Dream 10-10-2015

This may have been a continuance of a dream I had in the past, or perhaps it might have just felt that way because information about the past in the dream was being constructed as the dream was progressing. I doubt it was a “part 2.” Anyway, I had discovered on my phone or computer or some Wi-Fi-enabled device that a connection was still active on this virtual reality experience or game or whatever, similar to Second Life but much more versatile and it was experienced as reality rather than a world expressed on a monitor, with a volunteer’s home Wi-Fi network, with whom I’ve been volunteering at one of the organizations to which I contribute time. I wanted to show her and her husband, despite not actually being close to them to communicate with them in this way, this VR space which I was impressed with. It seemed like a shit ton of people were on it as well, like Facebook level ubiquity. Anyway, in the dream I think there was a flashback to the night that I had set up the Wi-Fi connection. The vol had asked her husband for the password for me to set it up as I guess we were chatting about it via text or IM (the asking of the password mirrors a real-life detail in which the vol asked her husband for the password to some sort of media site to watch the most recent episodes of Rectify which she’d been bingeing at the time). In that flashback, I set up the thing successfully, but it didn’t seem like the vol nor her husband were connected to the VR space, so I explored the new rooms that opened up as the new connection opened up. In a sense it was like a physical connection between my physical environment and theirs, so like the virtually interpreted, and thus surrealistic, area of my apartment connected directly with their area as though passing through a seamless wormhole, although I think there might have been some sort of optional ride aspect like a rollercoaster or monorail or whatever between locations. I navigated rooms that I think were like apartments. Outside there were black and latino gang members idling, whom I seemed to have some sort of report with, inside there was some sort of 80s Italian mob thing going on with mobsters dressed in shoulderpad-y suits around a pool table. Once I got bored exploring, I stopped, got out of the VR space and returned to the real world. Some time passes, maybe days, maybe weeks, not much longer than weeks. I check one of my devices and discover that the connection to the vol’s Wi-Fi network was still active and presumably had been active all that time. I don’t know exactly was this meant in terms of whether anyone on their side had any access to my phone cameras or laptop webcam or whatever, but I don’t think there was anything to worry about. So I decided to talk to the vol’s husband about it and called him over to my apartment to talk and have some beers. I didn’t really capture his mood accurately, he was quiet, I didn’t think there was anything to worry about. I blabbered on enthusiastically about the VR world and I remember trying to describe an aspect of it as kind of like a mixture of Snake, Pac Man, pinball, and one other thing I can’t remember; truthfully the only reference I’m sure about was Snake and the others are approximations of the kinds of games I was thinking of, but the specific number was four because I remember being excited about the elegant fusion of the four games’ aesthetics in the VR world. Anyway. But then he interrupted me, accused me of being the mistress (or whatever the male equivalent of mistress is) in their relationship and went on this diatribe that was clearly fueled by jealousy and anger. When I realized what his actual mood was and what he was accusing me of, I started trying to think of what indications I might have given that this was the case, but couldn’t find anything. Yes I did find the vol very attractive, and sometimes when I’m not in my own way I thought we had good conversational chemistry which I reckon is mostly attributable to her interpersonal skills, and there was a period of time that I was quite infatuated but I always kept that pretty well tempered and for a variety of reasons never considered it a realistic possibility even before I found out she was married, really no more than a harmless crush, and because it’s materially irrelevant I didn’t think I’d ever expressed that feeling neither explicitly nor implicitly, and I can’t think of having done anything the least bit improper other than some particularly uninhibited conversations, and I rather valued that state of distant acquaintanceship—there’s a Lost in Translation aspect in that Bob and Charlotte are able to be uninhibited in a way they can only ever be with kindred strangers and never with their spouses for various reasons. He ended his diatribe and started punching me in the face repeatedly. And I was determined not to punch back, to deny feedback for his understandable-if-it-weren’t-baseless anger and jealousy, and I remember thinking that either his punches were a little weak or I was really good at taking a punch. After I woke up from the dream just before typing this, I remember thinking that I was like the Gandhi or homewreckers in the dream, a joke partly based on my past relationship with a married woman and on my own reluctance to play that role of homewrecker despite that aforementioned relationship thrusting me unwittingly into that role, a reluctance that faded when she characterized her husband as a controlling ass. Some time after that relationship there was a brief moment where I thought maybe I was just into being a homewrecker, like that was was got me off, a bit like Shelby from the Bob’s Burgers episode “An Indecent Thanksgiving Proposal,” who is a serial homewrecker. “I respect myself too much not to be the other woman,” as Shelby says. Anyway. I also remember thinking that I hope the punches don’t bruise or welt, but at one point I realized they would and thought maybe I should end this rather than let him tucker out. I don’t remember how that ended, though I know I wasn’t able to assuage his fears, but the next part of the dream had me and the vol talking about that confrontation. Prior to this meeting, I remember talking to the aforementioned black and latino gangsters about either keeping a lookout for someone and/or running interference for me by creating an alibi for what I had done or was about to do. This part of the dream is pretty murky in my memory now. Anyway, I met with the vol and I remember expressing my vexation about the situation, and then eventually landing on a ‘fuck it’ stance and actively wanting to fulfill the conspiracy theory out of spite. The dream turned into a sex dream with the vol. Which was pleasant, in a way. Although I think it was clear to both of us that while we were both into it I think on an intellectual and maybe emotional level, we didn’t really have physical chemistry. Our kisses were stuttering and awkward, as were our movements, we were “out of phase” to borrow a phrase from Chvrches’ “Make Them Gold.” And while we were enjoying the moment despite that, there was a sense that we both knew that we were both going to have to fake our orgasms to get out of the physical entanglement. There was sort of a sense similar to Exterminating Angel in which the guests of a dinner party are psychologically, but not physically, compelled to stay, rendered mysteriously incapable of leaving. I think this has something to do with a factoid about sex I read on the Time website that partners who fake an orgasm are more likely to have a romantic bond or something like that, which I found oddly sweet, though I found the claims unconvincing based on the source, which was only unconvincing to me at the time because the page wouldn’t load and the website didn’t end with .edu nor was even a PDF. And upon checking out the website this morning, it’s clear the source is dubious. It makes claims without citing sources or by citing articles within the website. Literally none of the “facts” cite or link to peer-reviewed studies. They’re also full of sexist generalizations, again with no credible citations. Anyway, it was in the middle of that where I woke up and started typing this. To my knowledge there wasn’t any context for having this dream about this person as they hadn’t actually been on my mind since the last time I saw them beyond occasionally spending a minute or two thinking of the next joke I wanted to make about their recent unexpected hair dye outcome. I’ve been stuck on something about Gwen Stefani if the hair is the same or comparable the next time I see her or expressing some sadness about No Doubt breaking up if it isn’t. Or something about Avril Lavigne? I couldn’t think of many famous people who dye their hair an unnatural color, besides Gwen Stefani and like 75% of Suicide Girls models, and I’m not really all that familiar with Avril Lavigne. Maybe The singer from Paramore? I don’t know. Anyway. There’s precedent for the VR stuff and the sex stuff as the night before I was watching porn, though not actually masturbating, from Sex POV, which features just a camera person and a female performer or performers acting out a sexual encounter without actually having any sort of sex, which I guess informs the performative nature of the sex part of the dream. I’d also watched episodes of MST3k prior to sleeping, but unfortunately that didn’t seem to manifest in the dream. Anyway. I’m going to blame this dream on my inhalation of the smoke from the trash fire that occurred that night just a few miles from my apartment. The smell is on my comforter. I hope I don’t have to get that fucking thing dry cleaned. It’s probably on my clothes now, too, some of which I’d discovered recently had acquired an old book smell, which is delightful. Thankfully, today is my laundry day. Anyway. When I woke up, I opened my eyes to see the glow of the daylight on my ceiling and after a beat my first thought was literally “what the fuck?”


