Dreams July 3, 4 and 6, 2022
My dream from Sunday, 2022–07–03: A Martian odyssey.
South of Fort Bragg (CA) but in open empty land like what used to be out Highway 65 west of Roseville, but also like Wyoming, my point of view moves slowly across (above) a highway where a giant truck and a London cab have an interaction of bad communication. The truck goes too close to the car. The car person tries to tell the truck why he’s going so slowly by slowing down further. The truck guy /slowly/ loses control and crashes into the embankment.
I go across the median divider (that’s like the concrete L.A. River) to a railroad line, and I become myself, here, with my regular body, and take pictures with my phone of pretty mountains and green hills and rocks. (This is entirely Wyoming.)
I walk to a house out in the middle of nowhere on a dirt road. I’m the dangerous unpredictable son of these two old Norwegian people.
Suddenly I’m leaving. The bedridden strange woman (the boy’s mother) wants to hug me goodbye. Outside, the man (the boy’s father) hates and fears me but wants my suggestions for dealing with a coming problem before I go.
Now it’s night again, years later, and the house is the site of a rural college-age kids’ drug party. I’m leaving. A dark-haired girl attached emotionally to the person I am here is clingy and probably will follow me out, so I sneak out the other side and go around the house to get away. Something disorienting happens.
I’m in a traveling theater company’s tour bus that’s barreling down a road at night. I take phone pictures of the actor kids clowning around, being friends. After I’ve taken about ten pictures: /Oh — I had the flash on. Sorry./
And now it’s daytime. I climb up into a train-bus-thing going north (to Fort Bragg?) and immediately fall asleep with my forehead against the window. I wake, still in the dream, when it’s a normal bus, we’re in a downtown-New-York-seeming part of Roseville. The bus driver looks like a Norman Rockwell version of Jack Black. He’s finished with his bus run, and he doesn’t care where I want to go in town; he’s happy to take me there, but /where?/ I have an appointment at, uh, some official place… “Is there a government office-like place? Where lots of government buildings are?”
Still later: a Jack-Black-like class-clown office worker and I are in a modern office with a high ceiling. We’re working to glue bubblewrap on the walls, then add stiff insulated corrugated beige-white floor-to-ceiling curtains everywhere, even on the windows.
I find a toy car that’s powered by pulling a plastic stick-string and pushing it back in and pulling it again over and over to build up energy. Lights flicker inside it. I set it down and it rolls, powered, across the rug for a surprisingly long time.
I woke up with the song /I Wish It Would Rain/, by the Temptations, playing in my head.
My dreams from Monday, 2022–07–04: Pet goat. How to put Ajax on a sponge. Priorities for fleeing.
First dream. I’m from a helping agency, visiting a poor family living in the garage of a shoddy faded-yellow house on a hill in a city that seems to be mostly freeways and streets to get on and off the freeways. Their pet is a soft long-haired baby goat. It’s so sleepy. I hold it and pet it. I know I’ll come back here in a year or two; will the pet goat remember me and like me then?
Next dream. Juanita and I and two children like the two boys we took to L.A. in the early ’90s to see the Museum of Jurassic Technology (look it up, it’s still there) are staying with a family of tough competent people. We ate once today, and not very much. That’s okay for me, and apparently the kids are used to that sort of thing, so I’m not going to worry about it. We’ll be leaving soon anyway.
I go to find a bathroom, to piss. There are two little bathrooms right next to each other with a big connecting window. A strange man goes into the next bathroom and starts taking off his clothes to take a shower. I don’t want to piss with him standing right there in the window looking at me, so I sit down below the window, to do that. I’m sitting in the bathtub, pissing, it’s splashing on my bare legs. I run water to wash that off. Now my slippers are wet.
I’m suddenly coming back to the same bathroom after being outside, and I’ve tracked a bunch of dirt in here with my wet slippers. I find paper towels under the sink and unroll a wad of them to clean the floor. A sponge would be better. I get a sponge and move to put Ajax on it, but the woman who lives here says to me (through the window between the bathrooms), “No, no, not like that. Like /this/.” I think, /She’s gonna show me how to use Ajax and a sponge,/ with the same feeling as the worker in /Box of Moonlight/ said, “Watch this. Now he’s gonna show us how to stack paint.” I say fakely and brightly, “I’m interested. Like /how/?”
