dreams...
It's night and I'm in front of one of those imaginary family restaurants in an imaginary high street somewhere in North Edmonton. I miss this area, the windows into the restaurant are plastered with theatre posters, coming carnivals and events, there's an ice cream poster on the door - "The Pimple Maker" - it's a big single scoop of Ice Cream with a large hunk of chocolate on top, the chocolate has been broken open to reveal a sweet candy mass dripping out onto the ice cream.
Then I'm talking to Milan, apologizing for never visiting him, I'm trapped in suburbia - "So far into South Edmonton" I complain "That I might as well be living in Calgary....."
The dream changes. I'm in a long hallway, generic, patterned carpet, lighting like they have in hotels. I've done well, gambling, made a few million, and as I'm leaving the casino a big black guy, casino goon, comes to stop me. He reaches for his gun but I've got the drop on him, I've taken the precaution of arranging for a third arm, a magicians dummy hand and sleeve, to hang down on my right side with it's hand stuffed with paper, thousand dollar notes on the inside and outside to make it look like money. My free hand is inside my jacket, I reach up and aim a large semi-automatic at the thug, he continues to go for his piece and so I shoot him. I keep walking out of the casino, I see another guy who owes me money, he's coming for me as well, I twist his arm and force him to his knees, gun at his temple, "Do it" he's telling me, I don't want to, he owes me money, 30 something, bland face with clear blue eyes looking back at me "Do it!", pushing his head against the muzzle of the gun....
- Details
- Category: Dreams
The book is beside my bed, and the pattern's the same. I wake up, often in the middle of the night, but am too tired to get up and write the dream down. Or I wake in the morning, and am too tired to write it down. Or I find it too disjointed, meaningless, unpleasant to write down.
An example: Saturday night - following the Darfur film at the Marda Loop Justice Film Festival, I awoke in the middle of the night, strange dream of me in an Arab store, killing a blue turbanned Arab, cutting his throat, garish, obvious, blood, the arabs around me reassuring me that he deserved it, then Horatio Cain from CSI Miami comes with his team of crack-investigators to investigate, I've blood on my hands, they find the body in the freezer....I wrote it down, but hated it, couldn't bring myself to post.
It was too obvious. The CSI Miami comes from the barber where I get my haircut, it was on the TV as he clipped my hair, the cutting of the arabs throat a reaction to the film. Unpleasant, unworthwhile.
Maybe tonight there will be something better.
- Details
- Category: Dreams
This was a long dream last night, with several parts, I woke at 2:00 AM to write it down in part, but have a crushing headache, notes were scanty.
J***, the boys step father, has pulled up in his white truck to drop the boy off. I invite him in for a beer, he accepts, I tell him follow the boy inside, I'll just have to run to the store....I don't have any beer on hand, must go buy some.
And now I am returning on foot from someplace deep in Southeast Calgary, across the Deerfoot trail, I'm cutting through some sort of amusement or theme park, large green trees everywhere, old buildings filled with old machinery, my children are somewhere up ahead. It's a weekend. I keep running into construction workers, people I've worked with on odd jobs about the city, they seem friendly enough and remember me, I remember them only vaguely but they say hi and remember where we've worked together, they seem happy enough. The beer has been forgotten. Leaving the park, there are 3 bridges I must cross to get home, but I first must climb these steps up a large hill, on either side is a man-made terraced waterfall, filled with vintage watches, most of them are free for the taking, some are seperately priced. I stop to look at some, pulling them out of the water, the seperately priced ones are in plastic baggies nailed into the concrete. They are all interesting, unique, but no-name brands, not worth the repairing, I haven't time to look at them all, I remember having been here once before with D** and wonder how I've forgotten about it. I get to the top of the stairs, now in a long promenade of green trees, there is a group of husky 15 and 16 year olds coming up the stairs behind me, shouting taunts and insults, I think to ignore them, wonder why their doing this, then decide to wait for them, teach them a lesson. They reach the top of the stairs and I knock one of them down, they are surprised, hurt, offended, they weren't directing their comments at me, they were talking to a group of youths ahead of me, I am friends with their mother, (I look down the stairs now and see a 37 year old blonde, she waves and then turns shyly away), we feel bad about the misunderstanding.
I keep going, the children always just ahead of me, Calgary becomes again the real Calgary, not the dreamscape of bridges and trees, I am closer to home...
- Details
- Category: Dreams
N*** is upstairs in the kitchen.
I'm in the basement. It's a dark decrepit basement suite-type affair, brightly lit with an unshaded single bulb on the ceiling, dark corners, the lighting is theatrical. I'm meeting, beneath the bulb, 2 people in suits, generic people, unrecognizable, one is a man, the other a woman. I think the woman is asian, but it's unimportant.
They want me to be a secret agent. The woman explains that I need to spend the next year in the basement training, they've assigned someone to work with me...I have to learn over 100 martial arts.
It seems like a lot, but the woman explains "Many of them are only a paragraph long" and I accept this.
The woman that works with me, she's dark, full figured, a pastiche of women I've known, we're still in the basement, every day it's the same, we wake up, she wants to have sex, I'm concerned because she's not teaching me anything - "Don't worry about it" she tells me, the same basement, dark in the corners, brightly lit in the center with an unshaded lightbulb, sex is routine, mechanical, a job...
It's been a year, N*** is still upstairs in the sunny kitchen, peeling onions, cooking food....She's quietly angry with me. The girl with me in the basement is still training me, she doesn't see a problem with this, every day is the same...
- Details
- Category: Dreams