Archive for October, 2015

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?”

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