maboroshi

Good morning, everybody.

Ugh! I let my dumb weekend chores spiral out of control. So I'm not making this entry until now!

Just as a note, the second dream was the closest thing to a nightmare that I've had in a long time. It wasn't very different from many of my other dreams. But, for some reason, it upset me a lot. I could hear myself screaming in the dream. I may actually have woken up screaming.

Dream #1

I was heading into the lobby of either an apartment building or a hotel. I had just moved out of my old place and into this new place. The lobby was really wide, but with a low ceiling and a kind of old, worn-out look. There was a little front-desk-type area at the back, right corner of the lobby.

I headed toward a small room on the left wall, near the front of the lobby. It was the mail room. There were a lot of aluminum mailboxes along the wall on my right side. But a lot of the mailboxes were busted open. Someone had broken into the mailboxes.

I was arfraid for my own mail. My mailbox may have been open. I had some mail in my box. But it did seem like something was missing.

I looked at my mail as I walked out of the room. One piece of mail was for some other apartment. The other piece may have been a door tag from FedEx, like what they leave on a door when they come to deliver a package, but the person isn't hme.

I thought I would either give the piece of wrongly delivered mail directly to the person it belonged to, or else give it to the person at the front desk. But I was kind of afraid to let anybody know that the mailboxes had been broken into. I didn't want the people who'd broken into them to cme after me.

For some reason I was getting ready to leave the apartment. A FedEx man was coming in at the same time. But instead of asking him about my package, I told him that someone had broken into the mailboxes.

Dream #2

A documentary about the effects of some sort of nuclear accident, probably in Russia, though I'm pretty sure it wasn't Chernobyl. The documentary was following the lives of people in a small town near the accident.

The people had all been exposed to radiation. But they hadn't been moved away from the area where they'd been exposed. Most of the people seemed to be women.

There was one woman in a bedroom that kind of looked like a hostpital room. The woman was by herself, with her baby, in the room. But the room had multiple beds (or low cots), some of which could be separated from each other by dark blue curtains.

The woman was walking back and forth with her baby cradled to her chest by means of some kind of blanket. The woman wore a dark green t-shirt and may have been pushed up above the navel of the woman's taut belly.

A narrator may have said something about how the woman was really ill from the effects of the radiation. Now the woman was laying in one of the low cots, holidng her baby close to her. The baby may then have changed into a three- or four-year-old girl. The girl may have been tending to the mother.

The view now closed up on the woman's right arm, which was loosely hanging off the edge of the bed. A nurse administered some kind of injection into the woman's arm.

But either the woman was so sick that her body couldn't take any more medicine, or else the injection had been administered wrongly, and now the woman's body was rejecting it. The woman's vein swelled into a square about 3 cm per side. Then the woman's heart stopped beating.

I couldn't believe the woman had just died! I was now in the room. I don't know where the daughter was. I don't know where the nurse was. I thought I was myself, by myself.

I was panicking. I didn't know what to do about the dead woman. I still didn't want to believe she was dead. I thought if I found somebody, they might be able to save her.

So I used my cell phone and called somebody who I thought could help. I was now out in what I thought was the lobby for a small, narrow apartment complex.

I got a hold of the person, probably a man. Suddenly I had to admit to myself that the woman was dead, and that that was what I was going to have to explain to the person. As I started talking to the person, I looked at myself in the mirror.

I was a woman, maybe in her mid- to late-twenties. I was either white or Latina. My skin was pale. I had kind of sharp, almost squarish features. I wore some kind of pale, powdery foundation, and my eyebrows seemed to be pencilled in. I also had my hair in tight braids, which seemed almost like dredds, except with a bunch of tiny tangles coming off of them.

I then walked toward either a blank wall or a white wall with a plain, white door on it. As I did this, I told the man I was speaking to that I had been the one to administer the shot to the dead woman.

When I suddenly realized or admitted that I had been the one that had killed the woman, I broke down. I was crying. But my voice was more of a terrified moan, which eventually became a low-pitched, loud scream.

Dream #3

I was in "my bedroom," which almost had the shape of my bedroom, but which was almost empty. There were some boxes along the back wall, near the left corner. But I noticed they had been pushed from the wall.

I was afraid that somebody had been in my room. BUt I was more worried about putting the boxes back into alignment.

When I looked closer, I noticed that what had probably pushed them out of the way was some really heavy box that had managed to slump over toward the wall in such a way that it wedged in between the other boxes and the wall, pushing the other boxes aside as it slid along the wall, down toward the floor.

I picked up the heavy box. It was apparently a Christmas package I'd received. I figured I'd just need to open the package now and put the contents wherever they belonged in the house, so that the box would stop interfering with the order of my other boxes.

I opened the package. A wine bottle was inside. I pulled it out. The green bottle was encased in a white, plastic square, and it had a white, plastic, pull-off top.

I must have done something with the bottle. But now I was standing near the front wall of my room. The lights had been on before. But now they were off. The only light in the room was coming from my hallway or bathroom.

I was looking at my room, proud of how clean and spacious it looked, now that I'd organized things so well. But I now noticed that I had a cluttered pile laying a meter or so away from my back and right walll. The pile was mostly clothes, though there may also have been a blanket or beanbag chair.

I sighed, annoyed that I'd have to clean this stuff up before I could truly think I had a clean room. I lifted up a maroon, button-up shirt made out of some flannel-like material. I folded it. I folded another piece of clothing. I eventually worried that someone, somehow, might discover that I also had female clothing in this pile.

Dream #4

One of the very first episodes of the TV show Full House. Almost everybody in the cast was different.

The house itself also looked a lot different, like a mix between the house in Growing Pains and the house in Family Ties. There was a staircase on the left side of the room, near the front door. At the foot of the staircase was a big piano.

The dad and Uncle Jesse had kind of secretly worked to buy a doll for the middle daughter of the family. (Uncle Jesse may have been John Stamos, but the dad wasn't Bob Saget.) The two men wanted to make up for something really aggravating that had happened to the girl, and had probably been their fault.

So the two men left the doll sitting on top of the piano. The room was now empty, though I had an image in my mind's eye of the older daughter, who was the same person as in the regular show, except that she had really straight hair and wore eyeglasses.

The middle daughter now walked into the house. She was different from the daughter in the regular cast. She saw the baby doll laying on the piano top. Surprised, she rushed to the doll and picked it up. She walked up the stairs with it.

The doll wore no clothes, probably had a white, cloth body, and plastic limbs, and was either bald or had plastic "hair" molded onto her head.

Somehow this plain old cloth and plastic doll managed to pee. She just let out a huge gush of water, getting the daughter's front all wet.

The daughter's appearance had changed. She now looked like a "rebel girl" or "skater girl" kind of TV show character. She cried out, "Oh, god! You peed all over me!"

The daughter needed to clean herself off. But now the whole scene started over again. But everything that had already happened was still remembered by the characters.

The doll was placed, by an unseen erson, on the piano top. For a moment, the camera view closed in really tight on the doll, who seemed to be surrounded by a tiny square of little, wooden bars, almost like a mini, doll-sized railing that had been built onto the piano top.

The daughter ran in and picked it up, this time without any surprise or excitement. The daughter may also still have needed to clean the pee off herself.

But now the daughter, walking up the stairs, started saying things to the doll like, "Oh, yeah! I really like you! You're really sexy!"

I wondered why this girl would find a doll so sexy, and I wanted to see more, to see howthis relationship would develop between the girl and the baby doll that she found sexy.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in a dark restaurant. The restaurant had a lot of small, black, two-person tables in the main area. I sat at a table there. Off to my left there were some bigger booth tables. Multicolored neon lights seemed to reflect off many of the dark surfaces in the bar.

The two-person seating area was pretty full. A business man sat next to me, at the table to my right. He may have been Asian American, maybe in his late thirties or early forties. He wore square glasses and a kind of plain suit. He had a gentle, easygoing, but mature-sounding voice.

The man asked me why I had left my previous job. I began to list off a whole bunch of complaints about my former boss. The complaints just got worse and worse, and I just got more and more agitated as I listed them. I think the main complaint was that my boss wanted me out of the office, and that he just neglected me and tortured me until I left.

I now noticed that my boss was sitting up in one of the booths off to my left. Red, white, and green light was playing off his face, like a rotating neon sign (or a barber shop pole) was shining on him.

My boss was sliding a grey iPad back into a case. It was almost like the iPad was the thickness of a VCR cassette and that the iPad case was like a VCR cassette sleeve.

I could tell that my boss had heard everything I'd said about him. I was a little ashamed of myself for having spoken bad about him. But I was also glad that he'd heard it. I hoped that it would sink in somehow, and that he'd feel bad.

But I also felt bad for complaining. The business man may have been thinking about hiring me. Now that I'd complained so much, maybe he just thought I wouldn't be a good employee.

My boss was now standing just beside me, on my left. He said, "Hey, I need to talk to you for a second."

I stood up with him and walked toward the center of the restaurant. There was a wide pillar there, around which was a chest-high counter that had a bunch of computer screens (maybe cash registers?) on it. My boss stopped there and spoke to me.

He said "You know, I've been getting the feeling lately that you think I didn't treat you right while you were working for me. And that's just not true. I have a feeling you've been telling people stuff like that. And I really don't want you to."

The way he was saying all this made it sound like he had just come to these conclusions all by himself -- like he hadn't heard me speaking at all just now, and the idea had just popped into his head. I knew he was just trying to impress me by making himself sound insightful enough to guess my moves. But I'd seen him listening to my conversation.

I told my boss, "I saw you sitting there, listening to everything I said! I knew you were there, and that's why I said it! I'm not sorry I said it! You treated me like garbage while I was there!"

(EDIT: I forgot to say that there was also some point where I was even making fun of my boss' voice, doing some kind of high-pitched, flat squealing, with a sheep-like, bleating rhythm. I may have been standing or crouching over my boss while he was laying on the ground. I may even have had his left (?) arm pinned to the ground.)

I was now standing out near the dugout of a baseball field in a park. I was with my boss momentarily, still yelling at him. But my boss eventually changed into my old friend R.

We were actually standing with a group of people, maybe twelve or fifteen of us, all straggled out along a fence that went along from third base to home plate. R and I were standing just beyond third base. At this point, the fence was separated from the diamond by about twenty meters of lawn, and it went up a small slope.

I knew that I had been yelling at R just like I had been yelling at my old boss. But suddenly I felt like R was in control of something in my life. I didn't like R very much, but I felt like I should apologize to him and be nice to him, so that he would stop controlling whatever it was he was controlling in my life, and make things okay for me again.

There had been a little bit of a game going on on the ball field, a game between two semi-competitive teams, maybe teams of little kids. But now the kids were all just milling around the field, clearing off the field.

There was some sort of ceremony that was now being held on home plate. A kind of tall, kind of fat, bald man in a grey suit, white shirt, and reddish tie was presenting somebody to give a speech. The person was another old friend of mine, E.

I only heard one particular phrase from E's speech. I can't remember what it was. But it struck me as attempting to be "folksy," something that would be understood by and sympathized with by all the "common people" around him.

I was kind of sickened by this. When I'd first met E, he was a kind of intellectual guy. He struck me as being a genuinely good person. But the older he got, the more he enjoyed cheating and taunting people. But he still tried to carry off the act of being a good guy. By now, it was all just a horrible charade to anybody who knew him. And his speech was an awful example of it.

Nevertheless, when E finished his speech, I went after him, to go talk to him. I figured that since he'd done something important like give a speech, and be introduced by a man in a suit, that he might be an important guy now. He might be able to help me out in my own difficulties.

E walked over toward the fence, toward a section closer to home plate. I hurried down toward him. I may have reached him and started talking to him, in a really shameful kiss-up kind of way.