Dream 23-09-2015

I was in L.A. or some other metropolitan city but I got the distinct impression that it was L.A. even though there weren’t any discerning landmarks to tell me so. Anyway, I was wandering around looking for things to do. I noticed this street lined with these tall oak trees with seemingly cropped canopies. They all looked like giant oaken golf teas except the top part was domed with speckled green and veiny branches. The street itself had lightrail tracks that went between the apartment complex in which I was staying and this theater. I’m sure it went beyond those destinations, but most of the action occurred between these two locations. The distance between the theater and the apartment wasn’t far, so it was easier and cheaper for me to walk or jog between the two places. At some point in the middle of the Theater and the Apartment, on the way to the apartment before the strip of street lined with trees, there’s a pedestrian center with an enormous oak tree maybe three or four times larger than the aforementioned trees, and with a full, lush canopy. However, there were curvy streaks of red and of yellow and green and black which upon longer examination were pythons I guess sunbathing on the leaves. They weren’t fearsome though, there was a benign feeling and the many other pedestrians and tourists around barely even noticed the snakes that were clearly on the tree. The apartment complex looked like it consisted of two rows of apartments (there could have been more, but my apartment was on the second row so I never noticed) separated by a courtyard. There was a river that flowed and right around where my apartment (it was on the right side of the main street, about three apartments from the end) there was a canal with a small bridge to get to the last apartments on that side. The tree seemed perpetually bathed in a golden dusk light which looked breathtaking. The first thing I could remember was going to a concert. It was a poppy musical artist, a woman, blonde, caucasian, might have been Emily Haines (I’ve been obsessively listening to Metric’s Pagans in Vegas since it was released). There was a bouncy ball the artist tossed into the crowd which made its way around several times, but it was kind of a hazard so as soon as I caught the ball again. The singer, who was singing in the aisle at the moment said to crowd to stop the tossing. But the request didn’t register in my mind fast enough so I gave the ball as hard a toss as I could, clearly trying to prove something to everyone who saw my previous throw, and it went much further but still was obviously a weak throw. I don’t know if everyone went silent, but a split second later I realized what the singer had asked and I felt as though everyone in the crowd and the singer was staring at me admonishingly. The concert ended and I was exiting the theater but I was somehow pulled or I wandered backstage to where the crew was having a group meal. They invited me to sit down and eat with them so I did.I sat next to a really nice woman on my left and a really nice but clearly drunk and very attractive dark haired, petit woman, possibly ethnically Central or South American, on my right. I think the drunk woman flirted with me a little, and I flirted back, but I saw how inebriated she was and didn’t want to go any further than that. I finished my meal, and I suddenly felt out of place, so I got up, I addressed the room loudly, thanking them, but I wasn’t specific about what, so it could have been for their work on the concert or for the meal they let me have with them. After the concert, I was meeting with a friend, a woman with dark hair, possibly looked like the porn actor Keisha Grey (a video of whom I had masturbated to prior to sleeping) and we walked down that street. I asked her about the large tree with the snakes, asking something like “how does that happen?” She said something like you plant the tree and it grows to be that (it was more concise but I can’t remember her exact words or maybe I just go the impression of her response). I responded with I’ve planted hundreds of oak trees, and they never turned out like that. The way I phrased the response and what I was thinking as I talked, I was referring to how trees generate in Minecraft when you plant an oak sapling. There was one point where there was a commotion on the street between the large tree and the street lined with the smaller trees. There was something important that my friend had to sprint and dive to catch because she had the skill and no one else could. There was some sort of impact that rumbled the pedestrian center and caused one or two of the pythons to fall from the tree, but they didn’t seem agitated and just slithered back up the tree. I think my friend caught whatever needed to be caught, but I don’t remember if that was resolved or any other details about it. I think soon after that incident, the dream cut to a large baseball stadium where a little league game was happening. My friend was brought in to help coach one of the teams. She mostly taught them about outfield formation and movement. The kids didn’t really get it at first and didn’t really move in unison when needed, opening up gaps in the field that batters could exploit, but they started to correct this. My friend seemed to have succeeded in helping the team and that’s mostly what happened. So I guess she’s really athletic. Anyway. After that sequence, it cut back to me walking around on the one street on which this dream takes place (aside from the random baseball stadium). I don’t know how I got this information, maybe pedestrian chatter, maybe the woman I sat next to on my left (not the drunk one) told me about it, but I was then privy to information about a possible serial killer on the loose in the city. Two or three people have been killed, possibly one of the crew members I sat down with at the theater, and all the victims had stab wounds that punctured two or three specific internal organs. I felt impending danger so I went to my friend’s apartment, which was just about across from my apartment on the other side of the courtyard, to warn her about these killings and to ask her to be careful. After I did that, I investigated the courtyard to familiarize myself with our surroundings. I looked at the canal, checked under the bridge and found an entrance to this tunnel with torches lighting the way, and where the concrete was replaced with blocks of either coal or obsidian, Minecraft style. I felt like it could’ve been the serial killer’s lair. There was something about lava, too, but I don’t remember too much about it. There was an apparatus behind an apartment to the left of mine that was attached to the ground and had a component that seemed to be seeping lava. It seemed like it was connected to the serial killer because reasons. It may have been at that point where I called the cops to report these things I saw. I was visited by two detectives, both of them were African American, the lead looked like Morris Chestnut (I had watched the Rosewood pilot that night). I showed him the strange apparatus, and showed him the entrance to the lair, and the detectives seemed interested in the information. When we exited the canal and got back on the courtyard I noticed my friend’s door was open and the lights in the apartment were on. I felt a bit panicked but I went to check it out anyway. The apartment was empty but it was clear someone was in there, and tussled everything around. The intruder was sending a message. My friend was just coming home then and I felt relieved that she wasn’t abducted or killed. The killer obviously knew I discovered something about them and probably that I informed the authorities. They seemed to know enough about me to suggest that they started actively monitoring me. One night I was out in the apartment courtyard with someone, it could’ve been the Morris Chestnut detective, helping to investigate the murders. It was night time, particularly dark. The courtyard wasn’t well lit, probably some bulbs needed replacing. I was walking back to my apartment when the serial killer showed up, a caucasian wearing thick glasses and wearing some sort of hooded robe and wielding a long, thin knife. He looked like a grown-up Dudley from The Royal Tenenbaums. He spoke in exposition, admitted to the killings, and told me he would be killing me next and proceeded to do so. He may have stabbed me but not fatally. Morris Chestnut detective intervened before he could do any real damage, knocking the knife our of his hands. While they struggled, I took the opportunity to get the knife, slash at the killer a few times, hopefully not fatally wounding him, but certainly immobilizing him. Morris Chestnut cop pinned him down to arrest him and I remember thinking how satisfying it was that this thing had been resolved. I didn’t see my friend again, but I had the feeling that she was okay at the end of the dream. And then I woke up.

