You slay me c. June 26, 2009

I'm at a job with two other people and we are presented with the challenge of slaying a dragon in order to obtain its hair. The dragon's hair is worth millions of dollars.

We're hiding in the woods when we hear the dragon's roar. Danger is imminent. Our boss, J**, promises to save us from being killed by the dragon if we join his team and promise to give him the profits from any dragon hair we might find. I find a hiding place and figure I'm pretty safe without his help, but at the last minute I give into the fear and join his team.

The next day I find out that he spent an exorbitant amount (think Jurassic Park) staging a scene with a fake dragon in order to scare us and get us to join his team. Since a real dragon was recently spotted in the area, he did risk the chance that we would find the real dragon hair without him and keep the money for ourselves.

I feel pretty foolish as I realize he has no better means of protecting us from the real dragon than we had on our own, and now we have no chance of profiting from any dragon hair we find. Apparently, the other two people and I were recruited because we are the best dragon hair hunters in the world. I'm impressed that J** spent so much to trick us into joining his team, but I wonder why I don't leave.

Foundations c. December 27, 2009

Getting dressed in corsets, hoop skirts, garters. At one point, I realize that women have seven breasts, one for each day of the week... three on one side, four on the other. I question the bra, with its symmetrical two cup design.

Trying to open a day spa and juice bar. The employees nearly drown on a daily basis because the elevator shaft is filled with water. To ride the elevator, you must hold your breath for eleven floors. I haven't planned the menu well, nor have I purchased drinking straws or insurance.

Emergency wake up c. March 22, 2009

I haven't finished high school, and I may not have enough credits to graduate. I'm slightly amused at the absurdity of the situation because I already have two college degrees and I'm in my mid-thirties, but my parents and other relatives seem to be quite concerned. I have two choices: go ahead with my trip to Paris with a layover in outer space, or stay home and try to catch up on my exams so I can get my high school diploma. I chose Paris, especially because I've never been to outer space.

The plane resembles a large waiting room. While I'm waiting for take-off, my teeth start to fall out, one by one. I think I should get off the plane and head to the dentist, but the flight attendant urges me to stay, asking me, "when do you get the chance to go to outer space?" The teeth continue falling out, but I just clench them in the palm of my hand. They look like kernels of corn.

After the flight is underway, I get up to explore the rest of the plane. There are different rooms and lounge areas. It's a really spacious and luxurious way to travel: sort of a mix between a Star Trek spaceship and a first-class train.

At some point, I realize I'm being followed. It's my mother and a bunch of security guards coming to force me to return to high school. I start to run through the halls looking for an exit. I fling open the doors to each room, but each room I encounter resembles the previous one. I panic as I start to feel like I'm caught in a loop.

As I loop back through the same room for the nth time, I spot a mirror on the wall that wasn't there before. I pause and look in the mirror. In it, I see myself alone in a different room with a box labeled, "EMERGENCY WAKE-UP KIT." I cautiously walk toward the mirror and make the motion with my hand that would enable me to pick up the mirrored image of the kit. As soon as my hand touches it, I wake up.

In and out of character/ Artful dodging c. May 30, 2009

I'm in a movie/dream/real life.  Sometimes I am the male lead, and other times I am myself.  Things are very, very surreal, and when events get too strange, I realize that I'm dreaming/hallucinating and I wake up.  (I wake up from the dream into the dream; I don't actually wake up.  This cycling gets to be maddening because I realize I'm dreaming over and over and I want to wake up for real.)

I'm watching / living in a random movie from the 80's that turns out to be an excellent find.  Richard Pryor is one of the characters, but I don't remember what he does.  There's an upcoming art auction is an animated video installation that is very Peter Max-esque.  I run down the hallway leading to the gallery where the piece is being shown.  Posters for upcoming events, new magazine launches, and other ads line the walls.

I enter the room where the video is playing and I am completely amazed and inspired.  I struggle to memorize the scenes because I sort of realize I'm dreaming and I want to be able to share the experience when I wake up.  In the next room, I find a white piece of paper and a pencil with white lead.  I furiously make notes with this white on white combo.  They are surprisingly legible:

glove

scarf

hair

jump

warhol turn

drain

fished up

branch

smoking lady

I try to explain to each person I encounter the brilliance of the video, but crucial scenes are always missing from my recollection.  (Some of those people include Sarah Jessica Parker, and the character of Ben Seaver from Growing Pains.)  And then, when that person leaves, I stumble into another room where the video is playing and I get to watch it again.  

This is the second time in memory that the role of my youngest sister is intermittently played by Ben Seaver.

I really wish I could accurately remember the details of that video because I really did like it.

I start to go mad as I obsess on the video, encountering it again and again and again and again.