Dream #2

I was in some place like a house or a mansion. I was in what looked like a big living room. But I may have been sitting on the left edge of a bed. The room was all made of dark wood. There were no lights on. But a lot of natural light was coming through a doorway, probably a wide doorway into a bathroom.

The bed didn't have any blankets on it, just a white sheet around the mattress and a white sheet over that. The bed may actually have been a hide-a-bed, the kind that pulls out from under the cushions of a couch.

Just off to my right, a guy stood talking. It was as if he were in a commercial, or in some kind of "special features" style mini-documentary for a movie. He, and everything around him, had a gauzy haze, like I was already watching the documentary, and the view from the camera lens, which was in some kind of soft focus.

The guy was some famous director. He looked like he was from the late 1970s or early 1980s. He was kind of skinny, with hair down just below his shoulders. He wore roundish, black-rimmed glasses and some kind of nerdy-looking suit.

The director had a kind of high, but full voice, so everything he said sounded a little pompous, and a little more like singing than talking.

The director was talking about his future plans. But he didn't really seem to have any. He may have mentioned that he'd done a lot of work already, and that he now planned to just spend time with his family, to re-charge a little.

The director said that the thing that ruined a lot of creative people nowadays was letting themselves get too overrun by taking on too many tasks. Their work was cheapened, and the artists would get burnt out. The director said that he was going to try not to let this happen to him.

I stood up and walked toward the bathroom, still hearing the director, as if he were speaking directly into my head. The director may have started talking about the French filmmaker Francois Truffaut's career as an example of burning out. I may have seen some black and white photos of Truffaut, intercut with solid views of lavender color.

I now stood in the bathroom, looking down into the bathtub. I was thinking of taking a shower. But there was a little reddish dirt or grime ringing the side of the tub and dusting up the floor of it.

I was kind of grossed out by this. I wondered how a bathtub could be so poorly taken care of in such a rich house as this. I may have thought I'd clean the tub. But I also may have thought that I just wouldn't take a shower.

Dream #3

I was in a house with my sister. I was in the living room, and my sister was in the kitchen. Both rooms were small, so even though we were in two rooms, it felt like we were hanging out together. The living room had no lights on, but light came into it through the kitchen.

I had been sitting on the couch, probably watching a movie on a TV that stood on an entertainment center just off to my left. But now I stood up and walked into the kitchen. My sister was sitting at the kitchen table, doing something -- maybe writing, or coloring in a coloring book, or doing something on her phone.

At some point my sister may have turned into a blonde girl I knew in high school, though she may have been college-aged.

I told my sister that I was going to take a shower. She said okay. But she then mumbled something about the university I'd attended. I didn't understand what my sister had said. So I asked her to say it again. Again my sister just quickly mumbled something about the university I'd attended.

It was like my sister was giving me news about the university. But it was more like she was sharing her reactions to the news with me. She already expected me to know what the news was. And if I didn't know the news, she would just figure I was pretty stupid.

This was even more the case -- at least in my mind -- because my sister had been told the news by a man that she was attracted to.

This man was maybe ten years older than I. He was big and strong and probably involved in business in some way or another. If this man could outdo me with his knowledge, through my sister, my sister -- I thought -- would feel like she didn't need to respect me, or even treat me nicely, anymore.

So after I'd determined that my sister had really mentioned something about news regarding the university I'd attended, I just said something really non-committal, like, "Yeah, it's pretty crazy, right? I can't believe it," and then walked to the shower.

I walked down the dim hallway and into the dark bathroom. I didn't turn any lights on. I closed the door. I must have stripped out of my clothes, too. I now figured I would look at my phone, try to get whatever news I could about my old university, and, while I was showering, think up some responses to give my sister.

When I turned on the news, though, I found a web page that said that the house of famous actress Barbara Steele had caught fire. Apparently Barbara Steele (an actress famous for her roles in Federico Fellini's 8 1/2 and David Cronenberg's Shivers) nowadays lived in my old university town.

The news article showed a picture of Steele's house. But the photo was from the roof of the house. The roof, actually, took up almost all the photo. And the main focus of the photo seemed to be a small array of solar panels that now seemed to be sinking down through the roof.

There may also have been snow on the roof, and there were a few men on the roof, apparently in the middle of putting out the fire. The house seemed like it was just a regular, suburban house in a regular, suburban neighborhood, not a big mansion one would expect a movie star to live in.

The news article said that Barbara Steele had been in the fire, and that she'd been rushed to the hospital. It seemed to imply that she'd died. But I couldn't really determine whether that was true.

I figured this must have been the article my sister had been talking about. My sister would know how much I loved Barbara Steele. So she probably would have wanted to discuss with me any news she'd heard about her. I started thinking of responses to give my sister about the article.

But now I could hear (and maybe even see, in my mind's eye) my sister and the older man talking with each other. My sister was telling the older man that I seeemed to be going through some sort of difficulty. My sister even seemed to imply that I'd lost or was lacking something, as if the older man might help me get a replacement.

I was a little upset that my sister had told the man all of this, especially since my sister and the older man already seemed to be planning with each other how they could make me feel less intelligent than they were.

But I was also relieved. I knew I was missing something. And maybe the man could help me find it. I figured that once I got out of the shower I'd approach the man very humbly and ask him to help me.

But now I saw a strange image. It was a cartoon, or a comic book. A little girl had knocked on a door (her own front door?). A man, maybe the girl's dad, had answered the door. The man let his wife know that the girl was at the door.

But something about what the man said made me realize that the man and girl were going to have sex. They had probably already had sex in the past. It was like the man and the little girl were in love with each other.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in a living room with a couple people I knew. One of them may have been my mother. I sat on the couch, which was positioned, it seems, in the middle of the living room, so that I was looking, to my left, into a hallway.

Somebody just next to me, on my left. This person may have been my mother. Another woman walked up to us and sat on a wooden chair that was just beside the couch. The woman was really tall and skinny, with pale skin and dark red hair. I was really attracted to her.

The woman started talking to the other person on the couch about how she'd met some guy she really liked. The guy was really sensitive and caring, and he always knew the right thing to do for the woman, or the right thing to give the woman.

This whole time, the woman may have been looking at me. The woman may have thought, in the past, that I liked her. She may have liked me as well. But I had been so ambiguous with her that she had finally given up on me. But it seeemed like even now, talking about this guy, she thought there was hope for her and me.

But the woman was still talking about the guy. She said the guy had brought her a cake the other day. The woman said the cake was a special kind of cake, something like a wedding cake. But it had blue frosting instead of white. The only white was the trim. I saw the cake in my mind's eye. It was actually pretty beautiful.

As the woman spoke about this cake, her eyes lit up, and I could tell that she really did think the man was romantic.

Dream #2

I walked into a movie theatre. The theatre was kind of small and a little bit worn-out looking. But it had stadium seating and big, cushiony chairs.

The movie was just about to start. But everybody was just filing in. Everybody here was really old and a little bit eccentric or crazy. Everybody also seemed to know each other. They were all talking with each other easily, asking about their lives.

I went to a seat a couple rows back from the front, toward the right wall of the theatre. As I was getting ready to sit down, a very pretty, professional-looking woman sat in the row behind me. Some of the people seemed to know her, though not so well, and they greeted her.

The woman seemed to be attracted to me. I was attracted to her. But I was too shy to try to flirt with her. But we may have spoken a bit, maybe about the film's director, about whom the woman didn't know very much.

The movie, or the previews, may now have been beginning. I was getting ready to sit down in the chair. But I suddenly realized that the seats in front of me had such tall backs that once I sat in my own chair, the back of the seat in front of me would be blocking half my view of the screen!

I realized this was because the ramping upward of the stadium seating didn't begin until one or two rows behind where I was right now. So I figured I'd move back a couple of rows. But I didn't want to move back behind the woman. This might make her feel like I was trying to avoid her. I definitely wasn't.

The woman, who may now have been sitting with her husband: a man about fifty or sixty years old -- and who herself may now have been about fifty or sixty years old -- asked me if my seat was alright.

I didn't want to look like I was picky about my seats. So I said my seat was alright. To get a full view of the screen I just sat on the arm of the seat, instead of sitting in the actual seat. The arm of the seat had had its cushioning torn off, and it was just a ridged, black rectangle of metal, about the size of a brick.

The movie began. It may have been from the 1970s. The opening scene may have been very colorful, with titles in lavender lettering flashing on the screen. There was also a narrator who spoke either in French (while English subtitles ran across the bottom of the screen) or in English with a French accent.

Dream #3

It was the time of the U.S. Civil War. A man from the Southern states had decided that the cause of the South was unjust. He decided he was going to stand against the South's decision to enter into war.

The man was white, tall, pale-skinned, bald on most of his head, but with unruly, long, red-brown hair along the sides and back of his head, and a long, kind of thin, red-brown beard. He wore a military uniform, it seemed to me, of a very dark blue color (which would be funny, if he was in the South *and* against the war).

The man's community decided to turn against him. I could hear a group of older men, probably about the man's age and older, conspiring against the man.

As I heard the men speak, my view became a bird's eye view of a modern-day warehouse, or a really big garage for semi-trucks. It was a sunny day. The big garage was beige-walled and brown-roofed, and seemed to be made all out of sheet metal.

The conspiring men were saying something like, "There's two kinds of people in the South: the yas'sahs, and the no'sahs." (Which meant "yes sirs," and "no sirs.") "The yas'sahs are on our side. The no'sahs are against us. And this man is a no'sah. If he isn't a no'sah, he's a friend of the no'sahs. And it's time we taught him a lesson."

The doors of the big garage opened, and three vehicles drove out of it. These vehicles seemed to have the rectangular shape of semi-trucks, but the size of garbage trucks. But they were all a dull, silvery grey, featureless, and smooth-looking, as if they were all built in one piece, except along the edges, which seemed to be barred with chrome tubing.

These trucks were made for causing trouble for people who were on the side of the no'sahs. They would go to the locations where the individual no'sah either lived or worked, and do something malicious to him, his living space, his work space, or his vehicle.

Each person had something different done to him. I can't remember what the first bad thing done was. But it involved the vehicle removing a part of its body, like it was just an outer shell, and causing that thing to transform into some means of destruction.

After that, either one or all three of the trucks went to a parking lot that held a few trailer-less semi-trucks. One of the vehicles now took off its "shell" and transformed it. It transformed into something that looked like a second front for one of the semi-trucks.

The shell was a pale silver-grey, and it didn't fit onto the semi-truck very well. It kind of sat diagonally. But this was intentional. The shell was supposed to block the truck driver's view so he would get into a wreck.

The truck driver now appeared. I don't know whether he was aware of the shell. But he drove the truck anyway. He backed his truck out of the parking space. Immediately he noticed troubles with his field of view, and also possibly with the actual ability of the truck to drive.

But the truck driver, clunking and chugging forward, barely seeing anything, decided he'd do the best he could. He drove out onto a street that was so packed with cars it was almost at a standstill. Tall buildings crowded over both sides of the street.

The truck driver was in a tight space, and he could barely see. But he knew these streets well, and he decided he'd just drive by instinct. If he trusted his instincts, based on his memory of the streets, he could get through anything.

And he was doing well. He turned right around of corner and disappeared out of my field of view.

I caught a glimpse of a sign over a shop on the corner of the street. The sign was made out of some kind of turquoise-painted, ridged steel. There were big, white letters on the sign. It gave the name of some bank, I think, Mc-----. I recognized the bank and the sign as being key landmarks for anybody familiar with this town.

I now knew that I was watching a movie. I thought to myself that the film makers had done a good job of giving an idea of what city this truck driver was in. They didn't put too much detail into it: just enough to give people a sense of the place, by using broad, general landmarks.

The movie scene changed, showing the effect of the attacking trucks on another person. The scene showed a female news reporter, speaking to the camera, giving a special report from one of the city's streets.

