Archive for November, 2013

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.


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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.



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