Dream Journals Seven and Eight.

Dream Journal #7

 

I can’t immediately recall last night’s dream, although I know it was good.

 

Dream Journal #8:

 

            Last night’s dream was exceedingly vivid, probably because Dream #4 had been analysed by Spencer and Zac(sp?) in our serendipitous meeting outside At Ease.

 

The dream was interrupted by my waking, in a psychologically disheveled state uncharacteristic of early morning, at about five in the morning.

 

When I returned, I was supposed to deliver an announcement on some radio program. This was one of my many dreams which had the theme of Compulsion, of a social kind, running predominantly throughout it.

Although, in a certain* sense, the caliber of the demand must not have exceeded the gravity of a college assignment, the shame identified with falling short of it seemed to outweigh it.

 

* rational or social

 

The announcement had to rhyme, yet I felt hopeless in regard to remembering the pattern that the people assisting me and I had settled upon. Ultimately, I missed the appointed announcement, although my colleagues had resigned themselves to this inevitability and were thus even less perturned by the fact.

 

The prior dream had taken on a greater mood of almost cynical resignation (rather than urgency), thus mirroring my eccentric waking modd from the previous night, beginning with the encounter with Spencer and Zac. The details escape me.

 

Dm.A.A.

 

2. I remember now. Interspersed with this absurd challenge, which seemed to be staged on a game show with the underlying social mood of urgency being akin to that of a newscast, I was eating parts of Pumpkin, trying to rationally discern whether or not this would harm him.

 

3.                  Towards the end of the dream, Oleg made an emphatic cameo. He sdpoke to me and one or several of my friends in a fairly plain room (with a presumably brown floor) as though he were lecturing to us.

 

He indicated a set of bags hanging by a wall, I think. It was understood that each contained a laboratory sample of a popularly dangerous drug. A tan sack a with absurd verisimilitude to a manilla envelope purportedly contained methamphetamine.

 

Oleg mentioned, as though in passing, that his father had invented a drug. To my incredulity, I had thought he was referring to meth. Upon voicing my shock, Oleg corrected me with his characteristic wry humour, assuring me, with all due respect paid to the obviousness of my error, although with a marked absence of venom on his part, that the drug his father had stumbled upon was one I (and presumably every one in the room with the exception of Oleg) would have never heard of.

 

In restrospect, however, I must wonder if Oleg actually chose to mention the drug as though it were well-known, instead of it being the piece of esoteric knowledge it had been.

 

Dm.A.A.

Dream Journal Six.

Dream Journal #6.

 

The dream culminated in a game wherein two teenage girls were hiding from a vampire in an apartment. One boy, presumably Hesam, had secretly been appointed the vampire from a group of boys. His appearance had proved to have been anti-climactic.

 

Who else had been in the dream? Again, some random, old acquaintences. I cannot immediately remember who it had been.

 

Dmitry.

 

2. I remember now. Daniel Sinclair was in my dream. I don’t know that he was the only cameo, except that he reiterated his usual(in waking life) spiel about how ‘everyone is a drug addict [who doesn’t] know it.’

 

I replied, voicing my dissent, quite apart, from anything I had had the wisdom to do in waking life.

 

Dm.A.A.

Dream Journal Five.

Dream Journal # 5.

 

The memories of last night’s dream are locked away as though behind a safe, every second like a grain of sand from the sand clock, falling atop the casket.

 

Who was there? Some re-union had befallen. My mind is cast inexplicably to the big-haired girl whose name I should recall from Biology class in freshman year. Christine?

 

It must have been Spencer Breidenbach – the undigested memories from our chance meeting, obscured by extraversion and anger.

 

Where did I go in the dream? It must have been like a video game – very dramatic, like a post-apocalyptic survival game, but with less terror. What could it mean?

 

I look bout my plank room for a clue.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix lies open on a fresh floor of wooden planks, almost ivory in hue. My room is getting remodeled, joining Joann’s, Starbucks, and ElPollo Loco. Everything is changing, and I am unready for it.

 

Do things inevitably get worse over time?

 

My dream was definitely sexual in character. My memory can only recall fragments of past dreams similar in mood: A lust for power, perhaps?