The view was from the news camera's point of view. But the camera view was really low, like the cameraman was in the street and crouched down really far. The news woman kept walking, sidestepping, along the sidewalk, while addressing the camera.

I knew that the trucks had attacked another man by making him crazy. He was a kind of tall, skinny white guy with frizzy brown hair and a kind of balding forehead. But he had now gone crazy, and he was running through a park (Central Park?) naked, possibly giving his money away.

The news woman was reporting on the man. But, like everybody else, she didn't know anything about why this man had gone crazy. She was just reporting that this man was dangerous. Apparently there was a risk that this man would attack people and take their money.

And now the news woman was interviewing a woman who had been attacked by the man. The woman had apparently agreed to the interview. But now she was just walking as she was talking. She was walking faster than the news woman, like she just wanted to get away from her.

The woman was white, with blonde-brown hair, fair skin, and blue-green eyes. She wore a grey sweater, and she had a green sweater wrapped around her shoulders. She also wore tight blue jeans.

The news woman asked the woman how the crazy man's attack had affected her. The woman replied that the man had taken everything she'd had on her. The news woman asked what this meant for the woman. The woman could only reply, "I'm done. I'm done."

The woman had now gotten far enough away from the news woman that the news woman stopped following her. The news woman had, apparently, stopped walking.

But the camera was no longer focused on her. Instead, it was focused on the window of a Sony store. The window was black, except for a big flat-screen TV that was showing colorful imagery.

The news woman explained that what the woman meant by, "I'm done, I'm done," was that she was completely broke. She had no money left, and she had been unemployed for a long time. She couldn't survive in the city anymore. She'd probably have to go back home.

Dream #4

An older man and his middle-aged son were sitting, apparently, in an airplane. But this airplane was more like a private airplane than a commercial one. The two men sat on a bench-like seat against the wall of the plane. Their backs were to a long but short window.

The son, who was a tiny bit overweight and had a white beard and white hair, was playing with an iPad. The father, who was very skinny, clean shaven, and had his white hair in a short, square haircut, had a bunch of newspapers on his lap.

The father addressed a camera (my view). The father said, "You know, I like the iPad. And it gives me... about... ten percent of my news for the day. But for the rest of my news, I still trust the newspaper more. Why, look at this!"

The father opened up the newspaper and began flipping through it, illustrating how easy it was for him to find the news he was looking for in all the right places. But as he was doing this, the newspaper got more and more jumbled up.

In the meantime, the son, who kept trying to get the father's attention, was scrolling really quickly through all the news, apparently on the New York Times app for the iPad.

The father was now trying to illustrate how easy it was to find something like stuff to buy from a store, or movie times, or stuff to buy out of classified ads. But he was getting really frustrated, because he couldn't actually find anything.

In the meantime, the son had found exactly what the father had been looking for on a website like a mix between the New York Times and Amazon.com. He was scrolling down to the exact thing the father wanted, and clicking on it to buy it.

As the father was getting really frustrated with the newspaper, the son called out something like, "About to buy it, right now!"

The father stopped talking and looked at the iPad. The camera view closed in on the iPad. The son seemed to be looking at a list of books. He tapped on what he wanted.

But the son wanted three of this item. So he had to click on a special word, in a three- or four-line-long list of words. As he did this, he said, "Now, let's see here. What's that process called again? Ah... filchering."

The son clicked on "filchering" and bought three items of the product his father wanted. The father was amazed! That was so fast! The father said, "Why, with that machine, you can buy things so much faster than you can buy things with a newspaper!"

The son, as the father spoke, was just smiling at the father with a weird, open-mouthed, fat-tongued expression, like a panting dog would give its master, not for being good, but for doing something really annoying.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

It was a bright, warm, sunny day. I was in some kind of suburban neighborhood with a group of people. We all stood out in the middle of the road, in a wide intersection, near the crest of a shallow hill. The other side of the hill felt very airy, possibly like the seashore was nearby.

Somehow I knew -- I may actually have been explaining it to a business woman -- that either a plague or a flood had hit this area. The place had been ravaged for a while: either overwhelmed by waters or distraught by disease.

The calamity had subsided. But things weren't back to normal. The town's population was now extremely low.

On top of that, there were certain streets that were now run by dogs. It was easy to tell the streets apart. The streets that had nice, new, black asphalt were streets where humans lived. But the streets with older, pale asphalt were run by dogs. The streets with old asphalt, I knew, had been so ravaged by the calamity that the new asphalt had been stripped off of them.

It was known that the dogs would guard their streets. If humans came down the streets, the dogs, which were like German Shepherds, would group together along the street and growl the human away, back out of the street.

But new asphalt was now also being laid through the dog streets as well. The group of people and I were following one new strip of asphalt that had been laid, coming out of a dog street and heading toward the front of this neighborhood (which now, apparently, was a gated community).

There were two or three mail delivery men up ahead of us, pushing their bag-carts full of mail. Walking near the men were two or three big, black dobermans. I feel like they were acting as an escort for the mailmen, who, now that the new asphalt was being laid, were again having to go into the dog streets to deliver mail to the houses.

I was now outside the community's gates and a few blocks down. I was talking with somebody, probably a black man in his mid twenties, maybe a little skinny, with reddish hair, wearing a red shirt.

The man and I were out here on a job. The man may have been gossipping to me or complaining about the work, trying to find a way for the two of us to get out of it, even though I wasn't interested in finding a way out of the work.

I was now walking back up toward the gated community. The gate, I could see, was a kind of cheap-looking, chain-link fence, with a tiny post-structure for a security guard to stand inside of. After the fence, the street went up a hill that was covered in the deep shade of heavy-canopied trees.

There were a couple of people behind me and beside me to my right, but just out of my view. A black woman said to her friend, "I don't wanna have to see them showing off their lust for each other again. It makes me sick."

I wondered who the woman could have been talking about. I now saw that the community's gate was open, and that two black, female security guards were walking back and forth in the open space.

The women were both overweight, and their security uniforms were really tight on them. One woman was darker. She had hair about to her shoulders, brown, with blonde streaks in it. The other woman was lighter and had blondish hair, long, in tight braids that pulled up in a fountain-shape and then flowed down.

The long-haired woman was following the short-haired woman around closely, almost flopping over her. I could see now that these two women were lesbian lovers. The woman who had been complaining a moment ago had been complaining about these two women.

Dream #2

I was in a really nice restaurant. I sat along the back wall, with my right side against the wall, at a table for two. The restaurant was one big room, full of tables for two or four people. The tables and chairs were all of heavy, dark wood. The walls may also have been of heavy, dark wood.

It must have been daytime. The restaurant's lighting was dim, and most of the light seemed to be coming from a window at the front of the restaurant.

The chairs at my table, and at all the tables along the back wall, had tall backs, maybe two meters tall, carved in a Gothic style. The chairs were so tall and solid, they made me feel like it was sitting in a booth rather than at a table.

A wealthy-looking white man, maybe in his forties, sat at the table directly in front of mine. I was probably waiting for my food. I was reading a book, scribbling some figures with a pencil onto a pad of pink paper, and listening to music with my headphones.

But I now noticed I'd been singing along to the music I'd been listening to. I didn't know if my singing had been any good. I hoped I hadn't been singing too loud.

I thought it would have been rude to be singing like that here, in such a nice restaurant, with such a serious guy sitting in front of me. But I may also have thought that the guy could possibly have been a talent scout. I may have thought that if he'd heard me singing, he'd want to sign a record contract with me.

But I was more embarrassed by my bad singing and my impertinence for singing in such a place. I took out my earphones and put them away.

Dream #3

I walked into a restaurant in the downtown area of some big city. The restaurant was part of some big building, possibly a big hotel. The restaurant was huge, with windows for all its walls, letting in streams of bright morning light.

The restaurant was like one big room, but divided into a number of areas, mainly by means of setting some parts of the room up on higher platforms, maybe 30cm to 60cm in height, and arranging these platforms at odd angles from the rest of the restaurant. Some areas may also have been divided off by glass walls or waist-high divider-walls.

There was one little alcove with a couple tables in it just off to the left of the entrance. I was thinking of sitting there. There were a few big, beautiful, white business men sitting at a table. One man had a tanned, but reddened face and wiry, brown-red hair. He was laughing with the other men.

I still wanted to sit in that room. I wanted to sit near those men. But I also wanted to avoid them. I didn't want them to think I was trying to intrude in their business.

I looked throughout the rest of the restaurant. It was all empty. There may have been a waitress walking through some of the seating areas, doing something. But that was it.

I was now (I don't know why) so embarrassed with having wanted to sit at a table near the business men that I left the restaurant. I walked around the corner, but then came back in through a different door. This way, I thought, the business men would think I'd left. That way they wouldn't think I was trying to intrude on their business.

I was back in the restaurant. I walked up onto one of the platform levels and took a seat just a couple tables away from the glass wall dividing this area from the room the business men sat in. Apparently I still wanted to be close to the business men. One of the business men did take notice of me. I felt kind of stupid.

Dream #4

It was night. I was sitting with my family at a McDonald's. The McDonald's was packed with people. The place felt hot and greasy and steamy.

My family and I sat at a very low, long table. My mom, my siblings, my nephews and niece, and I all sat packed together. But there was another whole group of people at the table, too. So we were all pretty crammed together.

We had all our belongings heaped up on the table as well. I had a backpack or a book bag in front of me, amid a heap of other stuff.

Someone brought out our food. I had fries, possibly something with chicken in it, and a soda. I had to reach around all the stuff on the tables to get to the drink-tray with the sodas in it. The sodas were all smalls, in white cups.

But when I looked at my drink in the drink tray, I realized that, while I'd ordered a Coke, I'd been given a Sprite. I was really mad. I'd been here a number of times, and every time I'd asked for a Coke, I'd gotten a Sprite.

I blurted out, "Christ, I hate these people. They did it to me again!"

But I noticed that there was an extra drink in the drink tray. It was a watery-looking orange drink in the drink tray. It looked like a mix of orange Hi-C and carbonated water. I like Hi-C, so I thought I would just be satisfied with that drink instead.

But my brother, who was sitting just to my right, said, "Did they give you the wrong thing? Don't take it. I'll complain to them."

I didn't want anybody to complain, as, in my experience, complaining just made things worse. But my brother had already complained and was now back in his seat.

Now one of the workers came up, a fat, white woman, dressed in blue slacks, a dark maroon polo shirt with blue sleeves and collar, and a visor-hat with a maroon visor. The woman asked, "Did someone here have a complaint about their drink?"

I stood up to face the woman. I didn't want to. But since she was here, I thought, I should just be honest with her. But I hid my face behind the top half of a big styrofome meal-container that was holding a bunch of ripple-cut french fries. I was even shoving french fries and catsup in my mouth as I stood there.

But the woman knew it was me. She either poked her head around the container or forced me to lower the container so she could see my face.

The woman said something like, "Oh, so it's you again!" as if she knew me for a constant trouble maker in the store.

It was obvious that the woman wasn't going to change my drink. She walked away, back behind the front counter. But she sent out another worker, either a black man or a black woman, to kind of pace back and forth around the table and make sure I wasn't trying to start any more trouble.

My family had all finished their meal and were ready to go. We were in a hurry to get somewhere -- maybe to the airport, so I could catch a flight back to New York.

Everybody else in the family was now outside, and I was sitting at the table by myself. It also felt like a large part of the people in the restaurant were gone, too. The place felt kind of empty.

I was trying to pick up all my stuff to get going. But for some reason I couldn't find my book bag.

A new family was coming into the store. There were a mom, a dad, a daughter, and some other people. The dad was tall, white, with a huge belly, barely held in by a thin t-shirt. He wore dark-tinted eyeglasses and had short, blonde-grey, curly hair.

The daughter was young, maybe twelve or thirteen years old. She wasn't very pretty. She had kind of frizzy hair and a nerdy look. But I was probably really attracted to her sexually.

