…and the dreams of a complex world.

Posted on March 24th, 2014










Dream Journal: Glowing Blue Light

Posted on June 17th, 2013

I woke up with the feeling this was a re-occurring dream: can only remember a small segment of something that feels as though it was immensely larger. A desert-like downtown, it is daytime, very dusty storefronts, dirt streets. There is a hat shop. An older man, who I knew makes leather hats for the shop, enters the storefront to talk with the proprietor. I had heard about him but never seen what he looks like. He had long grey hair and dressed in all hand stitched black leather (which I’m assuming he’d designed and assembled). Something about the old man seems unnatural. I’m very uncertain what it is.

Jump to tree-lined neighborhood, older colonial houses, it is nighttime: a dim glowy blue light reflects off of everything. A young girl and her mother stand in a driveway. The mother is holding a rabbit and telling the young girl that if she stabs the rabbit it will live forever. The girl stabs the rabbit, it bleeds out and dies. Her mother is gone and the young girl is yelling and crying about her mother being a liar. There is a pile of medium-to-large-sized objects on the curb (big trash day perhaps). Many of the objects were large glass jugs (5 gallons). I told the girl that we needed to break the glass jugs in order to repair everything. We start rabidly going through the garbage piles, breaking the glass. We come upon a creature in one of the piles of trash: a dog. it is bleeding. The girl seems extremely happy. It was her dog that had gone missing several weeks back. The dog seems confused, scared, and runs away. The girl runs after it. There are now haphazard heaps of glass chairs in the garbage piles. Everything is broken. The girl comes back moments later, crying.

Back to the desert storefront, daytime. I am now inside the hat shop. I approach the proprietor. I say, “I saw the old man come in here earlier today, the one that makes those hats over there. I always wondered what he looks like.” The proprietor replied, “Oh no, that wasn’t him, that was one of his followers that lives in the hills with him. Every once and a while they come to town to get away from him. He must drive them crazy.” and then a pause. The proprietor continued, “The old man died earlier this afternoon.” It seemed like I knew that already, and I told the proprietor, “In seeing what I thought was the old man earlier, I thought, ‘He is going to die soon.’” The proprietor lifted his eyebrows.

Dream Journal: The Move

Posted on May 20th, 2013

There was desperation in the move that was taking place. The skies were dark but the buildings and streets were all visible, though I don’t recall there being lamps of any sort.  There was a stone church, tucked away in an alleyway, with a steeple that extended high above the surrounding buildings. I was rushing up the stairs to the ladder that climbed the steeple: there was a very inconvenient storage chamber up there. I was tremendously unprepared.  Several friends, following close behind, had shown up to help me, though they could only stay a short while as they themselves were also needing to get out of town.  I knew my tent and sleeping bag were in there a midst several unorganized boxes of valuable stuff, and that I would need those wherever I was going.   Once reaching the top of the steeple, we looked out, the entire environment was swaying,  I realized that although I felt stable, it was the steeple swaying, and had to assure my friends that it was safe.  I told them, “that’s just what it does all the time.”  Sean Riley was looking over the edge of a railing at the swaying environment & smiling. I’ve dreamt this church before, the swaying steeple, the ominous tense atmosphere. The situation was familiar, comforting.

I opened the door to the storage chamber, it was musty and smelled of damp cardboard.  I began rifling through the boxes looking for my tent.  Down below in the alleyway, there was a large figure approaching the church (whirling lines of energy, not unlike the Tasmanian Devil, but with more of a humanoid form).  When encountering a person, it would lift them up and shake them until the bond between their cells broke…something like that, I’m unsure of the science…they just fell apart. Also, this monster was my child and was desperately looking for me.

There was a 16 wheeler involved.  I think it was supposed to meet us and haul my stuff, and somehow act as a defense strategy, intercepting the whirling energy lines creature. An agent of some sort, a familiar entity, was driving….I’m fuzzy on the details.  The truck never reached us, it went off the road just out of town, and headed into alfalfa fields (a trail of mud and smoke rose into the air behind it).  The green of the alfalfa was lush and deep in the glowy bluish light.

Dream Journal: Was it Mickey’s ear canal?

Posted on September 12th, 2011

Just woke up 7:15 a.m. An amusement park, Disneyland, but downtown Oakland: traveling in the direction of Chinatown, near Lake Merrit. There was a young androgynous person available for a lift around town; for a small fee one could ride his/her shoulders. I guiltily climbed aboard along with an unidentified friend of mine at the androgynous person’s insistence.

As we made our way through the city, we found ourselves following a 70′s era modified flat grey dodge charger: its length and width were the same so that it could accommodate two chassis in a 90 degree cross configuration. Instead of a traditional steering method, one of the chassis was higher than the other, if you needed to navigate left or right, the second chassis would lower down lifting the wheels of the first one off of the ground. The driver, a dreadlocked woman, sat on top of the roof of the charger instead of inside. She was having trouble maneuvering the car to do exactly what she wanted within the dense traffic. As soon as several cars pulled out of her way, she took off screeching; the body of the car violently jerking back and forth as she sped forward.

I took the curved escalator down to the pillared outdoor corridor that led to the haunted house, which was my home. Todd Reynolds suddenly joined the yet-to-be-identified friend and myself on the shoulders of the androgynous person, although at that point our ride seemed more like a convertible travel pod. Todd was going on about how he had just got a job as a reenactment historian for 90 dollars a day: I told him he could do better. He was, however, elated and very proud of himself.

We finally arrived at the haunted mansion aka my house, and there was police crime tape blocking off the entrances. The three of us disregarded all warning signs and proceeded inside. Upon entering the house, I became aware of an unseen gunman: not through any specific action of the gunman, the scene was quiet: I just knew he was there, somewhere. At this point somehow we all got separated, which sucked because everyone but me had a pistol. I had to make my way to the second floor, but between floors, instead of a staircase was an ear canal you had to crawl through. This was tricky, because it was really tough squeezing through some of the tight angles. Right then, I heard a gunshot, well, it could have been a gunshot, I wasn’t sure. It could have been…I remember thinking something having to do with a carrot snapping, or a dress shoe dropping…but more likely it was a gun. I waited in the ear canal for something to happen.

Waited to hear a stirring….something….nothing.