Dreamlog

Crazy dreams continue. This time, running into my writers’ group at a mall on their way to a class most of them were taking together. Then later at the actual meeting, they had invited a lot more people than the five I had initially counted on, maybe twenty people altogether. We met in someone’s house, and every time someone made an entrance, a group of young girl ballerinas would announce them, and if they were female, give them a tiara. Instead of going over the chapter I had submitted, I played Onion Man on the ukulele. Some people danced and others pulled out their own instruments to play along.

Oh yeah, and there was also a dog that put on a puppet show. I can’t remember many details about that part, except that one of the puppets was an owl holding a book.

Dreamlog

I had more crazy dreams last night. Our apartment had been moved two doors down. There was a hole in the bathtub, and a secret room. I was on the run from some people who were trying to shoot me, but I’d occasionally stop to make myself a sandwich.

I often dream of secret rooms, and I’ve been told that these are hidden parts of my conscience that I need to explore. The hidden room in this particular dream was filled with children’s toys, and then it led to a long hallway in some kind of warehouse.

There was another part of the dream that involved several different trips in different airports. First, I was going to Orlando, and there was this bus I had to take to some airport out in the boonies near Pensacola, which is nowhere near Orlando, btw. And in the bus, both ways, I was behind this fat kid in a weird, furry hat who struck me as somewhat effeminate.

Then I was supposed to go to Birmingham, and M was with me, but we missed the plane, along with several other people. Helicopters showed up to transport everyone else, but we were left behind, presumably because I didn’t ask the airport staff the right question. And that fat kid in the hat was there again also.

This is all similar, in ways, to the Fisher King myth, which I was reading up on yesterday and trying to incorporate a little more into ZMS 3.

Since I’ve been on the antidepressant, I sleep more, and I’m remembering my dreams more. Much like I used to when I was a teenager. I wonder what this is bringing up for me. It seems like something I’ve long neglected. I did find a shrink to see, but I won’t have my first appointment until Feb. 1. In the meantime, I suppose I’ll be able to explore these questions a little more deeply at that point.

Dreamlog

“She was as brave as a widow’s daughter.” I dreamed this phrase last night, and it seems significant somehow. But then I also dreamt of Liz Pulos cleaning houses dressed as a superhero. In my dream, she was cleaning Sarah Fische’s apartment, which was much nicer than I imagine Sarah’s apartment is in real life, though I’ve never been there.

Live and Learn

I’m remarkably chipper, considering I just had a sudden bought of projectile vomiting, inspired by some bad Pom I drank earlier in the morning. It happened so quickly, I didn’t quite make it to the bathroom. The Pom had been in the fridge since my birthday party in November. But I had some a couple of days ago, and it seemed fine. Live and learn, they say.

I’ve been having a lot of crazy dreams lately. Last night, I had a lot of dreams about the supermarket. In the dream, I ran into an old friend, Samantha Jones, who apparently was working there. She morphed into another old friend I haven’t seen in a long time, who then became my ex-mother in law. The things I was buying were things that are actually on my RT grocery list.

The Foundation

I barely slept at all last night, and when I did I had crazy dreams about my job and about Matthew McConaughy (sp?), who was on SNL the other night. I was working on a CD-ROM about scheduling appointments, and I dreamed that it was narrated by a stoner/surfer type played by McConaughy. It wasn’t so much a dream as a vision. I had visions all night. Very specific utopian visions about how the world would be different if I were president of Amerika. And I had detailed retro-fantasies about writing in a journal as a teenager about how the Stock Market was the ruination of Amerika, but that I would exploit its inherent absurdities to make a lot of money because in this culture money=power, and I needed power in order for my ideas to be heard. And I did make lots of money in the stock market, and I did get lots of power. And I slowly moved up the ranks of career politicians, never taking a salary, donating most of my income to my Foundation, which was an umbrella for thousands of non-profit organizations I had started, many of which were artists’ communes, but also organizations to help re-organize failing schools and failing neighborhoods. And I had a lot of real estate. And mainly, I had a think tank, a Democratic Socialist think tank of which I was the head. It was like I was a benevolent version of Dick Cheney or something. In the end, I spent nearly two hours talking to Rev. Al Sharpton about slavery reparations, and he and I were sitting down together to do the math, to decide how much each person should get, how it would be split up, where the money would come from.

More Dreams

Two nights ago I dreamed of a princess who was given a “candle of Saint Stephen,” which, in my dream, was a blue candle that you chewed, and it caused you to spit out blue blood. The spitting of blue blood was a ritual that removed royalty from your lineage and allowed you to learn humility.

Last night I dreamed M and I were both working for a phone sex operation where people called to listen to us having sex, and we dressed up in costumes for this.

The Dance

Last night I dreamed that M and I were in a band, and our gig was in Gainesville, although it had the New York subway system. I always dream about the subway to some extent. Also, there were several people there I went to high school with in Alabama, and it appeared, from the way they were dressed to still be the 80s. One guy had a clip-on tie, but he wasn’t wearing a collar, so he had it taped to his neck.

I had a dream last night that involved going to a sushi restaurant/tavern that (in the dream) was near M’s apartment. M was friendly with a bartender there, and the bartender was the pimp for a bunch of neighborhood hookers. I think the dream starts in the restaurant, and the bartender keeps leaving his post at the bar to come hang out with us at our table and give us drinks.

Then later, I’m in an apartment, only separated from the apartment next door by a curtain. The girls who live there always pull back the curtain to talk to me. They have a bunch of rocks with random words scrawled on them with a sharpie pen, and the rocks are scattered everywhere and spill over into my apartment. They also have a large dog that never seems to move, which is fine with me. I don’t like large dogs.

I’m having problems with my cell phone. My voicemail messages are going to some government agency. I did get one message from my mother in Alabama telling me that Liam M. was trying to get it touch with me. I thought it was odd that Liam would call my parents in another state to try to reach me instead of just emailing me. Also, I couldn’t figure out why Liam would call me in the first place, since we’ve hardly ever even spoken to each other. I figure he needs a banjo player or something for a show he’s doing.

I go to this subway station, and it’s got tracks in it that cross over each other. Trains frequently collide, but they don’t crash. They just go right through each other, like ghosts. Everybody in the station is standing on piles of dirt or sitting on the ledge next to the tracks. It kind of looks like the inside of a coal mine, this subway station.

I don’t get on a train, and I decide to take a bus instead. But the bus is going the wrong direction, and the bus driver offers me a beer. As it turns out, I’m sitting in a seat right next to the driver as if it were a regular car, and there is a cooler full of beer at my feet. I finally get off the bus, and I’m trying to find my way back to the restaurant. I ask some random people on the street if they know a bartender who hangs out with a bunch of hookers, and they point me in the right direction.

So I finally get to the restaurant/bar and M is involved in a sushi tasting event, so I go to the back of the bar and get a beer. Then we’re back in the apartment with the curtain and the girls next door. I go over to my computer and I see that M and Janice have been playing some sort of internet role-playing game together, and I sit down to read the narrative. Then I woke up.

This is a typical sort of dream for me – with me doing relatively mundane things, but extraordinary things are happening around me. The settings, circumstances and incidental characters are always different. Frequently old girlfriends replace each other at random. Sometimes I’m still friendly with people that I haven’t been friendly with in years.