The father obviously thought of me as "below" him, and he didn't even want me around his family while they ate. He was bustling around near me, huffing and puffing and trying to intimidate me. Finally he walked over to my table and stepped on my book bag (which was now on the floor?) a couple times.

I was really angry that the father stepped on my book bag. I had my computer in there. He could have broken it. I was probably going to stand up to him.

But suddenly I was outside, walking with my family to the car. We got in the car as I was telling my mom about the guy who had been bullying me inside. My mom may have asked if I wanted to take care of it in any way. But I didn't think it was any use.

I told my mom, though, that I probably should go back into the store. I'd been looking for my book bag in there, and I hadn't found it yet.

My mom said, "Oh, we just took your book bag with us when we headed out of the restaurant. It's in the back." (The back was like a hatchback, rather than a trunk.) "Did you want me to get it for you before we started driving?"

I kind of did. I wanted to make sure my computer was okay. I remembered the man stepping on my bag. But I didn't know if that was a real memory, now. If my mom had taken the bag out with her, it couldn't have been there for the man to step on.

I figured I'd just take a chance, then, and look at my computer once we got to wherever we were going. I told my mom, "No, that's fine. As long as my book bag's in the car with us, that's all I care about."

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

It was night. I was at the top of a steep hill, probably in a suburban neighborhood. I was with a few other people, probably my age or younger. A few lights lit our field of view, more like a car's headlights than streetlights.

Something was wrong with my female friend H. At one of my other female friends' request, to make H feel better, I was embracing her from behind and rubbing her chest.

I was probably rubbing the outsidde of H's shirt. But the shirt, some kind of tan tank-top, was so thin that I could feel H as if I were touching her skin. H's chest was flat, but she had huge nipples.

The way I was rubbing H was really turning her on. But she was attributing the sensations I was giving her to my other female friend. Pretty soon H had the female friend rubbing her chest up against H's chest. Both women had really flat chests.

H was now either wearing or not wearing a dress. The dress was a vanilla-yellow, sleeveless baby-doll type dress, with a bunchy top and a slightly belled-out, knee-length skirt. The dress was made out of a fabric like soft terry cloth. It had a zipper running up the back. H now either took this dress off or put it on.

Dream #2

I may have been standing all by myself out in the desert, possibly near or right under the gas pump island of a gas station. I may possibly have been talking to someone in my head.

I was a man, probably a soldier. I wore a light brown or tan uniform. Sometimes I was black, sometimes Latino, and sometimes white.

I was telling the person in my head about having been in the CIA mind control program MK-ULTRA. At the same time, I was remembering bits and pieces of my time there, as a subject.

After having been a subject, I'd had my memory erased. But bits and pieces of my time there kept coming back to me. As they did, I would be more inspired to look for more information regarding what had happened to me in the program.

I knew I'd been tortured in the program. But I only had very vague memories of it. Most of my memories seemed to revolve around sheets of paper with a lot of small writing and bar codes written on them.

My attempts to look into my experiences may have involved looking for more papers like this. But as I searched for more information, I was increasingly harrassed. People may even have come after me and started torturing me again, then re-erasing my memory.

I told the person in my head, a woman, that it was terrible to know this stuff was happening to me. I could start to see, everywhere in the environment, where things were put up to reinforce the brainwashing I'd been tortured into receiving.

Even the smallest thing could hold a sinister message. I was apparently still working for the military. I saw myself walking down a hallway, then passing a beige-painted pipe with a caution sticker on it.

The sticker had a few different bar codes on it, around its border and in a little square in the body, in the upper right hand corner of a lot of fine-print caution text. I knew that my mind had been trained to read these bar codes instinctively. Each bar code was a small statement, reinforcing my brainwashing.

I told the woman in my head that what was even worse was that almost everybody else around me was brainwashed, too. But most people were brainwashed simply to dislike the people who had been used as subjects for MK-ULTRA, to ostracize them.

I said that at first it wasn't so bad. But as time went on, the environment became so full of these people that it was too painful to go anywhere.

I imagined myself walking into the gas station. The man behind the counter treated me nicely at first. But it was almost like some kind of infra-red bar code scanner, placed up in a corner of the ceiling of the store, activated.

Suddenly, I could tell, the man behind the counter was getting the feeling he didn't like me. He was trying, still, to act polite. But it was obvious he was beginning to feel very uncomfortable around me, and that he just wanted me out of the store.

I was standing somewhere in the dark, rubbing my forehead and eyes in misery. I was telling the woman in my head how miserable it was to have this feeling pervade the environment everywhere I went.

The woman asked me if there wasn't some way I could destroy all the reinforcing equipment that had been put up in all these places around me.

I was standing back out in the desert, in the daytime, by the gas station. I told the woman, "No. I could destroy everything. But they have so much extra stuff underground. It wouldn't be any use. They'd just put it all right back."

I imagined some kind of diagonal elevator shaft leading way down underground, to some kind of big hangar or warehouse-type area, with a lot of different-colored pipes, people working, and bright white, fluorescent lights. This was probably where all the equipment was manufactured and stored.

Dream #3

My female friend MW, who IWL works and lives at a wildlife preserve in Nevada, was visiting New York. I was living in something like a dorm room. But MW was staying with me.

It was daytime. We were in my room, which was lit by a bit of natural light coming in through the window. We were both on my bed, a pretty small bed. MW was sitting cross-legged near the head of the bed. I was laying on my stomach, my head toward the head of the bed.

At the foot of the bed, a TV was playing an episode of The Chronic Rift (a community access TV pop-culture discussion show from the 1990s, the episodes of which are now available online). I had been trying to introduce MW to this show. But I was now only half interested. And MW was flipping through some photographs.

I now had to go somewhere else, probably to work. I left MW alone for the day. But as I sat at work (or wherever) I realized that I had left MW without any keys. She'd obviously leave my room. But she'd have to leave it unlocked. There was no way she could lock it.

I got a little worried. I tried to justify things to myself. I was trying to remember if there weren't some kind of minor, automatic lock on my door, like a doorknob that always locks from the inside. But I was pretty sure this wasn't the case.

I knew that if I left wherever I was to catch up with MW and give her my keys, it would take a lot of time out of my day. And I didn't want to look bad for taking all that time out of my day. But I thought it was probably more important for me to find MW and give her my keys, so that she could lock my door.

I now saw a photograph of MW, as she stood in front of the house she was living in during her work for the wildlife preserve. MW wore a red-pink t-shirt, khaki-colored hiking pants, a backpack, and a baseball cap.

MW stood at the curb of an asphalt road. Just behind MW was the start of a sandstone flagstone path that went up a shallow slope. The slope was like a lawn, but it had tan gravel, clumps of wild grass, and cacti, instead of the conventional green turf.

At the top of the slope was a small house made out of rough-hewn, but slim, sandstone slabs -- almost like horizontal flagstones, all piled on top of each other. The house looked just like a suburban house, except that it was made out of the sandstone slabs, which gave it a weird look.

Dream #4

I may have been talking in my head, again with my friend MW. We may have been talking about where MW came from.

I knew MW came from Michigan. I saw a map of the United States and Canada. My vision was mostly focused on the northern, central part of the United States, the Great Lakes region. The map almost, really, looked like a satellite view of the United States -- but it was as if the United States were completely covered in snow -- even the Great Lakes!

I was trying really hard to remember where Michigan was. I felt at first like it must have been to the west of the Great Lakes. But I then felt like it must have been right in the middle of all the lakes, squeezed in between two of the more northern-extending lakes. I remembered that Michigan looked like a mitten. So I kept trying to find a mitten-shaped state.

I was now in a commercial jet, apparently, with MW. But we were both looking down to the ground from the plane through some kind of window or plexiglass structure in the floor.

We were at cruising altitude, i.e., about 10,000 meters. But the view was really like we were only 100 meters or so above the ground. We were also floating in one static position.

The view was of a snow-covered pine forest, with a road running through the forest. The road was pretty lonely. But a few cars did occasionally pass along it. The forest seemed dense in most places. But there were some empty spots, like clearings for very small ranches or farms. The extension of a small, wooden fence may even have been visible. It was still snowing, too.

MW and I spoke a little bit more about MW's hometown. We were floating very close to it right now. I told MW I wondered if we couldn't just go to MW's house for a little while.

But MW said it would take too much time. We'd planned to meet here. We couldn't go away from this spot. MW was talking as if we were on the ground, at an airport, with a long time between flight connections. But we didn't have enough time to leave the airport altogether.

MW and I looked away from the window. I saw the interior of the plane very vaguely, as if I were still half-looking out the window. But the plane looked like a nice private jet, with light-tan leather upholstery for the seats, and even for the walls!

MW and I spoke for a bit about how we'd planned to meet here. I knew I'd flown to this area in one commercial plane. MW had flown here in another plane, probably this one. At some point, when the planes were in proximity, I moved from one to the other.

I now started thinking to myself about all of this. At first I thought this was because the two planes had docked with each other. I thought I had come through some sort of little docking tunnel.

But then it became apparent that what I'd probably done was teleport myself from the plane I'd been on to the plane that MW was on.

As I was thinking about all this, my view drifted back down to the view of the ground. But then my view seemed to drift even farther out, up so that I could even see up along the fuselage of the plane, into the snowy, grey sky.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in some large area like a high school gym or an assembly hall. The place was unlit, but there was natural light coming in through some windows high up on the walls. The hall was filled with folding chairs, arranged in two aisles of seats.

I was toward the back of the seats, maybe even standing a few meters behind the back row. The seats seemed to lose their order toward the back, and may just have been scattered all over the place.

Up at the front, people had been giving presentations. There were two presentations. Each presentation was given by two people. I don't remember the first presentation.

The second presentation was about the psychology of Carl Jung. The first person gave some kind of theoretical or philosophical overview of Jung's psychology. The second person then, apparently, acted as if he were Jung, though he seemed to be acting more like Sigmund Freud.

This presentation was now over. Everybody stood up(including me? - I guess I had been sitting, now) to leave. I seemed to be eager to leave. But now someone called for me. The person said that I still had to do my presentation, which was about Freud.

I realized I had been hoping to get away without having to do my presentation. But now that it turned out I'd have to do it after all, I was actually kind of looking forward to doing it.

Dream #2

I was in some gigantic, empty structure. It was like a parking garage: just an empty, dark structure with no walls. There were no lights in the structure. I was on the second floor, which was the top floor.

The structure looked out on a big, wooden ship. The day was grey and the waters the ship was in were getting rougher and rougher.

Now a lot of people were getting onto the ship. I was something like the ship's captain -- a tall, kind of big and strong man with a long, red-brown beard.

Another man told me that perhaps we shouldn't go out to sea today. The weather was looking worse and worse.

I didn't know whether to agree with the man. It seemed like all the people getting onto the ship -- a bunch of rich-looking men and women (mostly women, I think), dressed in nineteenth-century-style suits and dresses -- were still really looking forward to the trip.

But now I was flying down, from the top of the structure, toward the ship. I could see that the ship had two levels to it. Both of these levels could be seen through the sides of the ship. In fact, there was no protection at all in these levels, and that's where the passengers would be during the trip. I now even watched as a huge wave of water poured all the way through the levels.

I knew this was trouble. But I still thought I could get the passengers on the ship and take the trip. Perhaps we'd all have to stay on the top level. But then, perhaps, the waters would clear up, and we'd be fine.

Everybody was still loading onto the ship. But now I flew over the ship's deck. I now saw that the slate-grey waters were swelling up almost to the very deck of the ship. I realized now that there was no way we could go anywhere. I decided to get the passengers off the ship.

A terrible storm had come and passed. I was now in the water with the man who had been warning me against putting the ship to sea. I'm pretty sure that all the passengers had been evacuated from the ship before the storm. But the ship itself had been sunk. The man and I were in the water, looking for the ship.

