maboroshi

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was probably with my mom and oldest nephew out on a road during the daytime. We were probably driving, but we weren't quite in a car. It was almost like we were walking down the road or on a moving platform. The road ran through a valley bordered on either side by a dense pine forest.

The road was packed with cars. We were all headed, rather slowly, as if in procession, down the road. I probably knew that an airshow was going to start.

Then planes began flying overhead, as if they were just heading over to the airshow, or warming up (?) for the airshow. Some of the planes were flying up from the road.

The car behind us actually lifted up off the ground and flew into the air. The car was painted gold. At first it looked like a 1980s Camaro. But then it ended up looking like the flying car Luke Skywalker drives.

But for some reason I was really excited to see the Camaro-like car flying. I called out to my mom at first. But then I saw one of the senior people at one of my old jobs, JS, walking down the road in the direction opposite the procession. So I called out to JS, partly to show her the flying car, and partly because I was so happy to see her again.

JS may have been walking with a female friend of hers. The two women looked at me kind of sympathetically, like they thought I was crazy but they wanted to act like what I was saying was cool. We both kept walking our different ways.

The road probably ended at some kind of swampy area. A lot of people stood out in the waters, looking out into a watery space columned by trees. Airplanes may have been flying through this space.

I must have tried to go farther out into the water to get a closer view. But I only got a few steps out before the water got a lot deeper, probably up to my chest. This would be too deep for me to be comfortable watching the show. So I decided to walk back.

But it was a little hard to get back. The soil I was walking on was really muddy and sticky, like in a swamp. But the water was crystal clear and never seemed to get dirtied by the water. I was having a hard time moving my legs through the mud.

At some point I saw my second oldest nephew. He may have been standing up on dry ground, near some fence. He may have been kicking something around on the ground.

I may eventually have gotten up on dry ground, or at least to a level of water where I could walk comfortably. But I was probably disappointed that I couldn't get out farther in the water. I may have thought that there was some open space out there where you could stand on dry ground and get a really good view of the planes.

Dream #2

I was at work. Everybody had an office. But the offices were more like dorm rooms. I was probably new to the job. I kept mistaking other people's offices for my own.

At some point I went into an office the doorway of which was blocked by something like a couch. I fell over the couch and into the room. There were a bookshelf, a couch, and probably a desk, all arranged so that the room felt like a maze. On the ceiling was a piece of thin fabric with an orange background and a black, psychedelic mandala design.

Everybody was looking into the room, kind of laughing at me because I had come into the wrong office. I was embarrassed and annoyed, and I tried to cover for myself by pretending that I'd meant to be here.

I may then have ended up back in the hallway, which was small and dark, like some makeshift hallway in the basement of a house. I then ended up in the reception area, which was like an entire living room in a double-wide trailer home. The receptionist's desk was kind of out in the middle of the room.

The receptionist was KB, the receptionist at my work. I sat near her desk, kind of behind her, in a small desk, like a little writing desk made for children. I felt like I was hiding behind KB.

My boss JH came into the room and probably pointed out that I was hiding behind KB. He chuckled at me and said, "Don't you have your own office? Or, what happened to it?" I got the feeling he thought someone else had moved into my office.

I tried to explain that I was only sitting here so I could learn something from KB. But then I was getting up and heading out of the office.

But my boss called me back. He had a bunch of stuff in his hands. He said, "This kind of stuff is no good for the workplace. This is why I'm seriously thinking you might not be good for this job. I even think I found some porn in your office.

"Look at this!" he said, showing me a painting on a canvas that must have been about 30cm long and 20cm wide. It was half-finished, with some edges of it in black and white, not colored in yet. The painting was apparently something I'd made.

The painting was of the forearm of a person, maybe a young boy. The arm held some device that looked like a gold-colored, metallic spray-gun nozzle on a garden hose. But attached to its ends were a red, pump-like ball and a clear, little breathing apparatus.

My boss JH said, "This was for your third oldest nephew, wasn't it? He uses it for his asthma. But kids nowadays -----." Something about what my boss said made me think he thought I was trying to glorify drug use by depicting this device.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

A TV interview show, like Oprah, with two people on the stage. One of the people was a black-Latino man. The other may have been a black man. They both sat in swivel chairs on a smallish, slightly raised, circular platform. The black-Latino man sat on the left.

The black-Latino man had been diagnosed with HIV about twenty years ago. But he was still really healthy. In fact, I thought, he may have been even healthier than the other man on stage, who didn't have HIV.

Dream #2

I was in an office, sitting at a cubicle. I was kind of slouched back in my chair, maybe with a knee pressing against the edge of my desk. I could see the CPU for my computer on the desk. It was taller and wider than usual, and pale grey.

Somebody, possibly a pretty woman who was my boss, tossed a cardboard box on my desk. I opened it. Inside was some kind of pale grey device that looked like an electric label maker. It was long and narrow, with a keypad of yellow, red, and green buttons. It had some sort of rolling tape or paper dispenser coming out the top. I knew or learned, somehow, that this was a new device from Apple.

I knew that this device probably wasn't mine. But I figured I'd hook it up to my computer and use it anyway. I didn't even know what the device did.