Dream journal entry.

Last night I dreamt about going on a road trip eastward through the country. There weren’t a lot of particularly recognizable sites in the dream, they were mostly nature scenes. And the the area of the dream seemed about the size of a diorama in a Wes Anderson movie. Things were compressed. Heading east with lens pointing south, there was the city I started in, a highway bridge that spanned from the freeway I drove on, to the base of a mountain range that filled the background, a river surrounded by grassy plains flowing from the mountain range, a village much smaller than the city I started from, some vague natural features and at the end of the stage a huge dam spanning from the freeway to the background which resembled the dam featured in Les Revenants. The north contained nothing of note that I recall, maybe a stretch of mountain range behind what was essentially a modern building of several stories with large windows looking out at everything in the south. I remember looking out at the mountain range and there was a green patch running down the side that fed into the river, a glaciated valley that indicated it was mid-late spring and the glacial ice had melted. I remember thinking about that and feeling a little proud of myself for recognizing that. I also remember feeling overwhelmed by the beauty of the mountain and the valley and the river, my breath getting heavier and heart beating harder at first sight of it all, and of desperately craning my neck toward it wishing I could stop to take it all in. There was nothing stopping me from stopping the car, I was just compelled to keep driving eastward. But the valley was uncanny (ha ha) in that there were unusual animals roaming. I spotted from black bears, but also what seemed to be two lone Bengal tigers, possibly a cheetah, and some other predatory animals that didn’t belong in the region. When I got to the villages in the center they were mostly vague but the outlying two-story houses at the edges had this peculiar feature of being only partially roofed, having roofs only over the bedrooms. I remember thinking how nice it would be to live in one of those houses, but then wondered at how it would be like in the winter, how difficult it would be to stay warm at night, whether tarp would need to set up to insulate the building for warmth. I left feeling like I’d love to try it out. I made my way east and nothing of note happened. It was just the end of the diorama. I headed back to the city in the west. I think at some point in the dream, there was a bus departing from the east and near the beginning an early-20s black male was accused of something. I knew for a fact he didn’t do what he was accused of doing, but my protests held no weight with the bud driver or the vocal passengers and they kicked him off the bus. I tried to help him out and offer him a ride westward but he didn’t seem to have any urgency about him to go anywhere and he didn’t seem particularly upset with his fortunes. When I got back to the city in the west, I made the eastward trip one last time but when I got almost to the dam again, I saw out in the plains this peculiar cloud formation. I looked like a funnel cloud beginning to form. I parked the car and took shelter in the building to the north. Inside the building seemed sterile. Everything was light grey, sleek, no color. I looked out the window and saw that the funnel touched down and moved toward the building. I felt fearful for my safety, I felt the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I ran over to the stairs but the funnel seemed to move toward there and I felt the pressure in the air change. I then ran westward and saw a wall enforced with steel by a corner which I ducked into. I think it’s at this point I woke up.