It was black night, and the man and I were taking turns diving under water to look for the ship. Eventually the man seemed to come up with what looked to me like shattered fragments of the ship. I was sure this meant the ship was somewhere below us.

Now I dived under the water -- or, rather, someone dived under the water whose viewpoint I had, though "I" was still above the water. As I saw from this other person's viewpoint, "I" myself was still wondering whether I should dive under the water.

I wondered how I would be able to see under the water. The person whose viewpoint I saw now had goggles and was wearing a scuba-diving suit. He also had a flashlight attached to his head. It shone just enough for him to see a couple meters in front of him.

The man (or I?) came upon stacks and stacks of beige, plastic cubes that almost looked like small stepping-blocks. These were apparently the basic elements that had made up the ship. The pieces were cluttered all over, almost like stacks of boxes. I knew that this meant the ship was here.

I surfaced. Now that we knew where the ship was, I thought, we would simply pull it up, and everything would be fine.

But I had surfaced into a gigantic, dark room. My headlight was still shining, I think. A few other people were also in this huge room. They probably had lights shining near them as well.

I waded in the water and looked around me. Jutting up out of the water were shattered pieces of the ship. Some of the pieces looked like the ship. Other pieces simply looked like wooden boxes or the plastic stepping-blocks. Some people were wading in the water. Others were sitting on the ship fragments.

Dream #3

I walked into "my mom's house." I came in on the first floor, through some kind of back door. The entire floor was charred, like a fire had hit it. But this seemed normal to me.

I saw a book of mine on a little counter-like space at the head of a stairwell to a basement. It was a white paperback book with red-pink lettering. It may have been a horror novel. I knew that there was a computer (perfectly fine) on a charred table a "room" over. The "rooms" were hardly rooms -- the walls had been almost completely burnt away.

I walked toward the table with the computer. My plan was to get on the internet and look at some kind of entertainment thing for a while.

But I had to walk quietly. My mom was downstairs with a few other family members. I didn't want them to hear me. I had lost my job. I was coming home really early in the afternoon. I knew if I was too loud and too obviously on the internet, my mom would wonder why I was home, and why I was wasting my time on the internet.

I heard a few of my footsteps creaking across the weak floor. I knew that I wasn't going to get through the house unnoticed. So I figured I'd just go down into the basement, let my mom know I was home, and let her know I'd lost my job.

Dream #4

I may have been looking at a website like YouTube. I had chosen a music video called "Freud Limp" from a list of video.

The video first began with some kind of Pampers diapers advertisement from the 1970s. A couple of little kids were in a place like a doctor's office with their mother. The kids all ran to a bookshelf on the left side of the room and began grabbing huge boxes of Pampers diapers off the shelves.

The music video now began. It also seemed to take place in a doctor's office. The view was of the waiting room of the office. The area was kind of small, lit with natural light and pale, fluorescent light.

There was a reception window on the right wall, possibly with an adjacent counter, which was lower than waist height, running along the back area. Behind the low counter was a wall of shelves of manila file folders holding patients' records.

As the song began, the main singer, perhaps a British man, bald, pale, kind of tough looking, was carted out with a woman and maybe two babies, on something that looked like a mix between a car for a really fast roller coaster and a grocery cart full of baby supplies.

The man sat at the back. The woman sat at the front, facing the man. The babies sat in the middle, huddled in between all the bay supplies. The man's and woman's seats may themselves had looked like car seats for little babies.

I heard the song very distinctly, and I can recall the melody. There were two verses. The first verse ended with some statement about the man seeing a smile on the woman's face and knowing that, despite all the uncaring stuff she'd said in the first part of the verse, that she really did care.

The second verse went something like:

"Sometimes I want to get away,
I want to get away, I try to get away.
But when I finally get away..."

Good morning, everybody.

For anybody interested in time and dreams, I'm pretty sure that the first dream took place in less than one minute. I woke up to a police siren, fell asleep, had the dream, and woke up to another siren.

Dream #1

I was walking through a museum, along a second floor balcony overlooking a first floor kind of atrium area. It was probably night, and it seemed like more than half the lights in the museum were turned off. I may have been looking down to the first floor, to a few glass-cased displays along one of the walls.

I was now listening to some man, who was supposed to be the father, Bill Loud, from the 1971 reality show An American Family. But the man sounded a bit younger and a bit meaner than Bill Loud. He was complaining to someone about how one of his sons, probably Lance, was too into museums.

The man complained that now the son wanted the man to go to the museums with him. But the man said, "God, what makes him think I'm interested in going off to see a bunch of tropical colored, electrical fish?"

I now sat at a dining table at the back end of the balcony area. This part of the balcony extended, it seemed, into the main part of the second floor. There may have been a number of tables here. The table I sat at was long, able to seat eight or ten people. But the only other person at the table was Lance Loud, who sat directly across from me.

We sat mostly in darkness. The only light seemed to be coming from a kitchen area, behind me and maybe twenty or thirty meters away.

I had looked down to the first floor at some point. It was now like a movie theatre, including a ground level and a balcony. And it was packed. I knew now that the creators of An American Family had come out with a new documentary, possibly further documenting the life of the Loud family.

I thought of the creators of America as Frederick Wiseman, the great documentary filmmaker. But apparently Wiseman was actually twins. There were two Wisemans.

Lance was here for the premiere of the new Wiseman documentary. But it was kind of against his will. He kind of resented the Wisemans. He felt like the An American Family reality show had ruined his family. The Wiseman twins knew that Lance felt that way. And they resented Lance as well.

Lance was busy complaining to me about the Wiseman twins when they walked past us, heading toward a stairway down to the movie theatre.

The Wiseman twins looked nothing like Frederick Wiseman. They looked more like short versions of the psychic researcher Russ Targ. They had puffy, curly, grey hair, though most of their forehead was bald. They were square-faced, though their faces were a bit wrinkly. One of the twins wore a white sweater. The other one wore a black leather jacket.

As the twins passed us, one of them made a kind of rude remark to Lance in a deep, gravelly, but loose and relaxed kind of voice. The twins knew Lance didn't want to be here, and the twins didn't want Lance to be here.

But one of the twins saw that I was sitting with Lance. He had walked to the top of the staircase. But now he turned around and came back to Lance. In a relaxed, but courteous tone he told Lance, "We're having a ----- after the show. You're more than welcome to come."

The twin walked away. Lance said, really loud, so the twin could hear him, but in such a way as to sound like he was talking only to me, "Oh, like I'd actually want to go to something like that!"

The ----- was something like a viewing of behind the scenes clips from the documentary. This was supposed to be of great interest to a lot of the people who had been involved with the film.

Dream #2

There was a man in maybe his forties who was the father of a girl in her early twenties. The father had had the chance on a couple occasions to be around the girl's circle of friends.

The father felt like it was possible that one of the men in this group would want to marry the girl. The father didn't quite feel comfortable about this. The men seemed either like total screw-ups or like people who would kind of treat the girl in a mean way.

But the father decided that he needed to get to know the guys better before he jumped to such conclusions about them.

The father was now standing out on a driveway in the late afternoon. The father was white, with tan, tough skin and a square haircut of grey and white hair. He wore a white polo shirt. He was in shape, if not actually even muscular.

The father thought it was a stroke of luck -- one of the girl's friends, the one, it seemed, the girl was most interested, was standing in the driveway as well. The father could get to know the guy.

The guy was now standing before the garage. The garage door was open. An incandescednt light lit the garage. There was no car in the garage. But at the very front of the garage was a small shelf, on which sat a few doll-like girls' toys.

The guy was standing there, staring at the doll-toys and giggling to himself. I was kind of concerned for the boy. I felt like the father might think the guy was some kind of pervert for being so interested in girls' toys. But the father didn't feel that way. The father just thought the guy was artistic, interested in these toys for an artistic reason.

The father walked up to the guy to talk to him. The guy was a bit shorter than the father. He was pale white, about half bald, with short, disarranged hair on the rest of his head. He was a little chubby, and his flabby cheeks were dotted with stubble. He wore chunky, square eyeglasses and a too-big, blue-green t-shirt.

The guy, sensing the father behind him, turned around, while still giggling at the girls' toys. He found himself face to face with the father.

But the guy didn't feel he needed to acknowledge the father at all. He kept giggling about the toys, then turned off and to his right, walking toward and then into the front door of the house.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was walking with a couple "friends" through a large area like a mix between a museum and an airport. The floors were grey. There was at least one balcony overhead. The light was a watery-white fluorescent.

One of my friends was a woman. She going to take a trip somewhere in South America. It was somehow like I had gotten her interested in this trip, or like I had gotten her involved with some organization that had put her on this trip.

The woman was kind of worried about how the trip was going to turn out. She didn't even know exactly where she was going in South America. But she didn't want to be so far away from the equator that she was always cold, and she didn't want to be in such a small town that there was never anything to do.

I told the woman that we would look at a map of South America. If she told me enough about the place she was going, I could probably figure out where it was on the map.

I now saw that the big area we were in had a gigantic map of South America. The map stood upright. It was maybe twenty meters tall. It was shaded to match the land forms and vegetation areas of South America. It may have been three-dimensional as well. On the floor, perpendicular to the map, was a long platform-like base with words on it.

I pointed through the moderate crowd up toward the map of South America. I could almost imagine myself driving along some of the roads in South America.

The woman must have been telling me about the place, because I was gettng a distinct impression that she was going to ----- (? - Chile, or Argentina?). I told the woman she didn't have to worry, that she would be going to a very warm place.

But now we were walking up toward a whole new map. I don't know what happened to the previous map. But we'd never gotten very close to it. But now we were getting up much closer to the second tall map.

The second map may have been larger than the first map as well. For some reason, I was afraid to be so close. The map was all blue. The ocean surrounding South America was a dark blue. South America was a pale blue or turquoise.

One city near the northeast end of South America began blinking. But the woman then told me the name of the city where she would be: "Las Ne-----." That city started blinking, just a little to the southwest of the very center of South America.

I knew that this city was in Brazil. The city was small, and the winters got very cold there. The woman would be miserable. But this is where she'd been assigned to go. And I'd gotten her into this whole thing in the first place! I felt terrible. But I still tried to convince myself that maybe she'd end up liking it.

I looked over to my friend. She was now TB, a male co-worker from a couple jobs back, who IWL comes from Brazil.

Dream #2

I was riding a bike through a suburban park, along a concrete path. It was a sunny day. I was all alone, but I may possibly have felt like I was a part of some race.

I rode across a lawn, which was flat at first, then rolled down a small slope. As I went down the slope there was a small building about fifty meters ahead of me and off to my left. I headed for another concrete path at the bottom of the slope.

Closer to the path was a small tree, kind of like a pine tree. But its limbs and branches were rather barren of needles. The branches were also dotted with a strange kind of fruit.

The meat of the fruit was yellow, but very small. It was dotted with seeds, like a strawberry is. But the seeds had either grown so big or ingested so much of the fruit's meat, that they were huge, taking up more space now than the meat of the fruit did. The seeds were shaped like coffee beans. There were also brownish pine-needles sticking out of the fruit.

As I got down toward the concrete path, a young woman came biking up the slope toward me. I figured she was gay (a shallow assumption) because she was overweight, wore a boyish t-shirt and khaki shorts, and had a boyish haircut of curly, brown hair.

I knew that this woman was in a race. I figured it was probably the race I was also in. I didn't seem too concerned about the race, though.

I was now eating as I was riding. Maybe I was eating something like beef jerky or fruit roll-ups. I remember I was chewing like crazy, almost like a wild, angry animal.

I pulled a small, narrow paper back out into my field of view. I pulled two small pins out of the bag. They were backed with brass and fronted with some kind of multi-colored, glass or porcelain design. They were medals for races I'd won.