Next dream. Vast ground floor under a concrete parking building. People are steadily/frantically packing their cars to get out, as if there’s a fire or other disaster getting near. Shannon (who used to run Pangaea restaurant in Point Arena) points at a trail of hats and clothes and things and says, “Those are mine.” I walk along with her, picking it all up. We get to her car; it’s obviously not in running condition. I realize the trail of things was leading /away/ from the car to her family’s /other/ way out of danger. I’m trying to think of a way to say, “If you’ll just leave all this stuff behind I can fly you out of here,” without triggering her to latch onto stubbornly staying here with too much crap to carry. I can fly carrying her. I can’t carry all this stuff too.
My dreams from Wednesday, 2022–07–06: Foresight. Fitness for duty. Cracker Jack and surrey ride.
First dream. I’m a line cook in a restaurant in a precarious colony on another planet or a future Earth. The broiler cook and I switch positions to break the monotony. Before I switch back to the right side this time I use foresight to grab some tubs of things I’ll need and not have to ask the other guy to pass me things.
Next dream. Young men and women are all being inducted into the army and the testing line goes through rooms in what used to be a grammar school. We’re all naked. The people running the place are all clothed. At one point I’m with several others in like a clinic room for the medical/psychology test. A bored doctor twiddles his fingers under my balls and says, “How do you feel about this.” I say, “Well, I don’t like it.” He says, looking at his clipboard, “Uh-huh. Uh-huh,” and he leaves his hand there with his fingers on my balls. I say, genuinely curious, “Does anyone ever just hit you?” He says, “There was this one guy, yeah…”
Next dream. Outside the Safeway in Fort Bragg (CA) I’m with a Japanese family, jogging. The small child of the family is in the rear, but he can keep up; he’ll be fine. They’re all talking about family matters. It turns out that the old woman here is supporting her impossibly old father because she’s a /mensch/. (He’s not here; he’s in an old folks’ home.)
We go into a little shop in the Coast Cinemas. The old woman picks up a fist-size plastic-wrapped package of really expensive artisanal caramel popcorn, sticks it in my face and says, “Do you want this?” I don’t want her to pay for it, no, but she wants me to say yes, so I say, “Sure.” Later, on the way out the other door, she hands me a box of Cracker Jacks with an eyebrow-up look to teach me that everything fancy is just expensive Cracker Jacks. Which I knew.
Later the old Japanese woman and I are in a taxicab that has five or six people in a row on each of many bench seats, somehow without being any bigger than a regular car. I’m talking and waving my hands, and my hand goes in front of the woman and gets stuck in the synthetic green cotton-candy-like real hair of the girl to her left, who doesn’t notice this. I try to get unstuck without startling her and causing her to flinch. The hair is so sticky. I say, “Uh, miss?” She jerks away, pulling her own hair. I say, “That’s what I was trying /not/ to do.” She’s okay; she’s not mad. This happens all the time to her. Her hair is just like that.
We come to a giant land-ferry trailer on a field of grass next to a college-like shopping center. An outdoor theater-department play is taking place where Ricky Gervais plays the incompetent tow-car, or pilot-car, driver in a car out in front of the ferry-trailer-thing. He presses the button for the motorized conveyor-belt turntable in the ferry to start turning, instead of the let-the-front-cars-out button, and he doesn’t notice this until lines of cars are out of the ferry, going around to get back in the back of it.
Ricky Gervais is discussing this snafu with the blonde fifty-something actress who played a powerful government woman in the fourth year of /Sherlock/. They’re going to solve the problem using a 1920s Rolls-Royce whose high flat top is made of a green plastic tarpaulin. Ricky, still a fuckup, only /thinks/ he understands what to do. He gets in and starts to drive away without her. My point of view is in the surrey car now. The woman is either on the running board on the right or inside against these left-hand windows and seen in reflection of the glass bus doors.
Now the Japanese woman and all the people from the taxi are in the surrey-car. As we go around the far side of the ferry and then along the east? side of the giant mall/campus, we’re watchin events around us like people in the jungle boat ride or Pirates of the Caribbean ride in Disneyland watch set pieces you pass by. Out there, people from the ferry are on foot, stopping various places to participate in activities. A movie screen above a store lights up and starts playing a movie. More and more things are happening everywhere. I say to the Japanese woman, “Everybody’s got the keys to everything.” She says, “Not everybody.” I say, “It’s the same thing when there are so many people. Some people have keys, so everybody has keys.”
I woke up with The Band /The Weight/ playing in my head, the part where Levon Helm sings, “I saw Carmen and the devil walking side by side.”