My dream from Tuesday, 2007-12-25:
My point of view flies over a road being cut across the side
of a sea-edge hill by an antique-looking icerunner-bladed
many-wheel-roller road-cutting machine. I fly to a yard of many
machines and, past that, the roadworkers' parking lot. Two of my
old rack-mount audio boxes are sitting on top of a van.
I go down into a manmade valley (probably cut by the machine
I flew over). One bank of the valley is a long building like the
one Frank Lloyd Wright made in San Rafael, the one you see in
the movie /Gattaca/. I wake from sleep, still in the dream, in a
hotel room in this building and Juanita and I start to have ***.
Now the building has no roof. In a cafeteria I get a paper
plate of roast beef and mashed potatoes. I'm a foreign re****ter.
A big event is going on out of sight. There's a dystopian feel
to the whole society; everyone's listening to incomprehensible
echoing announcements from huge horn speakers.
My dreams from Wednesday, 2007-12-26:
First dream. In a grocery store I go up and down the main
aisle declaring what each food plant looks like (what kind of
animal or machine or situation).
In the next store the lights are dim. This is a tech store.
There's a lot of mechanical cash register sound from the row of
checkout counters; the workers are adding everything up for the
night. I'm in the back of the store, attracted to something on a
top shelf next to a sign that says /$57/. /What is that thing? I
want to turn on more lights, but I don't want to disturb the
workers, who probably want to close and go home.
Outside in the dark parking lot I plot a video story about a
car that goes /BZHZZZT/ and vanishes to somewhere else; I see a
aerial view of the car, an old jalopy with a wingless airplane
fuselage and tail sticking out the back, parked floating in blue
water next to a sunny futuristic bay city house --that's where
it vanished to. A man is sitting on a lawn chair, reading a
newspaper.
Next dream. I'm in a strange version of Caspar (CA) at
night. Lots of people are out in the street. Jenny Johnson from
the old Community school is next to a bus door. I go there and
she says, "Take her hand," which I understand as permission for
me to take /Jenny's hand/. Then she says, "Are you doing this
because of my [something] fund?" I say, "What fund?"
We go into the pink house across from the Caspar Inn;
inside, it's a big building with long hallways. From inside I
see, back out in the street, the girl who was rejected in favor
of Jenny (?)-- she sees the man (me? no) and the other girl (was
Jenny, now someone else) kissing. She and the man smile at each
other over former-Jenny's shoulder. A tough-looking old mechanic
woman reads instructions from a tattoo on her arm and follows
them to start the motor of the tractor that will pull the
disabled bus. Now the man in the building has a burlap sack on
his head so not to be able to see the rejected girl, because
(retroactively) she's retarded and seeing retarded people makes
him cringe.
The tractor becomes a car, then a motorcycle-- it's still
hitched to the bus. All the people who were out walking are now
in vehicles, racing around aimlessly; they're aliens from
another world, treating Earth as though it's Disneyland. Bad
troublemaker redneck locals want to park where the bus is; they
sit in their car, comically steaming mad; their car radio plays
a song where a 1920s black woman sings, "And it's easy then for
the man to ruin his Aphrodite... before the milk turns cloudy he
will send a searching party..." (Party is twisted to rhyme with
Aphrodite.)
My dreams from Thursday, 2007-12-27:
First dream. In the back yard of my (dead) grandparents'
house in their orange grove in Escondido (CA) scaffolding goes
up out of sight into the dark. Four people ride up in a box in
the middle of a J-shaped loop of steel cable. I think they're
war observers. (Either I lost all the complicated back-story or
the dream only had a hint of that.)
Next dream. By pointing my finger I direct a car at a
distance to travel on a mountain road. It must have some ability
to drive itself, because it stays on the road even when it goes
behind something and I can't see it for awhile. The car's path
(the road) becomes less a smooth sound wave shape and more a
staccato dance of slashes like experimental music notation.
/That's interesting. Let's magnify that./
Next dream. I'm in a house where, in dream only, Mendocino
actor David Woolis and a strange girl are staying. I pay the
rent here; they're guests. David leaves for work. I talk to the
girl about why not to get any more electric heaters (they're
dangerous and wasteful). I push a couch-chair into the shade
(the sun is ****ning horizontally, straight in the big windows)
and I get a naugahyde hassock to put against the chair so I can
sleep there.
The girl becomes actress Cynthia Ariosta. I say, "Did you
ever pay any rent?" She says, "I'll only be here part of the
time." Oh, well, that's all right, then.
Suddenly I'm in Caspar riding a bicycle with no pedals; you
push it like riding a scooter. Elly Cooney goes by the other way
in a pickup truck; we wave hello. Two girls ride past me on
regular bicycles.
Now the girls and I are in a squarish concrete tunnel
through the corner of a mountain. Cars come through; it's only
wide enough for one car at a time. Three metal tracks go down
the center of the floor-- a girl bends to investigate the
tracks; I say, "Don't touch that. It might be hot."
There are no cars now. The tunnel goes into a big concrete
room. Inside a dam? Is this a water tank? We start making a
place to live here. Lumber appears and the girls use it to frame
in walls for a dormitory and a kitchen and other rooms. I look
at a wall of racks of different kinds of wire; I'm thinking
about wiring the place. Here's an audio patchbay. /I want that./
A man comes in wearing a hardhat-- he mentions KMFB; he asks
me about what it's like there. I follow him around the wall,
talking about the different shows we have, the different people.
Other hardhat men are working here. I figure that our secret
room will soon be found, so I tell the man about it; I say,
"It's like an underground fort. Do you want to see it?" He says
yes.
I have trouble finding it. The way is different... But here
it is, and there are the two girls, up on ladders, filling
blasted-out gaps in the concrete with expanding foam from a
hose. The other men follow us in, pace off distances and mark
places in the floor with marking pens to open holes into conduit
running underneath. A lesser worker says to main man, "We have
thirty minutes. We have to meet with... some people." Uh-oh.
We go outside (now the other side of the wall, where before
this place was way underground). The light on the mountains is a
pretty peach color. I say to the man, "Mister Pettit, do you
think there's a chance they'll say we can't have the place to
play?" He says, "No." But of course his bosses won't let me
and the girls (and all the refugees to come after) have all that
enclosed space for nothing. This is /typical/, we found it, we
improved it, and they'll just take it and kick us out.
-end-
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