I may have been stopped and standing or sitting on the lawn by this point. I may possibly have popped one or both of the medals in my mouth, as if I were going to eat them. But I suddenly realized that you don't eat medals. You save them. I was really hungry. But I put the medals back in the bag.

Dream #3

I was inside some kind of structure with a lot of people. The structure -- I'm guessing -- was a tent made out of tarp-like material, like you see for big picnics or for large booths during summertime festivals. The walls were all pulled down, though, so that the sunlight coming through them was a dim, dusty amber.

I was in the midst of the crowd, talking with two little Asian girls. They were maybe five years old. They were good friends. They both had short hair, cut about jaw-length.

The two girls were now being called away, maybe by one girl's dad, who may have been a tall, kind of skinny, white man. The girls had to go get ready for a running race.

I now stood in another area. I looked up to my right. There was a doorway in the wall of the tarp. From that doorway, a plastic-boarded running-track was laid out through the center of the structure. It was bordered on either side by some kind of barrier -- maybe a jumble of stretch-tape barriers, steel-gate barriers, and plastic net barriers.

Everybody milled around on either side of this race track, kind of half-anticipating the start of the race. I may have looked up through the doorway to see the girls. They were in their starting positions, which were actually a few meters outside the doorway.

I was now back a ways from the track. The race started. Two girls may have run into the structure. But I didn't know one of the girls. The other girl was one of the friends. But she now seemed much younger than the other friend I'd been talking to. And she didn't know how to stay in her own lane. She was veering far to the left.

The race may have been stopped, due to the lack of focus by its two participants. Or it may have continued, though nobody really cared about it anymore.

But I wondered what happened to the other girl I'd been talking to. I may have looked (maybe only in my mind's eye) up through the doorway again. I may have come to the conclusion that thing had been so confusing at the start of the race that the girl had tripped and fallen.

I was sad that the girl had fallen. Everybody knew she was the favorite to win the race. I thought they might even start the race all over again for her sake. But maybe they wouldn't. That might not be fair.

I then thought that maybe I had caused the girl to fall. Maybe, while I'd been talking to the two little girls, I'd caused the older little girl to become so sexually attracted to me that she was distracted, and so she'd messed up her footing at the beginning of the race.

Dream #4

I was sitting in a seating area of a small deli with my friend MG, a Swedish guy I'd worked with on an Americorps program in New York.

We were going on some hike somewhere. We'd stopped at this deli to pick up some stuff before we left. But then we'd decided to sit here for a while before we really headed off and drove to wherever we were going to start this hike.

The table we sat at was a small, two-person table. From about waist-height up, there was a mirror running along the wall to my left. Across the narrow dining area from me, some refrigerated food and beverage display cases lined the walls. The floors of the area were brown tile. Farther ahead, behind MG, I could see where this area opened up into the larger store area of the deli.

Two girls walked down toward, then past, our table. The girls were maybe eighteen or nineteen years old. They were incredibly hot, with blonde hair, tight shorts and soft t-shirts clinging closely to their breasts. It seemed like the girls may have been planning to go hiking, too.

The girls sat directly behind us. It seemed like they wanted us to talk to them. But I felt like I was too old to hit on eighteen-year-old girls. I'd look like a dirty, old man.

My backpack (? - don't wear one) was on the table in front of me. It was stuffed so full it almost looked like a green ball. I unzipped it and pulled out a clear, disposable container, like you might see in a deli, holding a single slice of cake.

The container held a meal or side dish made out of rice and a ton of black beans and black bean sauce. I ate the entire meal, scraping as much of the black bean sauce as I possibly could.

MG said, "Are you sure you have enough ----- for our hike?" I didn't know whether he meant food or water. So I told him I was fine. I said that after I'd eaten this thing, I wouldn't need anything else for the rest of the day.

MG said, "Well, I guess some people just have different bodily needs. It's kind of amazing to me. I would never go that long without -----."

I now wondered whether I hadn't misunderstood MG. I'd just eaten a ton of food, it seemed to me. Why would I need to eat anymore for the rest of the day? MG must have meant that I'd need water. And now that I thought of it, I didn't have any water in my backpack. I would need water.

I looked over to one of the refrigerated display cases. It was a narrow cabinet with a glass door, holding a bunch of sodas and waters. I saw a few waters, like Poland Spring waters, on the bottom shelf. I figured I'd buy one of those.

Dream #5

I was in an apartment with a pretty girl. It was night, and all the lights in the apartment were off. The only light in the apartment was from dim city lights and the light of the moon, which was apparently full and huge, so bright that the rest of the sky was inky black.

I was apparently house-sitting here. I'd invited the girl over for the night. The apartment was big and nice. But the living room held both the couch and the bed. My viewpoint kept changing between the couch and the bed.

The girl was over in the shadows of the room, maybe in a corner near the door. She had specifically come here to have sex with me. But now I seemed to be afraid to have sex with her. I may have expressed a fear that I didn't want to be having sex right at the moment when the people I was house-sitting for returned.

I was now sitting with my back to a window or to a sliding-glass door. But some part of the window must have been open, because a gauzy, billowy curtain kept wafting up around me. I may have been looking off to my right, to a TV set, which was turned off.

The girl was on the phone, either the apartment's phone or her own cell phone (which may have been an old, silvery, flip-open style phone). The girl was talking to her friend, complaining about all my excuses for not having sex with her. These excuses were mostly about the apartment itself.

"But," the girl said, "if this place were a loft apartment, where we were the only ones who could get into the entire floor, there'd be no worry about anybody seeing us coming into the apartment."

(This had, I guess, been one of my worries.)

The girl now said, "But, wait! Isn't this a loft? This is! This is a loft apartment! We have the whole floor to ourselves!"

I realized the girl was right. Maybe we could have sex, after all. But suddenly my mind began filling up with a million other reasons why the girl and I couldn't have sex.

I was now kneeling on the floor, near the corner of a coffee table that stood before the couch. The girl was back to complaining to her friend on the floor about all the excuses I kept giving for not having sex.

All the time I listened to the girl, and thought of ways to get past all my silly excuses, so that I could have sex, I was staring at a sculpture of a woman's torso.

The sculpture was nicely shaped. But it seemed to be brittle and plastery. And the skin was a little too orange to look human. The torso was made to look like it wore a black bra and a skinny pair of black panties. I may have been turned on by the panties.

Dream #6

I was out in some area, kind of like a parking lot that was being used for a summer festival or fair. There were a decent amount of people milling about.

A little girl was milling around with her mom and dad, maybe five meters away from me. The mom and dad were standing at a distance, maybe eating some food. The dad was tall and thin, bald, wearing a white polo shirt. The mom was shorter, maybe a little overweight, blonde, with a kind of saggy face.

The girl was maybe nine years old, blonde, with tan skiny. She wore a summer dress with thick straps and a plaid pattern with a dark pink background and lighter pink criss-crosses. The girl stood in front of some sort of belt-rope barrier.

The girl began doing dance moves or gymnastics moves, possibly while she was eating an ice cream cone. She lifted her right leg out to her side, then bent over to touch her right arm to her right leg. She then "bounced" off her leg and twirled her torso and arms over to the left. She moved into something like a somersault, then stood and began the move again.

As the girl did all of this, her limbs formed trails, like in a multiple exposure photograph or film, so that it looked like the girl, as she moved, was forming phantom arms and legs. It was really beautiful.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was on the top bunk of a bunk bed with two other men. There may have been other people in the bedroom. The top bunk felt pretty high and pretty close to the ceiling. The bedroom felt pretty busy. There may have been a TV blaring in one corner of the room. There was a window letting in a lot of bright, winter light.

The men on the bed with me were both white, gay, and probably in their mid- to late-thirties. They were laying in weird positions under blankets. The bed seemed to have tons of different blankets on it. So each of the guys had his own blanket.

The guys both started talking to me about going to some country in Europe. They said I'd probably like it a lot better than I'd like the United States. They were reall encouraging me to go.

Finally I said I couldn't go. I didn't have a passport. They may have said something about how they couldn't believe that. I said, "No. Really. I've never been outside the US in my entire life."

I was about to qualify that statement, since it wasn't quite true. But both guys were now so shocked that they interrupted me. One of the guys, dressed in a feminine kind of shirt, black, with the shoulders way low, exposing a shoulder strap, like a bra-strap, said, "No, no. Stop! Just drive, man! Just get out and drive!"

(At this point, a song started playing in my head with the words, "just drive, man, just get out and drive.")

I knew by this that the guy meant I should just finally get out of America and go see the world. I had no idea how they expected me to do this. But I may have gotten the idea later that the two guys were actually going to give me money to do this.

Dream #2

I was standing in line at a huge drug store. The line seemed to be curving along the right end of a pharmacy counter, then along a wall.

I was a couple people back in line, and I stared at a bag of chips I was holding while I waited. My chips were some dark red bag of Doritos. But the bag was old, like the 1970s style of bag.

I soon headed over to a cashier. She was a young, black woman, kind of overweight, with hair about between jaw-length and shoulder-length.

The woman rang up my chips. She may have held onto them for a long time. Maybe she never gave me the chips back. But she told me they cost four dollars. We had some kind of pleasant conversation about this.

I was walking down the counter, as if I were now ready to walk out of the store. But I went up to another cashier. This time I was buying deodorant.

The cashier was maybe Latino. He had olive-colored skin, a bald-shaved head, and a bit of stubble on his face. He was tallish, and kind of strong. But he was gay and acted a tiny bit effeminate.

The cashier told me that I was paying way too much for this deodorant. He told me that if I had a club card, I would pay much less for a similar kind of deodorant. The new price may have been $2.69.

I told the man that I did have a club card. I pulled my keychain (? - I think) out of my pocket. There was a mini club-card on it. But it looked all faded out, like I'd worn it out by holding it in my pocket for too long.

I then realized that I simply hadn't taken off some kind of protective seal that had been placed over the barcode. It was like a mildly adhesive strip of semi-opaque, white plastic. I peeled this off. The barcode for the club card looked fine.

I handed the card to the man. The man rang me up for a deodorant. As I was paying him, either the previous cashier or another cashier who looked a lot like her walked up to the left end of the cashier counter. The man told the woman, as if he'd asked her, that he was giving me the club card deal on deodorant.

The woman looked a little annoyed that the man would have given me any of the club card deals. I now remembered that the previous cashier hadn't told me about any club card deals. I wondered if these two women had been trying to hide the club card deals from me.

I now felt terribly shy and afraid, like I'd overstepped some kind of totem-boundary by having taken a club card deal when the women didn't want me to. All I wanted to do was get out of the store. I thanked the man and walked away.

But I only walked a couple meters away, to a row of shelves directly facing the left end of the cashier counter. The shelves were stocked with deodorant.

I was looking directly at the deodorant the man said I should buy. It was maybe the Tom's of Maine brand, and it may have had something like olive oil in it. The packaging was an off-white or olivey-beige color.

The deodorant seemed to be with other stuff, too, like hand soap using similar ingredients. There may also have been some display for the products, like they were in some kind of wicker basket, or like they were standing on top of a small bale of hay.

I suddenly realized that, even though I'd paid the man for my deodorant, I'd never actually gotten it. I figured I should just pick out one of these deodorants and take it with me. I may have knelt down to get a deodorant.

But now the man called from behind me. Either the man threw a trial-size deodorant at me, or the trial-size deodorant fell from the shelves. The man told me he'd forgotten to give me a deodorant. But he'd give one to me right now.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I walked into "my psychiatrist's office," which was actually a house in a suburban neighborhood. I may have walked in through a side door.

I was in something like a side room or a spare room, not a bedroom, but more like a room with random stuff in it. The room was brown, with cheap plywood-panelling on the walls and a scruffy brown and tan carpet.

At first I thought I was all alone in the house. I suddenly became aware that I didn't actually have an appointment with my psychiatrist today. I thought that maybe I'd come into her house while she and everybody else in her family was gone.

