododendren rocks with my weight. i am very high up and, tho in a precarious place, i am relaxed and trusting. N stands by watching me sway, and understands.
she has led me here, shown me out of a dead end, and is teaching me with her dance. as i float, we hear the omnipitant words resonate around us: "earth over air"
i'm hanging on a tree over open air. beautiful.
the words repeat: "earth over air...earth over air."
a few small things next happen: a man sees us from his window, a tea kettle sounds, another obstacle to overcome involving a leap onto a plant covered deck.
but i'll not go into detail. the point seems to be that i was reluctant to say goodbye to N. wanted to extend every amazing second with her. a poignant dream moment.
woke up for the second time this morning with "earth over air" ringing through the room. out of bed myself and upstairs, i began scribbling the words above down. halfway through the writing i heard a rustle once, then twice, in the corner of the magnolia living room. a bird was lying on the carpet, breathing heavily, unable to move! i spoke gently to her, and carried her outside to lay her in the garden on some flattened dandelions where she died later that day.
(from my notebook:)
birds falling from the sky
the bird (dandelion i'm calling her)
is dead. pulled a few weeds out
and dug a hole in the garden
with a broken handle hoe.
it was a quick, quiet ceremony
and ended with me filling the hole
back up with dirt. laid a few stones
and pushed some broken dishes into the dirt
to mark how un-natural it was that she died.
the spider ants were already eating
out her eyes. she was pretty
even while she was dead
pretty even when she's dead
but can she ever feel the thrill of flying again?
in the kitchen of a new girlfriend with multiple roommates. i'm halfway waiting while she finishes up something or other and, to myself, i am trying to decide whether or not to help clean up before breakfast. while in the kitchen alone, i notice the house cat disturbed as she sits on one of the kitchen shelves. she is trying to get into the cupboard.
there is a rat behind the door.
i stop. the cat and i listen to the rodent's noise. he is making quite a racket and i puzzle that he has not scuttled off upon hearing me. i decide to investigate. i fling open the cabinet door using the golfclub i am suddenly holding. the cat jumps up for a sniff. an enormous 13 inch rat pokes its head out! the cat hisses and raises the hair on her arched back.
the rat is not intimidated (not a good sign) and pushes his ugly rat face into the cat's open hissing mouth. the cat splits past me on the floor. rat leaps from the top kitchen cabinet and makes a run toward me along the wall of the linoleum floor. i am frightened and as the rat approaches i take a downward swing with my club and land the blow square on the creature's head. then another, and maybe another after that. i leave the kitchen to catch my breath and to tell the others.
down two small flights of stairs to the breakfast table. folks -- presumably the roommates -- are sitting around with 4 or 5 pizza boxes. although it is morning, the pizza is still hot and i become aware of my deep hunger. but i am also aware that my hands are unclean from rat hunting and i need to tell that rat story.
they sit back gobbling pizza as i recount what just happened in their kitchen. as i speak i notice two varieties of pepperoni and mushroom pizzas and other toppings. i eventually pick up a slice and begin eating. i am aware that i did not wash my hands.
coversation flips from rodents to pizza, specifically the butter/pepperoni pie on the table which i touch, then put back, and other unappetizing combinations. we talk as i eat a few slices, contemplating one final piece. but i stop myself.
i become aware that my new girl and i do not feel warmth for each other in this cold, cold room.
dreamwords are just that -- words spoken in dreams. these partial phrases and sentences are perceived as sound in the dream. they are both unimportant excerpts and beautiful to me in or out of context. here are a few of my favorites:
not sure where the story begins, or where the freckle it's going but outside under trees, blue sky above, and (tho i didn't realize it at the time, i was in the front yard of the idle day house) in mid-afternoon. some other commotion, a friend perhaps, in the driveway attracts my attention.
in the sky in the east an explosion. no fire or hollywood pyrotechnics, just an instant baby brown smokecloud. seconds later the shrapnel hits. i hit the deck. there are two points of impact: one twenty-ish feet away, the other all around me. i cover my head and protect my face against my knees. it happens fast. then it's over.
i raise myself to my feet and survey the situation. on the ground all around me are a dozen oblong egg-shaped stones. they have exploded through the sky and as they passed through the atmosphere were eroded down along one edge. i can tell the stones were originally callous rough-edged rock, but the remains look as if they have been sent through the sand blasting rock tumbler. i am holding only their naked inner essences!
in coming to this understanding, i cannot believe i avoided a collision with the space rockcloud shower. i am left on the ground struggling to derive some sort of meaning to this encounter.