 

2.                  I was on a train. That is certain. I was riding some especially hopeless-looking version, of the Sprinter to and fro, missing appointments – an obvious homage to Jean’s overbearing influence.

 

The dream is clearer now. Does this mean I must quit my job? Is work actually usurping the throne of my dreams?

Is there a middle road?

 

There must have been. I tried to escape.

Consciously, I am reminded of Andrew saying that Kresten and [I] are both doing ‘what we want,’ and that others envy us.

 

My memory produces an image of me playing Magic the Gathering opposite a logical friend( maybe either Andrew, Tyler, John, or – stimulatingly – Aisha) as the train passes over a lush but unforgiving marsh.

 

Change is strange.

 

3.                  There was a theatrical production that I was a part of. The cast were the night crew at Joann’s.

4.                  The injustice of Andrew’s attacks crawls up the side of my neck to my left lobe like the addictive sexual stimulation of seeing woman’s legs. It is the envy of the introvert for the extravert, and vice versa. Kresten has it, too.

 

Who were they in the dream?Will they choose to understand me? Does It Matter?

 

5.                  I must go beyond them. That is my escape: My train home. I must be careful not to miss it. Life is not perfect.

 

 

What lies beyond? A paradise of fantasy and drama.

 

Should I rejoin the Palomar theatre program? No.

 

I am strong. I am heroic. I will not blame. I will tolerate.

 

Yet I feel a pang of guilt. Is it for my prior foolishness, like an addiction to recurrent mistakes?

 

Maybe. Or perhaps it is that, like Harry, I want so badly for Ron to join me in my quest.

 

6.                  Harry Potter. The only people who find it childish are those who themselves are. Myth is a mirror for the ego.

I envy Kresten as I have revered Joseph Campbell. He is more, however, than a need to me. He knows that.

 

Was Ally in my dream?

 

Dm.A.A.

Dream Journal Four.

Dream Journal #4

 

Mood: 4^th chakra, shadow.

 

I dreamt that I met Aisha in a terminal of sorts. Playing my cards right, and we began to date. I began to imagine what people on facebook would think when they saw ‘Aisha is in a relationship’ come up, and how Dennis would give it away to Usman by her saying to Dennis, ‘you don’t even to talk to him anyway’, as I walked through a public restroom, searching for a stall. Aisha was seated in one of the stalls and she began to sit on my lap, as I withheld defecation out of courtesy. I pondered whether or not we would ever have a child, admitting (to myself) that I did not feel guilty about the prospect of sex with her.

 

Later, we were in bed with a laminated pamphlet of some sort that listed a series of sex moves on one side and oral sex moves on the other, and in the lefthand column of the chart, beside a series of symbols that must have occupied the middle column, there was a list of spiritual phrases for what each move was meant to accomplish.

I did not surmise what I was looking at until I saw something to the effect of ‘mouth work’ or ‘mouth love’ as the title for the backside.

 

At one point, in one of the locked chambers to of the restroom, either before or after this scene (probably after) I felt as though I were about to be attacked by two young, grinning hoodlums who wanted to enter the chamber as well, but then saw that I was in there. Perhaps they represented, at once, both the pair that are Debbie and Jean, who walked in on me in the employee restroom chamber one time(the only day I recall Jean apologising for a mistake), and that of Andrew and Kresten, my new bandmates, whom I had felt ‘attacked’ by when they merely wanted either a place in my life* or just a place for theirs.

 

*feels more comforting, if it may appear childish.

 

2. Towards the end of the dream, it was nightfall at the foot of the slope at the top of which CVS overlooks the beginning of Paseo Lucido. Washed in the amber light of the lamp in of the parking lot, darkly contrasting the deep, nebulous blue sky in a manner akin to the looming, impersonal gentleness (though not, in this case, the hauntingness, which was absent)of Jak II, a mood like the pacification of drunkenness from beer*-- I constructed, from wooden planks, a small playhouse that was also a jungle gym. A friend of mine, either a cameo by or an homage to Cameron (Bahl?) the Raver and Drummer, approached from the CVS side, commending my vision with a skater’s unmitigated sense of camaraderie, ready to help. At a loss for what to do, precisely identical to my realisation in making life that Kresten and Andrew did not requiore my creative control in order for a band to grow, I chose simply to slide down the wooden slide onto the concrete sidewalk, prompting a characteristic chuckle from Cameron but no sense of rapture from me.