I found some wires in the box. I then learned the instructions for the device -- somehow -- I didn't read any instructions or look at any papers or anything. I knew that the device sednt messages to the office printer. The printer then printed these messages out.

The device had to be connected by wires to the printer through a long, complicated process. I thought the process was too long. I didn't want the device anymore. I put it back in the box.

My boss, the pretty woman, sat down in the cubicle behind me. I realized the device had been meant for her. I said, relaxedly, as if it were true, "I was just looking at this new device you got. I was trying to see if I could hook it up to your computer for you, so you don't have to. I think I can do it."

There was now a view of Bill Gates, or somebody who looked like him, except, possibly, with no glasses and skinnier eyes. Bill Gates was surrounded by a group of people in a space that looked kind of like an office, a kitchen, and some kind of science lab, near a window on some high up floor of a skyscraper.

Bill Gates was talking as if he were the head of Apple. He was saying that he hadn't actually made a really big deal regarding some kind of copyright or patent dispute over one of his products. He didn't actually care too much about it.

Bill Gates now lifted up a device. It was like a water-pitcher. But it was as big as a CPU column, and it was shaped like the Apple logo. It had a grey-tan outline, and a body of clear, smoky-grey plastic. Gates was pouring out glasses of water for everybody.

But I was trying to get a better view of this device (as if I were watching onTV). The device, I knew, was some kind of computer device. It had some kind of mechanism at its mouth, where the water poured out. I just couldn't see what it was.

I was now standing before a desk, at which sat a guy I know from a Starbucks I go to. The guy was apparently trying to sell me works of art. The guy was flipping through the pages of a book. I had probably seen the paintings I had wanted already, as if I had already looked through the book. But the guy was flipping through the pages so quickly that I wasn't sure if we'd gotten to or passed the pictures of the paintings.

Finally I told the guy something about how I'd look for the pictures more carefully -- probably just by looking through the book myself. The guy kind of acted annoyed. He started talking with a friend of his. I got worried that the guy was getting bored with me. I wondered if I was being too specific with the pictures I wanted. I thought maybe I should just take one that I thought looked kind of like the ones I wanted.

But I also really liked the pictures, and I thought my choice would also be interesting and impressive to the guy as well. I remembered one picture, black and white, of a Millet-like painting of two people standing out on the field. I kept searching for this painting, but I couldn't find it.

But I found the second painting I was looking for. This was of a big shrub on a field of clumpy grass, possibly with a little cabin in the distance. The photo of this painting was also in black and white.

I was apparently going to buy the photos, and not the paintings themselves. Also -- possibly -- the photos I'd buy would also be the pages from this book -- like the guy would cut the pages out of this book and sell them to me.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in a dark bedroom. The door was open a crack, and there was also a slim window running along the right (my right) side of the door. The door and window opened out to a hallway full of fluorescent light. It was like I was in a dorm room. There was a bed against the wall to the right of the door.

There seemed to be somebody walking out in the hallway. He didn't seem to trust me, or else he didn't seem to like the fact that I was around. I myself didn't quite feel like I belonged here. I may have been hoping I could get out of here soon.

I was pacing back and forth in the bedroom. I paced toward the door and turned around. I was about to start walking away from the door when the man somehow got a hold of me. He either told me or handed me a note saying that I needed to paint a bench.

I knew what bench the man had been talking about. I realized I had forgotten to paint it. This was somehow a relief to me. I felt like now I had a task I had to take care of, I really had a reason to stay here. Before, I realized, I had been almost arrogantly insisting that I didn't have to be here, as if I was better than this place. But now that I had a task, I could focus on the task and keep a humble outlook on where I deserved to be.

I was in a living room with a few other people, some of whom may have been my family members. The living room also felt a little like an artist's studio or workshop. The floor were concrete and paint-spattered. The walls were bare white plaster. The light was a very harsh, raspy incandescent. There seemed to be a TV blaring somewhere. And everybody either seemed to be busy or distracted.

I knelt down to a wooden bench about knee-high and maybe three meters long. The bench had been painted white. But either the paint had started chipping off or else the paint job I had given the bench had been so bad that I'd missed patches of the bench altogether. So I needed to fill in the unpainted patches with white paint.

I was painting the bench and thinking about painting. At first I may have been doing a good job of painting the bench. But at some point I may have wondered if it really was a good plan to put new paint among all the stretches of old paint. I didn't think the old paint and new paint would look very good together.

Then I realized that the paint I was laying on the bench wasn't actually "sticking." It would disappear only a while after I painted the patch. It seemed like either the paint evaporated away or like the paint just sank into the wood. I then realized that I had forgotten to lay a coat of primer before I lay the coat of white paint on the bench. But I didn't have any primer here.

I stood up. I had to head out and grab some primer. For some reason, Lewis Carroll was in the living room. He may have been the last person I said goodbye to before I went to grab the primer. He may have said something encouraging about my painting job so far.

I was now walking around in the parking lot of some huge shopping center or mall. It was either late night or early morning. Some of the stores were open, including a huge grocery store that didn't have any doors on its front, just a huge opening.

