Untitled c. August 15, 2010

A dance audition for the Pink Panther meets West Side Story.  Several of the people auditioning are wearing ridiculous pink outfits and huge sunglasses.  The judges are immediately turned off.  The second part of the audition takes place on the ninth floor, and it can only be reached by a treacherous ladder that starts to splinter and break as I climb it.  Although I have my shoes with me, my mom knocks on the door trying to bring me my sister's pointe shoes that are too narrow and long for my feet.  As I do grande battements at the barre, I am surprised at my flexibility but disappointed in my lack of strength.

I go shopping and can't stop thinking about the oversized white button-down shirt on the sale rack.  Don't know why I like it, but I decide to get it, especially after D*** sees it and compliments me on it.  Take a look in the clearance bin and choose a miniature dark green latex bustier with pink tulle tutu.  It has an old price tag from Old Navy on it: $4.44 marked down to $1.55.  It's sized to fit a Barbie doll but it's really stretchy and I think it might stretch out to a size 4 in the future.  There are some jeans in the bin, but only in size 24 and 34.  Rolled up silk jersey dresses in there that I think are too predictable in pattern and silhouette.  Wandering through the store, I see an old woman arranging silk flowers on a pegboard display and now I see that I'm in a hospital.  A*** says to me that she has to get 69 plus 177 injections into her lower gums.  I tell her I can't even imagine how that feels.

Atop one of the buildings in that huge medical/university complex, a man is sleeping on a rooftop made of woven balloons that look like hot dogs.  He slides off and I'm frightened he will fall to his death.  He does a flip and a half and lands on a giant beanbag.  Someone is trying to find out where to get antibiotics.  I think there needs to be a map.

Adjacent to the complex is J******* and S****'s house.  They are leading a tour through their kitchen and a presidential bedroom is off to the left.  I wonder how they avoid getting all their things stolen, having all these tour groups going through their house.  I tell them that they can see the balloon roof from that bedroom but we can't figure out if it's Lincoln's or Washington's bedroom.  When I look out the window, all I see are large tents put up for a large flea market/ trade show annual event.  I decide to attend the show with them.  It's not long before I wander off on my own.

I find my favorite booth and the saleswoman says it's good to see me again.  I flip through a pile of vintage textiles meant to be sewn into teddy bears, Christmas stockings, tree skirts, and staircase ornaments.  The one I like is $26, but I decide not to get it.

I run into K*** and N*****.  I tell them I am looking for a fine-tipped pen in a dark green, ochre, or purple.   I buy a package of huge plastic letters and the gift with purchase includes book binding clasp thingeys and a bunch of pens.  Now I have the pen I've been looking for.

We want to go back to that place where we had a beer and noodle flight last year.  I am surprised that I remember exactly where it is.  Past the large temple that looks like that room in the Met, then turn right here and then left over here.  The noodles are made of shiitake mushrooms, which we all agree are ugly but wonderful.  The Japanese bartender tries to give me a double serving of mango which I can't eat.  He says to K*** that he's got a special surprise for her when we're done eating.  Then as a joke, he presents her with the bill.

Pass by a large booth making hard candy that looks like minerals.  You can buy large rods of spun and blown candy and/or make your own flavors.  The molten waterfalls of candy flavors are not turned on yet.  I almost buy a ready-made piece that looks like a cross between malachite and pyrite, but it's $45.  I remark that D***** and I saw many places like this when we were in Atlantic City / Reno.  (A place I went to in a dream a couple of months back.)

A clumsy CGI dragon wanders out of a booth and ducks down into a hole.  We decide not to go down that path because it leads back to Boston.

Though not one of my more cohesive dreams, theme-wise, I do note that there are a lot of unusual phallic symbols in this one: long and narrow pointe shoes, hot-dog balloons, hypodermic needles, pens, rods of candy, a clumsy dragon???

Glazed over c. February 2009

I'm visiting a glass factory and recycling facility. I'm flying around, exploring the factory and accidentally float into the recycling area. Large conveyers carrying broken bits of used bottles rain multicolored shards of glass down into a huge collection bin.

My mouth keeps filling up with the shards. I vomit them up into my hand, and each time I think I'm done hacking, there are more. The feeling is similar to having a the shell of a popcorn kernel stuck in the back of your throat.

As I fly through the other parts of the factory, I try to snap pictures but I can't get the shutter to engage. I lose control in flight and bang into the wall, bounce back and end up in the recycling facility again, swallowing and choking on more glass shards.

I visit the factory's gift shop afterwards and see piles and piles of beautiful colored glass items and glazed ceramics. I have no money, but I do have a fistful of my vomit... and it is beautiful in its own way. I decide that the vomit will be my souvenir.

I want to tell Jonathan Adler about this place... they've got the kinds of glazes he's always wanted. I am disheartened to find that he recently discovered it and will be touring the facility soon.

They are closing for the evening, and as I leave, I find that most of my glass vomit souvenir has slipped through my fingers.

Why penguins hate clouds c. January 2010

There were blueberries the size of tomatoes and Redemption Song was playing in the background. N***** should've taken a picture.

I saw a chain gang of dominatrixes.

I farted and my butt said the word "potatoes."

A Kawaii character told me the secret reason why penguins hate clouds.

What part of this dream makes the most sense to you? And no, I can't reveal the reason penguins hate clouds because I can't remember it. It may or may not have something to do with global warming.