But now I heard my psychiatrist talking with a woman. I imagined a woman in maybe her late fifties or early sixties. My psychiatrist was saying goodbye to her.

I now realized that I hadn't had an appointment with my psychiatrist: I'd cancelled it a while back. Now I was just showing up. My psychiatrist would think I was some kind of crazy stalker.

But I was here, and I'd only look worse if my psychiatrist saw me while I was attempting to leave. So I went into the office-room of the house.

The room was in quite a bit of disarray. I might not even have seen my psychiatrist at first. There was a couch running diagonally through the middle of the room, as if it had been pushed away from the wall. There were shelves in various states of dissaray, and piles of stuff on the floor and in an open closet.

Now I saw my psychiatrist. She was pulling some stuff off a set of shelves. I knew that my psychiatrist had decided that since I'd cancelled my appointment for this day, she'd work on cleaning out her office during this period. She was kind of annoyed to see me here, now that she'd set herself to another task. I was afraid she'd even charge me for a session.

But my psychiatrist asked my opinion. She had to think of a Christmas present for some young male in her family. The man was maybe a nephew of hers who was in his mid-twenties.

My psychiatrist had been cleaning out her record collection. To my left there was a wall-width stereo center with shelves filled with records. But my psychiatrist walked to the closet, off to my right. There were even more records in there.

My psychiatrist pointed to a few records. They were in huge plastic security-cases, like compact discs might be in in a store, before you buy them. The record sleeves had yellow backs, like the Deutsche Grammophone CDs of classical music (? - I think). My psychiatrist asked me if I thought her nephew might like those records.

I walked over to the records. My psychiatrist told me that if I liked them I could have them. She said they were by some Asian group (possibly a Vietnamese group). She may have told me how she'd gotten them, and that she wasn't sure whether the music was any good. I may have told her that the group was really good.

I was now watching a music video by the Malaysian pop group A.P.I. I thought I was familiar with the video and the song.

The video was of three members of the band before a white background. But something like a red curtain would often fall down through the middle of the scene. Sometimes it would fill up the whole scene. The curtain had a fabricky look, and it acted like fabric. But it was transparent, like a piece of thin plastic.

At one point, one of the band members, fully engulfed in the orange-red light of the curtain, slid into a close-up shot, either as if he were on some moving platform, or as if the camera, on a dolly, slid toward him. Then he gave a smile to the screen and turned away. The view slid back into a far shot of him.

Dream #2

I was sitting out on the steps of some building, possibly a school. I was with a few other people, "friends" who I don't recognize now. The steps were shallow, maybe only four or five steps up to the top. They were made of an aging, cheap concrete.

I sat on one of the lower steps. An older girl or younger woman sat on a short, curb-like edge to my right. Some more people sat up near the top of the steps. Those people may mostly have been young women or older girls.

Now a little boy ran out the doors at the top of the steps. He saw me and ran to sit by me.

The boy was maybe nine or ten years old. He was really skinny. He had very fair skin, freckles, and pale green or blue eyes. He had hair in a bowl-like, 1970s-style cut, about down to his shoulders. He wore a big, green sweater and dark, slightly loose blue jeans.

The boy seemed to like me a lot. He even seemed to be attracted to me. I may have been attracted to him as well. The boy may have tried to cuddle with me. But I may have been reluctant about letting him cuddle with me. I didn't want to get too aroused by the feeling of his body.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I may have been flying through a neighborhood like the neighborhood I lived in as a teenager. It was a partly sunny, partly grey day. I landed in a backyard like my great grandmother's backyard.

I started walking along the side yard, toward the front of the house. My old landlady, Ms. U, was walking up from the front of the house, on my right side.

Ms. U still looked old, maybe in her late sixties. But she seemed to be in better shape, and to have a slightly smaller frame. She wore dark jeans and a dark green shirt, as if she were out gardening.

I waved to Ms. U. She reluctantly waved at me. It was like she didn't really want to talk to me. I knew why. It was obvious to her, like it was to me, that I wasn't going to be able to pay my rent soon. She didn't want to talk to me because she was disappointed in me.

Ms. U was now behind me. She met up with one of her friends. They were both going to walk down to the supermarket together. They were walking behind me. I turned right, as they did, and walked down the sidewalk, to the corner of the block.

As I walked, I thought that maybe I would be able to pay my rent, after all. Maybe I would get a job. Then Ms. U wouldn't be so disappointed in me. So, if all that was going to happen, and I could believe it, why could't Ms. U? Why did Ms. U have to not talk to me?

At the same time, I got the feeling that maybe Ms. U wasn't very disappointed in me. Maybe she would talk to me, if I'd just slow down and walk with Ms. U and her friend.

The sidewalk was gone. But we weren't walking on the lawns of the front yards. We were walking on grass like grass that edges vacant lots. The grass was dry, tan, rough, and clumpy. There was a wooden fence to my right at one point. At another point there was at least one orange traffic cone. I kept feeling like I was going to lose my balance and fall into the road.

Dream #2

I was sitting in a restaurant. My table was basically all by itself, in a space that looked like the hallway of a house. It was dark, lit by a dim, blue light, like candlelight in a blue, glass holder. My table was in a little, doorway like niche in the wall. I sat so I faced the restaurant's front door, which was barely visible to me from where I sat.

I knew that there were a lot more tables in another room. The room was somewhere off to my right, i.e. down the hall, and around to the right through another hall.

People kept coming by, apparently angry or jealous of me for having this table all to myself. Some of them started trying to do things like leave their stuff on my table.

One person had a huge, black, wire-cart, like for laundry or groceries. She tried to slide it in between the unused chair of my table and the wall. I stood up and said, "Don't put your stuff in that space!" I moved the cart right out of the way. I may have stuck it in some dark corner just off from the niche I sat in.

I decided that people were jealous of me because they thought I had this space all to myself. So I tried to make it look like I wasn't alone. I laid my bookbag and my jacket on the opposite seat, like somebody else was sitting there. I then pushed the seat far back, so that nobody would try to sit anything behind it. I also figured I'd act like I was waiting for someone to come back.

Time passed. I was now being sternly lectured by a Meryl Streep-like business woman in a white blouse and long, beige skirt. The woman demanded to know why I had been away from my seat for so long.

I vaguely remembered that I had had to go out the front door of the restaurant to help people who were loading something out of a semi-truck's trailer. It had, I remembered, seemed really important for me to have done this. If I had sat here instead of gone out to help, I suspected that this woman would have been yelling at me for that, instead.

The woman told me, "Don't you know we have an important client coming to visit us today? How long were you runnning around outside? Do you even know? Even if it was just a few minutes, the client could have come inside while you were missing. He could be wandering around lost in the restaurant right now. And we wouldn't even know it!"

Dream #3

I woke up. I pulled my blanket off of myself and looked at the upper right corner of my bed. My bedroom light was off, but my hall light was on, and it lit my room a bit. My blankets and sheets were brown.

There was a fly crawling across the corner of my bed. This kind of disgusted me, as if it were a far worse insect than a fly. I brushed the fly off and started worrying about bugs.

I stood up and walked down the hallway -- possibly (I'm not sure), because I heard a strange noise coming from my bathroom.

I got to the bathroom. The lights were on and were really bright. The shower was running, which was odd in itself. But after a moment of focusing, I realized that the shower itself was acting weird. The water was rushing way stronger than usual, and the nozzle seemed to be spraying out in a few different, weird directions.

I looked closer at the shower pipe. I now saw that it didn't even have a head! No wonder it was spraying all weird. I decided to shut off the shower water and figure out how to solve this problem.

I turned off the water. But now there was a strange rumbling in the bathroom. The walls seemed to shake. Suddenly the portion of the wall just beside and below the shower pipe began spouting out water through little holes! The force of the water I'd shut off was so strong that it had burst through the wall in little, fountain-like holes!

I stood back from this and watched it all. I knew that this kind of plumbing problem was much more than I by myself could handle. I'd have to call in my landlord.

I really didn't want to have to call in my landlord. I knew he was already against me for a number of reasons. I didn't want him wandering through my house, peering aroud like he thought he'd find some sort of incriminating evidence about me. But I knew, regardless of the inconvenience to me, that I'd have to call the landlord.

But now, suddenly, the wall over the side of my bathub also burst open with little fountains of water! These fountains of water were either bright pink or else left bright pink stains on the wall. The fountains of water were also more like jets -- they blasted in a flat, sideways pattern, along the wall, almost like sheets of water pouring down a sidewalk on a rainy day.

And then all new things came out of the wall! I thought of these things as leaks and water. But they weren't water: they were steel. They were like surgery or dentistry implements, stainless steel devices, attached to steel cords, like the ringed cords on receivers for payphones.

Some of these cord may have had robotic, or even white-gloved, hands attached to them, holding the implements. The number of cords, hands, and implements springing out of the wall seemed to be increasing and increasing, cluttering up the whole top of the wall.

Dream #4

I was with a couple of men, one of whom may have been my brother. The other man was something like an ex-Marine. He was tall and muscular, slightly tanned, with blue eyes and pale-blonde hair in a buzz cut.

We were in some kind of suburban area. It was possibly early morning, just before sunrise. We may have started out at a house or a small shop. We were loading things into a truck. These things were either items for security systems on houses, or else they were nuclear bombs.

We drove in a pickup truck to some place. As we did, I thought about what we were doing. The man may have been talking to me about it as well. I knew we were definitely installing security systems on houses. But we also had nuclear missiles in our truck, and we were definitely concerned, in some way or another, with a slightly touchy situation regarding nuclear deterrence.

We drove into and through a big parking lot, to a small, one-story building, possibly with white walls and a flat, steel-siding-like, blue roof.

Somehow I now saw as if I were now twenty or thirty meters behind the truck. Missiles were being pulled out of the back of the truck. There were probably two missiles. I only saw their tail ends. They looked like the tail-end of an X-15 manned rocket, not a missile.

I now stood just inside the building with the man. There were a few other people about, including a few little, Latino children, apparently. The inside of the building felt completely unused. There were no lights on, though there may have been some dusty office equipment. The front window may also not have had a glass pane in it.

The man and I were talking (somehow -- telepathically?) about some woman who had had some sort of difficulty in her professional life.

As we were talking about this, I kept hoping I'd just say the right thing. I felt like the military and government had me under suspicion. My appearance alone, I knew, marked me as suspicious. If I said the wrong thing, I'd be detained for sure.

I wandered down a front deck and onto the parking lot, toward the Latino children. I was still "speaking" with the military man. The kids were looking at a hole in the parking lot. It was a rectangular hole, about three meters long and two meters wide. It seemed to go down a long way.

As I looked into the hole, it began to appear as if it held something inside, like a gigantic birthday cake. The cake was covered in frosting that was colored with brilliant swirls of blue, turquoise, green, and white. Tropical fish, either plastic or sugar, also adorned the cake.

I was now "speaking" to the military man about how the woman we had been discussing was probably suffering from an animus possession. She was letting the male side of herself dominate her personality. It was making her overly aggressive, so that nobody could work with her.

As I "spoke" of this, it now became my task to scrape frosting off the cake. I was scraping huge, huge globs of solid green, solid blue, and solid white frosting off the cake. Occasionally I'd also scrape off a few fish.

The scraped-off frosting all went into some deeper part of the pit. It was now like the cake was L-shaped, so that the upper left quadrant (as I faced it) of the rectangle was left free for this deep pit, this extra space for the frosting.

But I noticed that as I scraped off the frosting, it became kind of mushy and unappealing. It still looked very sweet. But on the cake it had been firm, which would, I assumed, add to the pleasure of the taste. Off the cake it was just sickly sweet and mushy.

I wondered why the frosting had to be scraped off the cake, anyway. Someone apparently thought there was excess frosting on the cake. But I didn't. I thought the frosting was good, and that there was just enough.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was walking out on a street like in the neighborhood I lived in as a teenager. It was daytime. I was walking along one of the main roads. A lot of cars were zooming by to my left. To my right were the parking lots for shopping centers and gas stations.