important ---> had lucid dream #1 last night. after having already been in a house, i am re-entering. the screen door on the small box of a building is locked open, & the front door is swung open into the house.
sunlight is shining through the door, and a perfect yellow square of sun is laying on the floor. it is beautiful. within its warm perimeter 2 styrofoam cups of coffee are keeping themselves hot.
this is my cue, i do not know why, that i am dreaming.
i quickly think "i want to try that flying thing" and instantly my feet rise off the ground and i go horizontal, then diagonally upside down. it is sickly wonderful. i watch from a side view, not from within my own body, but it is me.
as my shoes oscillate around the room i notice my lips have pins and needles and my tongue is numb. i cannot stay awake in my dream and fall back to regular sleep. (approximately 15 dream seconds long)
(after waking at six and scribbling and reading some gabriel garcia marquez, i went back to sleep and dreamt:) of the boy with peanut butter dumped on his head. he dips an extended index finger into the brown sauce. i observe a "cup" embedded in his shoulder full of peanut butter which has presumably eaten a hole in his skin.
"wow, weird" i think, i have to write this down, and go lucid.
the boy with the peanut butter on his head tells me he will lead me to a place where i can write things down. i follow him into a scarey wooded area where i see multiple faces in the knotted tree trunks. but there is no place to write things down.
the phone rings me awake.
during a conversation with D from portland, without actually "waking" like other lucid dreams, i realized i could make him talk. i quickly decide to make him say things beginning with the letter "H."
in the dream D still had dreads, and sure enough the next thing out of his mouth was "ha ha." my lucidity managed to puppet 2 or 3 more "H" words out of his mouth, then back asleep.
a few steps down onto the motel driveway pavement with companions. stale yellow parkinglot lines drawn on the asphalt. timelessness-- neither day or night, but a certain sense of urgency occupying the same invisible space within which seconds, minutes, hours usually perch. discovery of mangled elephant walrus made in the company of a casual male friend.
she appears wet and has a slow wretched wriggle over her body that seems to move from rear to snout. slow oozing blood waters from the walrus' wounds where her legs used to be attached: she is limbless and obviously left for vulture food when we nearly step on her gray awkward body and long trunk.
recognizing some sort of commotion, i move around a large wooden crate to get a better view of the action: two boys shoveling amongst crowd of people. as i approach to inspect, people melt away leaving a perfect opportunity to begin speaking. the boys are surprisingly outgoing / friendly with me and they pass me a plate freshly shoveled from the crate. it is some sort of food. i accept and begin eating.
at least one or two bites before discovering that i have bitten the head and most of the body off of a seahorse. i stand swallowing the remains of the tiny creature holding its spiral tail between my fingers.
crossing a very long, very low bridge over flat, glassy water. traveling along in some sort of motorized vehicle with a companion, altho i never look at her face for identification.
as we make our way across the water she begins telling a story which takes place on a bridge years earlier during a violent windstorm. as she speaks her story becomes reality. wind and waves increase in size and power and it becomes clear that, like a story-ghost, the storm from the past is on its way.
through my passenger window i watch as a crew rigs an old timer steam liner through a series of pulleys to free the ship from its pinned position between concrete and current. ahead through the windshield, horses drawing carriages spook, their drivers momentarily losing control across the highway lanes as black waves wash in over their hooves. the cement foundation of the bridge and asphalt pavement actually move in long slow ripples like a jump rope whipped from one loose end. we manage to navigate our way across the bridge and agree that we must seek immediate shelter from the imposing storm.
my companion mentions that she needs a grapefruit and as we move through the streets on foot, the townspeople are busy leaving and going and scurrying to fasten wood over the exposed window panes of the buildings. as if on cue we pass an orange door with a sign bearing the single word “citrus” hanging from the glass. she suggests we enter so that she can satiate her craving and secure shelter.
just inside the door, a staircase drops us down to a wide hallway well lit by an entire wall of glass windows. she continues urgently to the other end of the hallway, presumably into the establishment. ihang back as she passes out of sight.
i am standing, watching as a band of older gentlemen pack up their instruments after an afternoon jam session. one man carries an absurdly large and polished saxophone. i politely exchange salutations with one of the musicians, then sit down legs crossed on the floor to warm my hands against a space heater.
my attention is effortlessly drawn to a single, previously unnoticed grapefruit next to me on the floor. i produce a paring knife and carve the yellow fruit into halves opening its sweet pink interior out into the hallway. alone, i begin eating the grapefruit being careful not to swallow seeds or choke on the tough membrane of the fruit.
