dreams...
Most of my dreams have been boring, nonetheless here are 2 I had on consecutive nights.
The First: I'm in a dim but comfortably lit classroom at a university, windows look outside, it's night-time. There are about 20 of us, we're all spaced about 4 feet apart, digging holes in the floor, the earth is a beautiful reddish color. Maybe we're all students, I don't know. We all take a break, and leaving the classroom I notice a bunch of beautiful, golden-yellow antique bottles and inkwells on a table, I ask about them, and one of the students directs me towards a couple of the other students - their hole, it's a lot deeper than mine, and I'm wondering about it for a moment at first, I fancy myself pretty good at digging holes, but then I consider that there's 2 of them digging together, - still ...
...I want to ask them where they found the bottles, maybe they dug them out of their hole? But they've already left...
...I find an exit to outside, dark, across the main road there's a 24 hour convenience store, I go over to buy (???) but when I get there I've forgotten why I came, it's too bright in here, and I leave...
***
The Second: I'm driving into Alberta from Saskatchewan, central Alberta, and a few ghost towns in I decide to stop in an old town that had a field on the outskirts that I wanted to walk and look for artifacts in. Drive through the town, a few old buildings, turn off on a sidestreet and drive past the last house onto a range road, this is the field...
...through a large hedge, and then stop, there's a fissure or ravine in the earth on the edge, and looking into it I can see a brightly lit library, ancient columns and arches beneath the field, it's a ceiling of sorts to this subterranean labyrinth, and I stop with my friends (?? Who? Not sure) to snap some pictures, but taking pictures, aiming into the ground, I can't fit it all in, and just before we can descend into it we're surrounded by hordes of people, all coming to the library...
***
2 Dreams, similar themes...
- Details
- Category: Dreams
My daughter and I, we've somehow discovered another trail down in to the canyon, we're somewhere around Moab, or East Utah, maybe Arizona - and the trail runs through the red-rocks and balancing hoodoos and standard stark desert geography, only we found an entrance a little to the side, that descends following the trail above through Subterranean windings and blue shafts of light punctured through caves in the rocks above...in shades of blue you can see this great underground wilderness, water drips from above, cold and abundant, spring fed-pools, pale blue, and there are traces of arrowheads and ruins of old pueblos built underground...we didn't know this was here, it's a secret kept by the Rangers, and we continue...
- Details
- Category: Dreams
Driving out to an abandoned farmhouse with Bob Dylan, young Bob Dylan, and we're covering the car with brush, an old rust-colored Vega, he doesn't want to be found. We're going to hide out here for a few months...
...going up to the farmhouse, it's open, we go inside and there's an older woman in a bathrobe, maybe early 40's, the landlady, and I'm a little surprised, I thought we were breaking in, but he's made a deal to rent the place, she shows us around, it's dark inside, sparsely furnished with bad 70's furniture, Bob's disappeared and she lets drops her bathrobe, she's naked, full breasts and body, a golden plume of pubic hair, not my thing but she's beautiful and I reach out to touch her...
,,,she pushes my hand away, instead goes to a closet and gives me an old bullet-proof vest, she shows me the label inside "NYPD" it says, her ex-husband's, he used to be a cop...
Now, in the basement, there's a shop of sorts, we're milling aluminum bits of pipe to specific sizes, by 'we're" I mean me and a couple of other guys, not Bob, I can't see them, or see them only vaguely, there's calipers to check the size, there's shelves for every size of aluminum pipe and cube we've milled...
...we're done, it's early, I don't want to knock off early, but the guys behind me, they don't mind, and we go outside...
We're on a frozen lake, can see forever, walking, there's a couple of spots where the ice is melted, blood red water boiling up, a little sign marks the spot with a skull and crossbones, it's poisonous or something...
Walking, walking across the ice and it visibly grows thinner, wetter, and as I'm deciding not to walk on any further I fall through...
...the water, it's not as cold as it should be, I come back up, swim, then find the ground with my feet, struggle to shore, breaking the ice with my chest, when I'm on the shore I'm looking back, the other two are still out there, one of them, the taller one, he's fallen through the ice, in deeper water, but the shorter one is helping him, I don't need to go back and rescue them...
(A pattern to these dreams I'm noticing, there's some things that need addressing...)
- Details
- Category: Dreams
I'm in the Philippines, coming out of a subway to overlook a railway track into a great marsh that disappears off into a distant mist. In the swamp there are piles of discarded hand grenades, some old, some new, and I want to pull one out, yank the pin and throw it, only I consider that it might set off a chain reaction, set off all the piles of hand-grenades that I see, and I realize that they are old, lying in the swamp, they might go off at any time, maybe even just picking one up would be enough, or they might not go off at all...
...now I've found my way to an old plaster or concrete apartment building in the marsh, empty apartments face onto a flooded courtyard that's bridged by a balcony, there are windows facing into the courtyard and out towards the marsh, discarded iron bedframes and bunk-beds in the rooms, on the balcony looking into the flooded pool I can see crocodiles, climbing out, great hooked feet allow them to crawl up the walls, snapping at me, and I'm wishing I'd picked up some of those hand-grenades now...
A***** from the old restaurant, the Italian waiter, not the nephew, is there, and I'm asking him if he's brought any weapons, a Kalishnikov, anything, he hasn't, he's quiet, watching the crocodiles climbing the walls, they could get into those windows, climb the beds, there's no place to hide here...
...from the roof there hangs an old chain, not too secure, precarious at best, and testing my weight on it I'm not sure it'll hold, the last thing I want is to fall into that pool below, I hang onto it, gingerly swing towards the crocodiles, hoping to kick them, or somehow knock them from the wall...
- Details
- Category: Dreams