Before going to sleep last night I watched a long, disappointing episode of Sons of Anarchy, tried out an iOS quiz game, playing a few rounds of novel and poetry quizzes, did some grinding on Final Fantasy III for iOS (actual III, not the U.S. III which is actually VI), made a playlist to play as I went to sleep (http://open.spotify.com/user/philology/playlist/2RWezLLXBRUUEhvyVS3bw9), and started on John Banville’s Ancient Light.

I took the train into the city (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ryhXfAdU8VI 1:47) from the Power Inn station on my way to Harlows Restaurant & Night Club’s for Mazzy Star and Mariee Sioux. I had my headphones on playing “I’ve Gotta Stop” and as the train ascended just before the University/65th Street station overpass, David Roeback’s crying, bluesy guitar solo played (1:44). I looked around and it was at that dusky moment when the horizon is purple and red and gold and brilliant for the few seconds before it dulls and you’re able again to notice the filth that pollutes the Sacramento sky. The moment seemed to stretch much longer than those few seconds it takes to ascend and descend the overpass. That same feeling came over me that I felt when I saw that crying child on the train years ago delighted in an instant when his parents bounced an orange balloon in the air in front of him, and when I saw that old man and the young girl feeding squirrels at Capitol Park by the rose garden, when the the pink cherry blossom petals streamed from the memorial and almost enveloped the woman photographing the scene, and when the clouds departed and the sun shined just as I got to the summit at Buzzard’s Roost at Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park. These moments of brief elevation make everything worth it. Even though the song itself is so bloody heartbreaking.





Last night I had a dream that began the night before Harmontown stops by San Francisco (Jan 30th) on its national mini-tour. I was having drinks in a warmly lit bar in Sacramento with a couple friends who were coming along to the Harmontown show and to check out some other shows for SF Sketchfest, the San Francisco Comedy Festival. Greg Grunberg stopped by and well all talked about what we’d be checking out on the 31st. Not a whole lot happened in that part of the dream, but it was awesome that Greg Grunberg stopped by. The dream cut to the next night and I was leaving the Punch Line. I got in the car to go home and there was a panic outside. I saw insectoid aliens patrolling the streets and herding zombified humans into red and white vertically striped tents. I ducked my head trying to avoid detection and waited a few minutes for my friends to get out of the club and into the car, hoping they’d avoid detection. The car was parked on a downward slope so when everyone reached the car, we ducked our heads below the windows, I released the emergency break and eased my foot on the break so that the car would roll slowly down the slope. I think I woke up around this time.


That night I’d watched Young Adult, the first two episodes of Firefly, and began a reread of Swann’s Way, the first volume of Marcel Proust‘s A La Recherche Du Temps Perdu after seeing Maira Kalman‘s illustration in The New Yorker of Proust with his mother; though, I hadn’t listened to a Harmontown podcast since Saturday night. My dreams are so non sequitur sometimes.






Another dream post as I’m remembering them pretty well lately.


First was from the other night which was relatively uninteresting. It was set among a touring band in a situation very similar to that at Almost Famous. The same kid was in the dream and he hung out with two groupies. As I recall, not much happened in this dream.


Last night I had two distinct dreams. The first was set in a school of magic somewhat similar to Hogwarts I suppose (that’s really the only point of reference I have to a magic school aside from the College of Winterhold in The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim, the Arcane University in The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, the Circle Tower in Dragon Age: Origins. In hindsight, the setting was much more like these than Hogwarts.). Every room was essentially a library with various mages conducting research throughout. The protagonist in my dream was a low-level authority figure, probably the equivalent to a hall monitor. At one point a young, prodigy researcher mage creating new spells created an elemental area-of-effect spell that was hybridized with a summon spell and with the elements of frost and poison. This botched spell brought forth a bunch of round floating creatures (a kind of cross between Bombs and Flans in the Final Fantasy series) that were in perpetual agony because they were fire elemental creatures who were mistakenly imbued with a frost affliction and a life-sapping poison affliction. They weren’t malevolent creatures by constitution, but because of the circumstance thrashed around in anguish, attacking all people around hoping to stop the pain. At another point, an elderly professor, likely in the throes of senility, was tending to a low-level summon spell in which various bug species were summoned on lines in the ground. On a whim he to breed or cross-breed them and allowed the colonies to mix. The breeding succeeded, but the propagation occurred at an extremely fast rate. In a few minutes, the bugs infested the entire room, and began to spill outside of its confines. The entire school was infested. A group of intruders took this as an opportunity to sabotage the school, how I don’t quite remember but I know after we handled the two crises, we discovered the saboteurs and their plan, but they escaped without doing any real damage. Though, I remember thinking about the group running from the school, and I had the feeling they would come back with a more destructive plan to destroy the school.