strolling, relaxing in out own private worlds, myself and a few others on a nameless beach. bright sand comprised of many small stones with gray smoky blue sea extending from the shore. i am wearing trousers, others in swimsuits, but it is not hot, perhaps there is no temperature at all. the group is separated, we are each off wandering or thinking or throwing stones. no particular thowts on my mind. i am culled from these generic personal words with myself by the arrival of a charcoal grill. apparently it is lunchtime.
the group loosely convenes around the grill as T begins working on the fire. all focus on the bbq, its skinny metal legs by now digging unevenly into the sand.
i raise my gaze during the shuffling and tearing of matches to spot a two story tsunami swelling toward us.
i respond by using my weight to twist the grill deeper into the ground to give it a better chance at surviving the immenent flood, then with the others, retreat up the bluff behind us.
i climb the rear sand dune fast and hard, paying particular attention to the tough hide beneath my sandy sneakers.
composite beach scene at night. hundreds, perhaps thousands of people and umbrellas moonbatheing on the cool blue sand. an over head camera dream-shot, presumably 20 feet above the parking lot behind the beach, pans left to right. view of suncaps and umbrella peaks with a black body of water in background. the strip of sand comprising the beach is very narrow in width.
as perspective moves an individual comes into focus (me) and i watch myself zig zag up the beach through the people sitting on their blankets. the length of beach jouts ahead to where it ends at a red brick wall. it is understood that we are bookmarked in at both ends by two impassable brick walls.
cut to a waterside scene with nameless friends and i standing around on the cusp of shore as soft waves lap in around our ankles. the exchange carries on without words.
as if called by an invisible voice, i lift my head to the horizon and recognize a sturdy wave building in absolute slow motion. all outside focus drops: it’s just me and the enclosing wave.
the wave is black with electric white windows and looks like an office building at night lying on its side. the wave swells miles off shore, raising the horizon as it literally inches along toward us. drawn by the electric wave, a herd of beach people begins grazing out into the shallow water. i walk into the wave's moving gravity of purple skin and florescent squares. the electric wave constantly builds and i am hypnotized by its everslow pushing weight. the water never deepens beyond my legs.
the wave and i each make our way -- step by step, push by push -- toward each other, closing in on the midpoint. a warm, calm surprise arrives just ten feet from the solid mass of liquid bulk with the observation that the water in which i am standing does not rise to meet the base of the wave. the transition is abrupt but makes perfect sense: the depth of the water moves from 2 feet to well over 250 feet in a matter of inches.
face to face with the wave a decision manifests like a set of unconscious instructions: i fetch one final breath and dive, arms over head, into the purple body of the wave.
the electric wave swallows me and absorbs my equal opposite in weight.
traveling somewhere, i am convinced to bring more clothes than needed. they are all on hangers: a jacket, pants, sweatshirt, etc. i am flying around with my clothes on hangers and people are saying "wow he's flying, too bad that's not in style." i am in some kind of a mall at the edge of an ocean, and about to fly across. something waits on the other side and i need to be dressed nicely. i am unsure when i should change...before of after the flight.
i ask where the changing rooms are. around the corner to the right, just past the elevators.
i do not see them and continue walking/flying. i fly above the clothing displays along the length of the mall. i decide to head into the movie theatre and watch the movie. i can change in the dark, then fly.
i have a hard time finding a seat. i suddenly have more stuff -- hangers, guitar, and 3 pabst blue ribbons. i find some vacant bleacher cushions in the back -- a fine, available spot.
i sit and sip a pbr. the movie has begun and i try to catch up. my surroundings blend with the movie, both happening at the same time become one. i begin to realize i am tripping. apparently i ate acid while getting dressed for some wedding-ish dress-up party earlier.
the people next to me return to their seats and ask me to move. using firm language i tell them i will make some room for them. i shift all my stuff.
a tiny dog comes up and bites my hand in the dark. he clamps on softly. i grab his jaw, pry it off my hand, and give him a whack. he disappears.
on screen we are driving. the people next to me, now like old friends, and i talk. we drive past the Nugget Casino in Reno Nevada and they chat about checking it out. i consider telling them about my 3 week stint there a few years back, but do not.
on screen is the view through a windshield. we get on an interstate - highway 64 west -- and there is an argument about where we are going.
the movie has no narration, only moving images. driving scene continues. older, funky cars pass on the left with the same jazz song playing. the cars always change lanes in front of the camera, then pull off.
moving images are very beautiful and artful. a closed vegas-style tavern, head lights, it is now dusk.
a woman appears in front of the vehicle. she motions to stop and the car halts only inches from her outstretched palm. in a wink i am pulling the car into a covered valet parking area. it is majestic and more lovely women in old fancy clothes arrive like apparitions. they help me park the car.