There were a surprising number of people out walking on the street. I was in a hurry to get somewhere, and I was impatient with the people around me, as if they were blocking me.

A group of older, Chinese men walked up behind me. They were all speaking in Chinese. One of the men edged up really close to me and then passed me. The man's two or three friends were just about keeping pace with me. But the man himself was blasting ahead.

I thought that it would be weird of me if I let this guy pass me by so much, seeing how I'd been so annoyed at everybody I'd had to pass up just a few moments ago. So I tried to catch up with the man. But I couldn't. He'd already blasted away through some gas station and around a corner.

Now a white woman walked past me. She also passed me quite easily and headed around the corner to the right.

I was feeling pretty bad about myself. I'd thought I was a fast walker. But now people were constantly passing me.

I was now at the corner. I went straight and crossed the street, to a block with an enormous parking lot for a huge shopping center. I walked toward some small mound of lawn bordering the parking lot. I figured I'd just cross over the lawn and go into the parking lot.

But now the woman who'd passed me a couple moments ago was now crossing up and in front of me again, from the right. I thought she must have been waiting just around the corner, trying to get an idea of when I'd be passing, so she could sneak up on me and pass me again.

I was now sitting on an L-shaped couch with a couple of "friends," whom I don't recognize now. One was a woman, maybe in her late teens or early twenties. She sat directly to my right. To the woman's right, possibly on the other edge of the L-shaped couch, or maybe right in the corner, sat a young boy.

The woman and the boy had a backpack between them. The backpack was apparently mine. The woman and boy were joking about some girl who was attracted to me. I wasn't really attracted to her, and my woman "friend" knew it. So she teased me a lot about how much this girl liked me.

The woman now said something about, what if she took my backpack to the girl, so she could really show the girl what I was like? My clothes were in the backpack. And, by what she'd said, the woman meant that she was going to pull my clothes out of the backpack and show them to the girl.

The woman illustrated how she was going to do this by pulling some clothes out of the backpack. But a pair of my underwear, some black boxer briefs, popped right out, before everything else. The underwear had a big glob of semen, still wet, right on the inside and front, just below the waistband.

At first the woman seemed a bit disgusted by this. Then she thought of it only as a reason to tease me even more. She made fun of my personal hygiene, for just throwing a dirty pair of underwear in my backpack. She wondered what the girl who liked me would think of that.

I was now sitting in a car, in the backseat, on the driver's side. It was daytime. My mom sat in the front seat of the car. She seemed to have her seat moved back as far as possible. I felt pretty smashed in the backseat.

But somehow I felt comfortable. I was myself, as an adult. But back here, smashed into the seat, I felt comfortable, like I was a little kid all over again.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in a dressing room with a woman. The dressing room was maybe three meters long and two meters wide. It had thick, pale carpet and dim, incandescent lighting. I stood before a mirror that folded in three.

The woman, who was something like a shop worker, stood to my right. She was really attractive. She was a tiny bit taller than I. She may have been Asian. She had long, black hair and a curvy body.

She wore a cream colored blouse that showed off a lot of her skin -- the blouse was probably split really low down the chest. She also wore a very tight, maroon colored miniskirt with horizontal folds in it. The woman had an ornate tattoo running down her chest. She may also have had tattooed arms.

The woman told me I looked good in whatever it was I was trying on. For some reason, I felt like this meant she was attracted to me. I was attracted to her. I couldn't resist her. I turned to her and embraced her around the waist with my right arm.

The woman didn't seem to try to break away from me, even though I think we both knew this was probably not something we should be doing. I was feeling the electric charge of sexual arousal. I bent my head to the woman's face and began kissing her softly.

Dream #2

It was night. I had just come out of some building and found myself in a little courtyard area. The courtyard area was completely open to the sky, but it was set below street level. Everything in this courtyard was made out of reddish stone, maybe sandstone.

I walked up a wide, shallow staircase that went up to street level. As I did, some scary guy may have approached me for money. As I got to street level I thought I'd have to be careful. It was so dark out here. People like the scary guy could follow me without my easily noticing them.

I walked up into and across the street. I was obviously in the business section of a big city.The city was really clean. The streets were lined with trees.

I wondered, though, how everything in the city could actually be this dark. It was like there were no, or barely any, lights on at all. The sky was a deep, dark blue, but it seemed to provide some illumination. And there may have been orange street lamps shining from somewhere. But everything else was dark.

I then realized or remembered that there had been a power outage in the city. I was now in a living room with a young man and woman. The living room was lit, as normal, and the TV was on.

The young woman was, somehow, preparing the young man to be interviewed by some news reporter regarding his experience of the power outage. The man would know when he was supposed to do the interview by some signal from the TV. He would then travel somewhere to be interviewed.

Dream #3

My view of this dream was weird. It was often as if I were watching a TV show on an old TV screen. But the TV screen was all fuzzy and seemed to be tipped over at an angle.

The show playing seemed to be taking place in the early 1970s. A wife may have been trying to get a divorce from her husband. But the wife also wanted to be able to do something for her son, like send him away somewhere, maybe out to the southwestern or western United States.

The husband was sitting on the couch. He looked like a young business man, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. He wore a business suit with a white shirt and a green tie with thin, widely-spaced, yellow stripes. He had a short, but almost bowl-shaped haircut.

The wife had said that son wanted to do something particular, but I can't remember what. The husband made some kind of mocking comment about what the son wanted to do, but said that the wife could go ahead and run off with the son out west to go do whatever it was the son wanted to do.

As the husband was making his remark, the scene changed to some place like a building out in the old west, like a storefront in a small town in a John Wayne movie. The view was really close-in on the storefront. A few people stood in front of the building. They may all have been wearing Hollywood-style old west clothes.

It was now a few years later. The son was now twelve, or possibly thirteen, years old. The wife was having the son prepare for the father's arrival. The son and wife hadn't seen the father in all these years. I was looking forward to the husband seeing how well the son had developed in these few years.

The son was out somewhere, playing with a few of his friends on some tree near a wooden fence. The son wore a backwards baseball cap, a kind of baggy t-shirt, and a backpack. He was fair-skinned, with red cheeks.

The son thought he would show his father a trick he could do on the tree. He thought this trick would show the father how well the son really was doing in his life.

The son climbed up the tree using small tree limbs. These limbs were barren and not very long. But they were maybe five centimeters in diameter, and they were coming out of the left side of the tree all over the place, thickly, from the base of the tree, all the way up the trunk.

The boy then climbed down the opposite side of the tree. It may have been more like sliding down the tree. Growing out of this side of the tree were something like roots, or very, very skinny and short branches. The boy seemed to believe that he could get a foothold in these little tangles. But he couldn't.

By this time, the son and wife were wondering where the father was. He should have arrived by this time. Then, suddenly, the mother had news on the father. He was in trouble. He may have been in a nearby hospital. He may have been near death. The son and wife would have to go to see him right away.

The scene changed to a vehicle like an SUV-type vehicle driving down a snow-covered road at night. I could really only see the front passenger side tire of the vehicle, and a tiny bit of the surrounding body. There were also flashing yellow and red lights reflecting around the car in the deep snow.

I knew that the father had been in some kind of really bad car accident. He may have been near the point of death. He may actually still have been out on the road.

I was now in a bedroom, possibly with one or two kids. I myself may have been a kid, maybe ten or eleven years old. We were watching something on a computer.

I then found an old commercial for Chips Ahoy! cookies. The commercial seemed to have been made in the late 1960s or early 1970s. The commercial showed various kids' faces in front of some backdrop that was lit by a bunch of brightly colored spotlights. The kids all talked about how much they liked Chips Ahoy! cookies.

Later, a frame was put around this view. It was a crude, greyish box, almost like something out of a very rudimentary computer graphics design. At the bottom of each frame was the kid's name.

I noticed that one of the kids was named Wernher von Braun. I thought, Hey, isn't that guy a Nazi? The kid was kind of chubby. He had pale, green eyes and a square buzz-cut. He wore a striped t-shirt.

I felt like I might risk some trouble for myself if I acknowledged too strongly (even mentally) that I knew this Wernher von Braun kid was a Nazi. He even seemed to be looking at me strange from the computer screen.

Suddenly the kid changed again. But it was the same kid. Only this time, the name at the bottom of the frame was Marilyn Monroe. The kid's face suddenly bulged out at the cheek, then bulged out at the head. The eyes seemed smashed down. The ears became enormous.

I got the idea that someone was trying to make some kind of joke about how Marilyn Monroe would have gotten big and fat had she lived to be old, anyway.

The kid's face went back to normal, and another name appeared at the bottom of the frame. The kid's face started to become all distorted again. This time the eyes may have bulged out.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was somewhere with a boss I worked for IWL until 2009. He might have been talking to me about coming back to work for him.

I was then in another room, maybe the next room over from where I was with my old boss. The room was kind of unfinished. The floors may have been grey concrete. The walls may have been bare drywall.

There was a beautiful woman, maybe in her late twenties, off to my left. She may have been leaning her back against a wall. Off to her right there was a window.

The woman may have been considering whether to give me a job. As part of showing the woman my qualifications, I was lifting a piece of drywall onto the wall in front of me. I was setting it into a framing of widely-spaced brackets. The brackets were like copper-colored nails with their ends bent up at 90-degree angles.

I wasn't actually, for myself, completing this task in order to get the job, even though I knew the woman was trying to determine whether she wanted me for the job. And I didn't want my old boss to think that I was going for this job. If he did think that, I believed, he'd start messing around and playing mind games with me.

I suddenly noticed, as I lifted the sheet of drywall, that I was naked. My penis was erect, and it must have been touching against the drywall, which hurt.

Now, instead of lifting a piece of drywall into the frame, I was lifting a white, drywall-sized towel into the frame. The towel was soaking wet. I wasn't sure how I was going to be able to get this towel into the frame. It was supposed to go into the frame just like the drywall would.

I spent a while justifying the possibility of a limp, wet towel doing something like this. Eventually I could even see the limp wet towel in my mind's eye, acting just like a hard sheet of drywall.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I may have been in an airport. Near me was a black man who may either have been a friend or an acquaintance. He was kind of tall and kind of strong looking. He had long, wavy, brown hair that almost looked like a wig. He also had a long, black beard. He wore black sunglasses, a black, denim jacket and no shirt, and probably blue or black jeans.

The man was in trouble for some reason. Airport security may have thought of him as a terrorist. I hoped security's suspicion of the man wouldn't spread to me. The man and I seemed separated from each other by about ten meters. Near the man was a line of boxes about knee-high.

I was now in the man's house, which was a big mansion. We were in some area like a living room or a sun room. We still stood apart from each other and facing each other, like we'd stood at the airport.

The interior of the mansion was spacious and open. Everything was white, and there were big windows and sliding glass doors everywhere. The man may have been wearing white versions of the clothes he'd worn in the airport as well.

Somewhere was a "library," which the man showed me. It was really just a bookshelf. It was wall-height, maybe three or four meters long, with five or six levels of shelves.

All the books in the "library" looked like they belonged to one edition or came from one publisher. The books were all bound in leather or fake-leather, marbleized-looking covers. The bindings had gold lettering and trim.

There were only three colors of books: blue, red, and green. The three different colors were all grouped together. There were very few blue books: they only took up a portion of the left side of the very top shelf. The red books took up the most space: from where the blue books ended, down to about halfway along the second to last shelf. The green books took the rest of the space.

The man may possibly have showed me "my bedroom," or the guest bedroom, which was, now, also the library. In this library-bedroom there were a bed and a desk, both white. Over the desk was a wall-mounted bookshelf, with the same kind of books as on the previous bookshelf, arranged in a similar fashion.