In the second dream, I left my apartment on my bicycle to take a ride along the American River Trail. I had low tire pressure. There were two other cyclists, layabout sorts of characters who had that permahigh cadence to their voices, whom I didn’t know and was not associated with in any way. One of them got a flat, and I stopped to see if they needed any help as I always carry a spare tire, patch kit, pump and bike tool in my pack. I helped them out, and the dream cut to me back at my apartment, the two people for some reason imposed and crashed at my apartment. They seemed benign enough, and I felt pity for them because they had that ‘slightly retarded because they’ve smoke too much pot’ quality to them much like like James Franco’s character in Pineapple Express. I woke up in the middle of the night, for some reason I couldn’t use the bathroom in my apartment so I went out to the communal bathroom in the complex. I was barefoot so when I got near the toilet, I checked the ground at an angle so I wouldn’t step on any piss that may have missed the bowl. Then I saw liquid splashing down in front of me and on me. I was confused and a bit disgusted, but then I heard Adam Goldberg‘s voice trying to get my attention. He was taking a shower which I’d only just noticed was running. He poked his head out from the top of the frosted glass and tried to engage me in conversation. I was about to talk to him about the stoner guys who crashed at my place, but I noticed that there was a slender female figure through the glass and decided to exit and give them some privacy. But I still had to pee. And then I woke up.








Ah, before I forget to post this. Last night’s dream was set in the beginnings of a zombie apocalypse. I was in a coastal or island community and we were having a luau with a zombie awareness theme. There was a competition where teams of three were given abnormally-shaped blocks. We’d have to swim out to this building in the about fifty yards from the beach where there would be a bunch of random things we could use to build a zombie shelter with the blocks. I was an awesome swimmer in this dream; I swam like Kevin Costner’s character in Waterworld and I dove like an Olympian (in real life I can swim for a few seconds but then I panic and sink and I have never ever dove into any water. ever). I used my awesome swimming skills to forage the seabed for additional materials to construct our makeshift zombie shelter. Eventually, the luau was overrun with zombies who even made it out to the shelter (can zombies even swim? In this dream I guess they could). We avoided the zombies and made it back to the beach. There was a walkway system on the roofs of the huts that we made our way to where we met up with some friends, from another village or town or whatever whom we thought were dead. They were fighting through the zombies. Huts were catching fire for some reason. And I woke up.






Last night’s dream began with a person making the claim and subsequently demonstrating that listening to and taking advantage of cues from Big Tree‘s music could exponentially enhance an orgasm. The dream then turned to a dream I’ve had before where a person, a man, is in a dark tomb or temple seemingly built into the side of some natural stone feature (like Al Khazneh, the facade used to represent the Temple of the Sun in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade), in a large room where no sunlight can penetrate and lit only by two standing metallic torches near the center of the room; on the west wall there’s a small cubical space built into the wall, and above that is a more open space out of normal jumping range, and difficult to climb; on the north wall is sort of a pulpit where some sort of seemingly supernatural creature stands, which seems to have a human form (there’s a vague Dracula vibe from the creature) but can mutate into some sort of horrific, beastly appearance that can only ever be vaguely sensed (in the way that people keep staring at something on Donna’s back but see nothing in series four of the new Doctor Who) until it attacks. The creature begins its assault and the person defends himself. A frantic skirmish occurs before the person retreats to the area in the west wall where the creature for some reason can’t access. When the creature retreats into the darkness on the east or northeast part of the room, the person climbs up, hastily as possible, to the open area above the rectangular room. The climb leaves him vulnerable and defenseless against the creature which begins to lunge at him but s unable to reach him before he gets to the open space and instead crashes hard into the wall and room which briefly incapacitates it. The creature is out long enough for the person to launch a suicide attack, pouncing down with the aid of gravity to pierce the carapace of the creature. The person is killed by the mortally wounded creature’s desperately flailing appendages. This scene ends and the dream moves to what may be a higher level of the temple. The person is transported there, his wounds healed and life restored, and greeted by two or three men wearing dark brown hooded robes. I can no longer remember this potion well, but there’s some expositionary dialogue between the two people, some discussion about eternal reincarnation of the creature and the person, and there’s a moment where a detail is revealed, some unifying detail that I can’t remember that elicits a sob from the person (some sort of existential truth about who the character is and his fate as the creature’s slayer. There’s are so many details revealed in this scene that are important to the story which I can no longer remember unfortunately). The dream cuts from the dialogue to a period where the person is alone in the temple. The hooded men have left. The person is compelled to escape the temple. For some reason he can’t exist downstairs so he has to escape through an opening where he ninjas his way through a balcony sort of area, down a tall tree, and down a rock face. Here there’s a sense that what he’s doing, escaping from the temple, has happened before and in one instance he was mauled to death by a cougar. At the bottom of the rock face is a freeway along which he runs. Along the freeway is a cave which freaks him out because there’s a strong possibility that it’s a cougar den. He continues to run along the road and in a couple miles finds himself in the docks of a coastal city. There are Asian men looking for directions, he helps them and shows them how to use the GPS on their phones, and I wake up.


I have no idea why I would dream of any of this. Last night before I went to sleep I listened to Acrylics, watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and had a glass of whiskey.


What the fuck?






Last night’s dream was kind of awesome. I dreamt I was Jean-Luc Picard and was on R&R on earth at his brother’s house. I had a non-human with me, a creature from a non-federation planet (likely in Cardassian) whose culture, he claims, offers a way to sort of replicate what the the Ressikan probe did in “Inner Light.” It was never communicated or even thought by Picard, but his sentiments were to try and relive or continue his life on Ressik. The process involved Picard having to be converged in some chemical bath which leaves him comatose and experiencing something similar to his life on Ressik, but also clones him. This is the point where I lose track of events as I experience Picard’s comatose dream where he thinks he’s on Ressik, the the experiences of a clone Picard who is re-assuming command of the Enterprise, and the rest of the crew when they realize something is off.


I don’t think I’ve come to terms with The Next Generation no longer making episodes or movies.