 

*The dream was markedly less Inspired and Ecstatic than my waking life, so I hope that I do its blandness justice here.

 

3. The remainder of the dream was spent wandering about in the hungover dark, thinking to write a punk rock song along the lines of ‘Fuck America with all its laws…’, simply because I could not stage a play and have one of the last songs be a cover of ‘On My Own’ from ‘Les Miserables’, by virtue of licensing laws for theatrical productions.

 

4. When I arrived outside of the apartment that my parents and I were staying in, one akin entrance to Kresten’s condominium except that it was tucked into a corner as though it were on of the apartments in Bernardo Point that I had never paid visit to, I was flying about, literally, waiting, upon ringing the doorbell, in mid-air, suspecended bouncingly be repeatedly kicking off each wall, as though I were back in our apartment in Baltimore, delighting mother and father one night by climbing up the

 

white, lamplit ceiling of the kitchen by climbing up the inside of the doorway.

 

Two sides of the entrance to the kitchen as though I could touch the white lamps on the ceiling were it not that I would fall.

 

Dm.A.A.

Dream Journal Three.

Dream Journal #3: Athens Marketplace.

 

I came to this morning with a doubt as to whether I was awake or asleep. Psychologically, I was still in the mindset that the contents and situation of the Dream were Real. Too soon I escaped into the comfort of daytime, forgetting that they were.

            My last wish was to begin lucid dreaming. I think that might have been what awoke me, and briefly I wondered if this conscious world were a continuation of my dream.

                        Maybe it is.

            I must have dreamt that I was in a supermarket, yet it was akin in feeling to the staircase ascending into the battleground with the enormous trolls in ‘God of War’.

            Maybe this was, in fact, the Japanese market I visited with Kresten and Andrew. Maybe they were the trolls.

            Maybe the thought ‘Athens Marketplace’ prompted this merging. Was I not attacked outside it by Albert’s aunt, accused of pomp I did not possess?

 

            I can take a hit, though. It doesn’t matter if others find me pompous so long as I am motivated. Maybe Albert’s aunt identifies Shakespeare with pomp. I do not. I identify with his genius. I know that I possess that talent.

 

2. I feel that my conflicts with K. and A. arise from the childish conviction that any disagreement between us is an attack upon my way of doing things. Hence the Kafkaesque courtroom-like dynamic of being (cornered?) in some of the underground passages in yesterday’s dream.

 

Dm.A.A.

Dream Journal Two.

Dream Journal #Two.

 

1.                  Prior to this dream, I had made a conscious effort to work an entire shift in Extraverted Feeling, flipping my strongest faculty outwards. It was a draining experience, and one that others did not take kindly to, apparently.

2.                  In the dream, a plethora of things happened which all seem meshed in a thick stew in my mind. The emotional quality of it was consistent to the point of stagnation, thus reflecting the ‘charged(stressful) apathy’ that I had allowed my conscious ego to subjugate myself to throughout the day.

 

The two noteworthy instances involved two people I have not seen in a long time: Jason Yoo and Luke Shaw. Jason kept trying to castrate me, and if that was not also Luke’s intent, he did have something also sinister in mind, apathetic to my please for mercy.

 

If Jason and Luke are, as I suspect, ENTP and ISFJ(respectively), this would suggest that they both Extravert Feeling.

 

My attempts to understand this function are emasculating me, rendering me more dependent than independent.

 

Dm.A.A.

Dream Journal One.

Dream Journal

 

My dream was set in Joann’s. This is not the first time. Perhaps as a comment upon the remodel, the store took on the character of an arena in mood, although geometrically it felt even smaller than it normally does.

 

(In waking life,) I am confused. My atonement with Jean and the rest of the overnight crew makes me feel hung over. I do not want to identify with this vile, wretched, uninspired energy.

 

Towards the end of the dream, Amanda was at the register.

 

Ironically, the dream feels positive.

 

Part of it was a computer game.

 

The metaphor of the arena suggests a noble fight: I must, having seen the depths of Jean’s depraved neuroses, and the raw nerve of that woman to attribute an ‘undisputable’ objectivity to her skewed perceptions, take my stance and fight the good fight to surmount this evil within myself.