(brief awakening and then back to sleep)

I'm at my grandparents' swimming pool.  It is filled with ballistic gel and giant ice cream sprinkles.  I jump in.  It's an awesome feeling, but then I start to suffocate and struggle.

(brief awakening and then back to sleep)

I'm on the top of a city building.  My mother is chasing me.  I leap and fly around, partly to escape, and partly just to dance.  I jump onto the roof of an adjoining building.  As I near the blacktop surface, I instruct myself, "this is really going to hurt, please make it feel spongy when I land."  I land and the surface isn't hard as I feared, but it's not spongy like I requested.  It's more crinkly and crunchy, like insulation covered in tar paper.

(brief awakening and then back to sleep)

I'm waiting to attend a highly acclaimed show.  The theater is like a high school cafetorium.  The woman at the ticket counter calls out the name, Mr. Niggerhead.  I look around and see that most of the attendees are African-American, and I think, "that is a really, really unfortunate last name."  One of the white guys sitting at my table jumps up to get his ticket and I realize that the d-bag registered to attend under a fake name because he thought it would make him seem cool.  To add insult to injury, I see he already obtained a ticket under his real name because it's there on the table where he was sitting... which means someone else who wanted to attend couldn't get a ticket because this guy had to use two names.  I move away from him as the show starts.

A mechanical tennis ball server shoots ping pong balls at the open legs of a woman lying prone on a table.  The ping pong balls grow into tennis balls that then mature into bowling balls.  We watch the birth of the bowling balls... a strange and painful performance art piece.

Eyes wide while shut c. 2009

I keep ending up in public bathrooms: dorm bathroom, locker room, etc. when I have to replace my contact lenses.  The lenses are giant, about 3 or 4 inches in diameter.  Are my contact lenses always this big?  How do I get them into my eyes?  What is my locker combination?  Where's my solution?

Weird.  When I googled "giant contact lenses" for images, I came across someone else blogging about the very same thing.  The image above is from that post.

Fairy godmother? c. March 7, 2009

I am babysitting a pumpkin.  He starts to pee and poop and he's not wearing a diaper.  I can't find a diaper fast enough so I hold him over the sink.  After he's done, I turn him over and rinse him out through his pumpkin hole.  

A transcript that doesn't quite add up c. February 9, 2009

I woke up this morning and said (half-asleep) to D*****, "When it comes to sevens, you are my two and five." 

He replied (more awake than I), "Oh, I'm not your three and four?"

I thought to myself, "He gets it.  He really gets it," and promptly fell back asleep.

I've been struggling all day to figure out what that meant, because it was so clear to me then.

Walls come tumbling down c. January 9, 2009

I'm in a sculpture class that takes place in a space the size of two large gymnasiums.  The student projects are stored warehouse style on pallets and shelving that runs several stories high.  

I've missed many classes and another student is showing me one of the techniques I missed during the last class.  We pour several colors of molten glass into a crucible and then on to a slab where we can form it with our hands like hot pulled candy.  The results are surprisingly complex and beautiful for such a simple procedure.

As M***** assists me by getting a bowl of cold water, she accidentally knocks into the side of a precariously stacked shelving unit.  It starts to tremble and sway.  Students rush onto one of the platforms of the shelving unit, trying to prevent it from collapsing, but the whole thing implodes like a demolished building.  We all stare in dismay as thousands of molten glass bowls are crushed to bits in the accident.  The instructor tries to comfort us, but I wonder why the pieces were stored that way in the first place.  I know M***** feels terrible and I can't help but feel responsible as well because she was getting the bowl of water for me.

What follows is a comedy of errors.  In order to prevent a similar accident from occurring, a different group of students begin moving their work (medieval armor and full length cast metal framed mirrors) to a different location in the warehouse.  As they are moving their pieces, the commotion causes someone else to bump into another shelving unit.  This one contains figurines and scenes rendered in Mexican talavera-style pottery.  We all look on as the second unit sways and collapses.  

The vibration from both of the accidents sets off a chain reaction and stack after stack is reduced to rubble.  It is somewhat tragic as aisles and aisles of student work are destroyed, but I take a bit of pleasure in witnessing this disturbingly beautiful performance piece.  The final unit to collapse is a column of concrete dinosaurs.  

Note: I've always wanted to open a concrete art yard next to an abstract art gallery, just for pun's sake, and I find it ironic that the dinosaurs were the last to go.

The students are evacuated and are served cookies and fruit punch outdoors, summer camp style. Since I am the only one in class who can fly, I am allowed back in to survey and document the damage from above.  I try taking pictures with my digital camera so that the insurance agents and others can see what I'm seeing.  As is often the case, I can't get the shutter button to engage and am unable to capture the images.  Also, it is difficult for me to fly and shoot photos at the same time and I keep flying into walls.