Last night I dreamt I had dinner with Nathan Fillion. He was so nice. We both ordered braised steak which was delicious and was teeming with this great, complex broth that gave the steak a hint of turkey flavoring. I ordered it in a fluster because I was a bit shocked to be having dinner with Nathan Fillion and I’d forgotten I was a vegetarian.


A bunch of other stuff happened (including more strange stuff, like walking in to a bathroom with one of the actresses in a movie, then getting out because when I looked at her I snapped out of our conversation and thought I’d walked into the women’s bathroom, but there were men in it, and when I went to the other bathroom, two heavy set and very nice women walked in and one of them used the urinal which was pretty impressive and for which I and the guy in the urinal next to me praised her. There was a cop drama element and someone was shot, which took up the majority of the dream. And prior to dinner, a set visit to the movie the actress and Nathan Fillion were working on.).


But, really, having dinner with the Cap’n was all that mattered in this dream. That was fucking awesome.






Last night’s dream was set in a dystopian in which the people of the world were living their lives mostly online. Their consciousnesses were channeled directly into a life-like interface like that in the Matrix. There would be moments when I (or my character) would jump out of the digital world and into the real world, but the real world was devoid of human activity. People spent all their time connected to the digital world, and it seemed the world economy was centered in the digital world; things in the real world lost their value and decayed as people wasted away in the digital. The digital world was controlled by a single organization. Not a governmental organization, but a group of people who discovered a way to manipulate the digital reality and the people connected to it to fulfill their own whims. They were seemingly omnipotent, authoritarian and would murder anyone who deviated from their prescribed norms. I (or my character) was a part of a small organization that recognized the manipulation and, though lived in the digital world, hid away underground somehow able to avert detection. The authoritarian organization found us out and our underground haven was compromised. We had to evacuate soon, but the authoritarian organization had already sent people to eliminate us. Amid the frenzy of escape, I remember meeting a familiar woman, a friend, who may have joined the authoritarian organization and quite possibly informed them of our whereabouts. Then the dream switched to a suburban setting that was isolated by its location atop a hill or mountain and surrounded by deep forests and the sea. The day was overcast, perhaps on the verge of rain. I was in a dimly lit living room in a house and a rainbow line suddenly appeared through the air, stretching from the wall in front of me right up to the coffee table inches from my knees. I was perplexed and followed the rainbow line, which I thought looked like the iridescence from an oil slick straightened out in a perfect line. I went outside to check its source and found it to be an orange bike (not my own non-dream bike). I wanted to return the bike to its owner, whoever it was, so I thought to check any households with kids in them to see it anyone was missing a bike. I went to one household in the dream and when I knocked, its inhabitants were hosting a family reunion. They were foreign, maybe or south or south-eastern European origin. They invited me in and I told them about the bike and asked if their kids were missing one. One of the visiting family members, a jovial, slightly heavy-set man with dark, curly hair, a pale complexion, greasy-looking, and loud invited me to take part in their feast. He gave me what looked like a huge stack of pancakes, but wasn’t. It was layered bread but looked and tasted like pancakes. I wasn’t particularly hungry at the time and wasn’t able to get through a single layer of the layered pancake bread thing. The man went back to his seat and the matriarch of the household approached me. She had dark hair, was slender, wore dark clothing and a slightly-bluish grey head scarf. I was struck by how graceful she was. When I told her why I was there, she told me no one was missing a bicycle. I thanked her and left and remember feeling impressed by the warmth of the family and their eager and lively hospitality. I was a few feet out of the door and a girl ran out from the house and stopped me to give me a long, thin white box with no cover filled with candies and snacks and cute, useless little doodads. I said “aww, thank you” and was touched by the gesture, and a bit confused as to why she’s given it to me. And I woke up.






Last night’s dream involved my consciousness jumping between three or four timelines. The first half is a bit fuzzy, but one timeline was set in the future and I was to organize a reception for a space ship’s crew at a space station I was working at. I had an initial meeting with the captain and the first officer, but did not get a chance to meet with them again as my consciousness had jumped timelines and the crew had encountered space dragons which breached the hull of their ship and possibly destroyed it and its crew. Another timeline involved a single melee fight with a very strong humanoid dragon thing on the ground of some planet, maybe earth, maybe somewhere else. I don’t know why I was engaged in battle with the humanoid dragon thing; I only knew that I had to defeat it. I was barely able to land any hits on the humanoid dragon thing, and any hits I did inflict barely seemed to do any damage. During the last bit of the fight another person joined me in trying to defeat this humanoid dragon thing who used a bunch of random objects to distract it or knock it out. I don’t remember the battle ending or defeating the humanoid dragon thing. I think I jumped timelines again to a point in childhood where I don’t remember having done anything particularly remarkable but I do remember having the sense that what I was doing and what was happening in that timeline was intrinsically connected to everything happening in the other timelines I visited. At one point the timelines may have merged because I met with my four selves I’d experienced throughout the dream (one self I only had the sense was involved but I don’t remember anything about it in the dream sequence), and I remember feeling that everything that had happened, was happening, and was going to happen were all interconnected and vital to something else that had yet to occur in any timeline, something which would disrupt the the timelines fundamentally, but which could be quelled or dealt with by each self in a sort of tandem that transcends time. There was a cyclical feel and a somewhat fatalistic feel to it all. There were many more details about that part of the dream, but they escape my memory or have become too vague. The last part of the dream may have been connected to the first, or may have been a separate dream, I’m not sure considering how disparate the events were in the first part. The last half involved me doing laps at a beach with other military members. There was an element of civil planning that I don’t quite remember, and also an encounter with a couple women–a stranger I flirted with and another I seemed to have been familiar with in a friendly-antagonistic sort of way who saw me flirting and teased me about it. I continued my run but found that the tide was coming in fast and no one else seemed to take notice or care enough until a wave came in that engulfed the beach and forced everyone on the beach to get to higher ground. In front of me there was a new military recruit who didn’t seem to pay any attention to the tide. Another large wave came and swept him up and knocked his head against the rocks. I ran to him, pulled him out of the water and check him out to find that he had been concussed. Soon after he had jumped back into the water and I jumped in after him and got him back to land. The EMTs came and I woke up.