very slowly, the car gets parked.
a woman with dark hair opens my car door. everything moves very slowly. i hand her the keys and we embrace. "__________" she tells me (insert name) has been looking for me. the woman is so lovely and soft i want to kiss her. "don't do that" she tells me "it would not be smart." we part and she and the others help me unload.
food is spoiling in the backseat and i discard my garbage. the car is an old stingray-ish thing. it is covered with blankets.
i notice the other old funky cars that passed us earlier parked as well.
something will happen tonight.
although no one is sure just what. (dreamed 7/16/03)
i am a suicide bomber. i have explosives strapped to my body.
urban warfare scene, two "teams" of the military standoff in various positions. me, with body bombs, am out front creeping toward the target. i am covered by gun fire by others on my side.
i find myself on the ground. i have struggled to get close to my military target.
i am ready to detonate.
i look down over my bombs. they sizzle and deflate into wrinkley walnut looking things and let out a sad puff of smoke.
quick thinking tells me to start firing my weapon at the enemy. i take aim at two soldiers wearing white uniforms in a low tower. i line them up in the cross hairs of my automatic machine gun. i pull the trigger.
the bullets fall short of my target.
i am still covered by my comrads and continue fighting whatever battle it is i am fighting. i sight another enemy through a screen door. i line her up in the hairs and shoot.
same thing...no blood, no dead bodies.
i bust through the screen door into another room where i attempt to kill a third time. my intended victim is just waking from sleep. he is defenseless.
i shoot. bullets fly. but it doesn't work...i cannot kill. i am the worst suicide bomber ever. (dreamed 5/30/05)
on the road with tyler and danielle. me in one car, they in another. view pans out into arial view of reno, mountains, and a new city none of us had been to -- "San Reno!" san reno is connected to reno by one tiny road and hmmm -- which should we go to? we decide to first check out san reno. we approach and attempt to enter on foot. but a movie is being filmmed and no one can enter with out a pass. "well can we use the bathroom?" "sure, it's over there."
enter us three to the men's room. there is an enormous urinal in the center of the floor. it is more of a porcelin vortex which i imagine a bunch of tourists standing around holding themselves. there are wheelchairs tied with rope in a circle around the hole in the floor. apparently that urninal is closed.
i approach another more conventional urinal against the wall, pin the foto album i am carrying between my elbow and waist, and take a leak. i finish up.
as i am stepping away i slip on a puddle on the tile floor. i slide and my right leg plops into the urinal. i am now soaked midway up to my thigh with yellow pee. even though it is partly mine i am grossede out and head straight for the shower. i am annoyed off because i just washed my blue jeans!
i turn on the shower and hose off my right leg. the yellow begins to wash down but i need to put down the photo album to wash it properly. i step back into the piss-part of the bathroom, hand off the photo album to D, and get my leg back under the shower. i wash my trousers to the best of my ability without getting the rest of me wet, then exit.
back at my vehicle with T and D in theirs, i decide to prepare some food. mmm -- i get the idea to make a peanut butter, apple, and cheese sandwich, but i cannot find my cheese! i remember that i gave it to D with my photo album, but didn't get it back.
i approach their van, swing open the curtain, and pop my head into the car. D and T are inside changing their clothes. i grab the cheese and make myself a well deserved sandwich. (dreamed 3/31/02)
in my dream, i have just died. people keep saying "come do this, keeth" and i say "i'd like to but i'm dead."
as i stand around talking to everyone in the empty room, my body begins to rot.
my very smelly body turns into an abstract black box of lines.
(dreamed 5/6/6 )
swimming in the ocean. someone, dr. t, and i. small waves, rocky seafloor, no temperature to the water.
dizzy sleepiness strikes like a clock.
i / we are all simultaneously hit --
our bodies grow uncontrollably tired.
i pull myself from beneath the water,
i just want to lie down under the water and die. but i resist.
where is dr. t? she is under.
the water tabletop is glassy. no signs of her.
briefly, sleepy, she rises. "what were we hit by?" we pull ourselves from the water to the beach.
very funny pictures (one moving, dancing) of a childhood "green" party with everyone dressed in green. numerous old birthday cards from mom. all the same color, one with a twenty, and a two dollar bill from susanna e. and a check uncashed.
then, again, the buzzing gun alarm begins and sleepy sudden-ness strikes. (4:40 am)
a fisherman dragging his line in a drying riverbed. there is not enough water to keep the fishies -- BIG ONES -- afloat.
they tumble over and roll. an enormous bass or something. and LIONFISH.
i saw at least three of them. (dreamed 11/16/03)