An overhead conveyor of Christmas decorations runs overhead from a neighboring factory.  The factory owners are dismantling the works as I fly by.  Again, I am unable to shoot any pictures before I smack into a wall and I have to leave.

I don't know what else to say about this dream except that it was visually stunning and precisely why I wish the cameras in my dreams would work.

Capturing the moment c. January 20, 2009

I am traveling to the funeral of a beloved professor in a fast-moving Jetsons-ish hover boat.  The boat moves at a speed similar to that of an airplane.  I am trying to capture some digital video out of my camera.  The shutter won't engage.  When I do capture something beautiful, I can't get it to replay or the battery runs out of juice.  

We are headed towards Australia/the Netherlands.  I see amazing cities emerging from the ocean... skyscrapers with rushing water channelling through them to generate power.

The globe seems jumbled up, and countries are closer than I expected.  I am surprised to learn that it only takes two hours to get to China via hover boat, and wonder why I spent so many hours on planes traveling to China for work the previous year.

The family of the professor is arguing about who should and who should not have been invited to the funeral.  We all switch over to another high speed boat and head back to New York to pick up another passenger.

We head over to the professor's former house.  The neighbors are throwing rocks.  We decide to make a break for it, but I can't run.  My legs are uneven and I can only do a hybrid float/scoot movement.  I go around the long way and end up at the back door of the house.  Once inside, I note that there are excessive bathtubs and blocked doorways in nearly every room.  I ask the family members if they mind if I take a few snapshots... because I am always dreaming about superfluous bathtubs and showers and that the photos would be a perfect example for me to post on my blog. The camera doesn't work.

Like pulling teeth on a dead end street c. April 3, 2008

There's a dead end street behind the street where I grew up. In my dream world, it continues on and leads to undiscovered parts of my home town, usually with visually stunning sights.

My parents drive me down that street (on the edge of a huge body of water) to the dentist. I wonder why I am going to a children's dentist, but I am assured by my mother that my grandmother goes to him with great results. The office seems frozen in the late 70's with shag carpeting, door beads, and all of the children's books and toys in the waiting room are surprisingly well preserved relics. My vintage shopper eyes scan the room, sensing an untapped eBay treasure trove.

In the playroom, I show my mom some the books that I remember from my childhood. There's a book about a chicken that I liked. There's also a book with these scary children on the back cover. Their eyes glow red when you tilt the book. I shiver as I remember how much that book used to disturb me.

In the receptionist's room, there are the original drawings to some of the Curious George books sitting in page protectors, with thanks to the dentist from the secretaries of the book publisher. I am interested to find out that the books were published just down the street from the dentist's office. I start to wonder what other interesting things happened on this street. I see a salesman-of-the-year award from the early 60's sitting in a dusty magazine bin.

I step out for a bit and check out the street. It looks like a dusty and grainy Route 66 in the 50's, with a couple of ferris wheels thrown in for good measure. I'm wearing glasses that are also a digital camera. I press the button near my right temple to capture the shot, but the button isn't engaging and I lose the picture. The wind blows and the scene melts away.

I go back to the dentist's office. As I suspected, I need to get several teeth removed. It'll be several hours before the dentist can do the procedure, so I'm advised to go get lunch first.

I walk around the back of the office building to a strip mall composed of many restaurants.  I peruse many options: a pie shop offering apple pie and chicken pot pie.  I don't know why but I turn this one down.  After going in and out of numerous barbeque joints, I settle on a buffet offering macaroni and cheese and fried chicken for $14.05.  When it comes time to pay, I don't have the funds.  I say that I was a gymnast in training for the '08 Olympics, but I broke my leg and can't compete.  I look down and see that I have a cast on my leg.  The manager says he doesn't believe me.  I take a flying leap, broken leg first through the shop window to escape and continue flying back to the dentist.  I realize that I've left my wheelchair behind, but I can't go back for it.

Back at the dentist's waiting room, I begin playing a Mystery Date type game.  This one is life-sized, though, and it requires me to go through a maze of rooms, sort of Choose-Your-Own-Adventure style.  I choose the wrong path and it leads me to a room with a bloody bathtub, a torn strand of pearls, and a soaking-wet prom dress hanging on the shower rod.  I scream and can't go back through the same set of doors.  I bang and bang on the doors until the dentist's receptionist pulls open the door.  I realize that I'm in the coat closet of the waiting room.  

Boy, do I feel silly.  I worry that I won't be able to pay for having my teeth pulled.  The receptionist winks at me and says that everything has already been arranged.