I had a dream where a party was being thrown for the birthday of the son, around age 17 or 18, of a wealthy white guy in his mid-late 50s. His son had flown off unexpectedly to some place with a girl, about 17, and another person and did not attend the party. At the house of a friend whose son, a black kid about the same age as the others, was also having a birthday and was also gone (though, expectedly), I looked into the disappearance of the wealthy son and the girl. A colleague contacted me (by email or possibly by phone) and directed me to the website of the local police department where I found a list of missing persons with a newly added person that matched the description of the girl. The next morning, a private plane came in with the missing kids and they all returned to their homes. The son of the friend whose house I was researching in returned and I’d given him a birthday present of shampoo. He accepted the present tepidly; I knew it was a terrible gift, but I though it was so specific that it showed that I’d put thought in the present so I worried if he picked up on that, even though he was bald. His response to the present acknowledged my effort but drolly and somewhat derisively. At this point, the dream flashed back to a scene where a vampire hunter was in a public bathroom with three stalls. Each stall contained one of the three kids who had disappeared. They had all been turned into vampires. When the hunter discovered discovered this, he staked two of them but because of some bullshit technicality (a band-aid was placed over a latin engraving on the stake, nullifying its ability to effectively kill a vampire) they didn’t die and escaped. I found out that the wealthy man’s party had ended in some sort of scandal because of the disappearances of the kids and something else convoluted which I can’t remember. I was then walking around in the day time with another person who might have been helping me with my investigation. We sat on a bench outside a small retail building. From the corners all around the building vampires ran out, dozens, immediately dying as they got close to us. It was obvious to us that they were sent to their deaths as a show of power, to show that there were possibly thousands of vampires and that it would be foolish of us to try to quell their threat. We looked to our left toward an alley and saw the two male previously disappeared kids in the distance who seemed to have been staring as us as the vampires swarmed. When the vampires stopped coming, we ran toward the kids but they escaped. The dream then cuts to an office building at the night where me and a two colleagues were. The lights are off, and there was some sort of encounter that may have involved the missing girl. We escaped and were on the sidewalk and one of my colleagues began transforming into a werewolf-like creature, but was interrupted by a passing police car, which then began to menace us. We began to run away and I woke up.






I just had a dream in which I was taking literature classes that took place in this sprawling library where white poet cats roamed. The cats didn’t talk or write, but it seemed like an intuited fact that they wrote great poetry. There was also a person who looked like Prince but had lighter skin who somehow turned out to actually be Prince. Later, final exams began and the final class session took place in an actual lecture room where instructions had been usurped by Vladimir Putin who severely restricted what could be written in the final papers. Most of us wrote coded satirical, inflammatory essays and stories criticizing Putin’s regime at the university. He didn’t catch on to the subtext and when he passed them back wrote something like, “good, Jesus,” on the ones he approved. When I got my paper back, I fantasized about telling him to fuck off, but never did. I got out of class to catch the buss home but stopped to have what turned out to be an engaging conversation with a woman wearing an orange sweater I recognized from the library and lecture hall about female and ethnic authors in world literature through the most recent few decades. It was a conversation that interested both of us but, at least to me, didn’t matter nearly as much as did keeping her attention and not thinking to go home and to continue to look into her brown eyes. And I woke up.






I love it when the story of a dream is resolved before I wake up.


Turns out, the protagonist, a woman in her late 30s-early 40s, was able to clear her name and find sufficient evidence to show that the murder was committed by a handsome young lawyer at the firm handling her defense who was involved in a life insurance fraud scam. The story culminated in a foot chase through a desert. A stray golden labrador recurred in the story and ended up being adopted by the woman. The dog had further significance and there are details about the murder that I’ve forgotten since I woke up, but it was a pretty thrilling dream.


I have absolutely no idea why I dreamed about this.






Took a nap and dreamt I was hiking up a mountain with two very drunk women who I was afraid would misstep and stumble down the mountain. On the descent, we passed through an outdoor clothing store where they were having a sale on silk skinny ties and handkerchiefs, which made me excited because the store I passed on the ascent had the same things but they weren’t on sale and the ties weren’t skinny.


My dreams are boring.


And my back and shoulder are tweaked because I slept contorted in some crazy cat position. http://www.buzzfeed.com/paws/awkward-cat-sleeping-positions (some amalgam of #3 and #5.


And just thought I’d include these here. 🙂


[image via http://begemott.deviantart.com/art/sweet-halloween-dreams-42197587]

Mono No Aware

I walked alone one afternoon and sat

on a bench outside the World Peace

rose garden. The sun was breeze-cooled

and shined on the cherry blossoms,

Whose pink petals flickered as they fell.

An old man and a girl across the grass

fed peanuts to squirrels in the shade,

untroubled by distant wailing sirens.

From afar, a woman photographed them.

A gust blew, seeming to emerge

From the Vietnam War memorial,

Drafting petals, giving the wind form—

amorphous pink streams advancing,

Making the old man and girl

squint and turn their faces,

ruffling the photographer’s hair

into a morning-after bob.

The gust soon died

and the trees were left with fewer flowers

and the old man and the girl began to leave

and the photographer moved on to her next subject,

and I walked on for happy hour.



A girl

shakes, sniffles;


eyes reflect

flashing lights

and people

pass, averting

eye contact.

A primeval

cedar falls,

diffuses its

ancient scent,

stains asphalt

red with

bark scratchings

and fledglings.

The pencil,

whose name

is Steve

(a stenographer

supporting his

pencil daughter),

has his

graphite spine


by a reckless

foot to the floor.



On the computer, some

pious people talk in a patriarchal panel

on religious employers’ contraception coverage.

I break off a bite of my apple,

exposing a carpel containing a couple of pips.

One’s loose so I upturn the apple and it falls into my palm;

the other’s stuck so I shake the apple,

gently first and when I see it unmoved I start

shaking it furiously and from the vertical blur I see the seed shoot out

to god knows where.

I go to plant the seed in my palm

in a clay pot on the windowsill by some germinating basil.


What Wonderful Triangles

“The stars are the apexes of what wonderful triangles! What distant and different beings in the various mansions of the universe are contemplating the same one at the same moment!”—Thoreau, Walden

At night I’d be lulled

by the hum of the air conditioner,

or the pulsing of my palpitating heart,

sometimes with pops or engines or sirens,

sometimes at 10:43, or 2:08—

whenever I look up from the desk or sofa and realize it’s late.

Backpacking on a whim along the California coast—

the first night, I was kept up by the incessant shush of the ocean

and the moon shining through my eyelids

like a swag lamp with a CFL or LED bulb without an off switch

as I thought of what work I missed or mail accumulated.

Regardless, the incandescent sun rose

and shone, and I woke.

After setting up camp that next night,

the sun slipped into the sea,

blushing, then blackening the sky,

revealing to me an arm

of our galaxy—luminous and multitudinous stars

illuminating the heavens.

I slipped into my bedroll

and listened to my breath

and the sea shushing me


Back at my flat I showered,

and watched the earth stream from my body.

In bed, I opened my eyes,

seeing the ceiling partly lit by street lamps.

I walked out on the balcony,

and looked up at the few dim stars peeking

through the veil of smog and streetlamp glow.

I take a trazodone and lie back in bed


I-80 W

Driving from Berkeley, passing twilight when twinkling skyline displaces dim stars trying to shine in barely blue sky, the city glow wavering across the still blue San Francisco bay,

You follow taillights, which warn not to get too close lest they crash and they catch you in the wreck,

Though you tail the Chevy with the Obama-Biden bumper sticker anyway, for you fear getting lost in the tangled and crowded overpasses of the freeway.

Then you pay the toll with dimes and nickels and pennies as twilight’s passed and the white & gold lights glow brighter on the bay, now black.

Losing the Chevy, you look around but can’t find the familiar glow and have to advance across the bay with Toyotas, Hondas, Mazdas, Acuras and other imports.

Cold white and harsh orange lamplights and strange taillights in front and in the periphery stain the way,

But still you bore through—through the Goat Island tunnel, like a cocooned moth, driven by what may lie in the uncharted constellations of city lights,

Where maybe you’ll find work with Wells Fargo or Square, McSweeney’s or Wikimedia, Current TV or UStream, even Boudin Bakery.

You emerge from the tunnel and see the city lights so close—red warning lights atop skyscrapers lose significance in the busy city sky

And the lights of office buildings and warm lamplights of apartment buildings and condominiums and bright billboards advertising Anything Goes overwhelm you

As you head into the heart of the city and roll down the window to let in crisp, new night air and listen to the ever-thrumming streets where hopes wave as stocks fall and rise

And in the current of this new energy you’re ready and eager to find your flow.

You look in the other lane and find the Chevy with the bumper sticker

And the driver waving to you as it accelerates beside you

As of Tuesday January 20th 2009 at noon a cumulative 12 year dynasty ended, and a new era for America began. Millions of people stood before their soon to be leader. The soon to be leader of the free world–a leader who about him carries an excitingly unique air. In particular, it’s not the skin color that is unique about this individual, though that is certainly a contributing detail to the transformative aura he brings to the executive office. That detail unquestionably heralds the change that has come to pass since the executive actions of our 16th President, and since the like executive actions of the 35th and 36th Presidents. To explain what, in particular, is unique about the soon to be leader is difficult in the breadth and complexity of the answer.

It wasn’t a spectacular day in a sense–a great man fell ill in the festivities, a foolish man marred by a flawed ideology gave a prayer, American stock indexes dropped considerably, and the speech of a natural orator was seemingly lackluster. But, despite all that, the event had a fervor that could not be quelled.

The bold leader, in a motorcade–a word that draws a ghastly parallel to the ill fate of our 35th leader–a unique man himself, who shared a comparable fervor–abound with apprehension, among some eyes fearful of past events, refused to submit to the fears of the past. Unafraid of the past, he stepped out of the safety of the automobile likened to a “tank with windows,” progressing with complete vulnerability, amidst a motorcade toward the destiny that no one could deny him, completely free of fear and in turn lifting the spell of apprehension. The millions that watched were disarmed by this display of courage, and were assured, and were inspired. Or, I can only speculate that that was what the millions watching felt as the motorcade progressed; my only evidence being how I, myself, felt as I watched. The defiance of fear echoed the Inauguration speech of our 32nd President who, too, had a similar catastrophe to confront. He said “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”

If there was ever any doubt in my mind that our new leader, Barack Obama, would be able to handle the duty of executive office, the responsibility of leading the free world, or would be able to live up to the honor of serving as our leader as the 44th President of the United States of America, that doubt was lifted when he stepped out of the presidential limo and progressed hand in hand with his wife, smiling, greeting the world, bold and unfearing, demonstrating to us all how to walk in the shadow of fear and uncertainty.