I walked past a few huge stores. I seemed to be confused about what I needed to get. I either couldn't quite remember what I'd needed to get, or else I couldn't figure out where I needed to get it.

I now remembered where I needed to go. But the store was closed, and it wouldn't open for a couple of hours. But I needed the stuff now. I needed to get back home and paint the bench for something like a birthday party. But I wasn't going to be on time. I somehow knew this.

I suddenly remembered that I needed primer. It suddenly dawned on me that I could have gotten primer at any time during the past few days. But I'd waited and waited and never gotten it. Now it was too late. I was desperately disappointed with myself. I had done stuff like this before in my life. Would I ever learn how to just do things on time, instead of always waiting until it was too late?

I was about to start crying, I was so disappointed with myself. But, right then, I got a call on my cell phone. It was my mom. She very quickly told me she'd speak with me in a moment. I then heard her getting on the phone with someone else. I dropped the phone from my ear and thought, Oh, god. Here's another one of these calls where my mom gets all dramatic and then tells me something that isn't bad or dramatic at all.

I put the phone back to my ear. I was walking past a store, another store with no doors, just a huge opening. So I walked inside, thinking I might be able to find something, maybe primer. The store actually looked like some kind of home improvement store.

My mom appeared to be talking to some kind of hospital, even though I couldn't hear the person my mom was talking to. My mom said something about trying to get information about my brother. He had been taken to the hospital for some emergency.

I thought that this sounded serious after all. My mom had some information on my brother. She gave it to the operator, to find out where my brother was. The info was like a room number or something. The operator put my mom on hold.

My mom came back to talking to me. She said, "Your brother has thrown himself to the ground." I understood this to mean that my brother had attempted or committed suicide by throwing himself off a multi-story building.

I said, "No," in a flat, but panicked voice. I was about to lose control of myself and start pleading, "No, no, no!" into the phone. But I didn't I was too afraid that the hospital operator would hear me (even though I couldn't hear her), think I was being disruptive, and hang up before giving my mom any information on my brother.

I walked over to an ATM to get some money to buy whatever it was I was here to buy. As I walked over to the ATM, I pulled the phone away from my ear. I had some web page regarding the hospital on my screen. The text was black, with some passages of text in tan-orange lettering. The screen was kind of like visiting or facilities information. I kind of got the impression that this place wasn't a hospital in the conventional sense.

As I got to the ATM, before I could even slide my card through, my mom was back on with the operator. She said something like, "He did? When? Well, it would have been really nice if someone had told me this earlier." It was obvious my mom was terribly sad and angry. She wanted to burst into tears. But she kept her temper with the operator, sounding pretty well composed, though slightly irritated.

I understood, before my mom even got back on the phone with me, that my brother had died. The hospital really only called to tell my mom this because they couldn't hold onto the body. They needed someone to take it away. Otherwise, they might never have called my mom.

My mom told the operator she'd be right back. She put the operator on hold. She got back on with me and said, "Your brother died at 4:15 AM this morning."

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

There was a girl who hung out with some extremely fashionable people, possibly Andy Warhol's entourage. She had either darkly tanned or copper-brown skin. Her body was lovely. But her head was very strange.

From her forehead back, her head was like a flat disk, like a plate. It was hairless and a little bit mottled. On either side of this disk, almost at the sides of the woman's cheeks, were eyes. The eyes were quite wide, pale, with very tiny pupils.

I saw the woman in two scenes. In the first scene, which I can't remember very well, the woman was indoors, in some place like a fashionable club. In the second scene, the woman was walking on some brick path beside a house, drinking some can of juice or soda. In this second scene, the girl was wearing a long, stylish, but very summery, green dress.

I noticed that the girl's mouth and chin were both very small. Her mouth was almost all the way down to her chin. I thought the girl must have had some kind of disease that had deformed her face.

I now heard the woman talk, as if in narration. She had been an orphan, but it had been very hard for her to find a home, due to her deformity.

Another female narrator now explained that her situation had been similar with that of a boy. I now saw the boy laying in the back of a car. He was little, maybe eight years old. He had shaggy, brown hair, and he wore a white t-shirt and khaki shorts. He told the camera (?), "I've been to a number of different homes. But nobody's wanted me -- because of my problem."

I wondered what the boy's problem was. He didn't look deformed. But I suddenly saw his chest, for just an instant. The boy had a healed-over puncture wound, very deep, in his chest, just up and to the right of his colar plexus. The wound looked just like somebody had stabbed a sign-post into the boy's chest. I took this wound to mean that the boy had heart problems.

The boy continued, "I went to the libraries to do research on my disease. But they didn't have much about it. But I studied whatever I could find."

I had a view of the boy in the library, typing at a computer. It looked like he was on some kind of black and white, text-only page on the internet. But it was just the library catalog. I thought to myself, It's a real sign of the times that, whenever this documentary was made, all you could do on a computer at a library was look up what books they had at that specific library. But nowadays, if you have the right keywords, you can do tons of research on just about anything.

The woman narrator now spoke about how she went to the library the boy had gone to, so she could see for herself how little information the library had regarding the boy's disease.

I was now far out in a big town, which I may have thought of as Brooklyn. I was way out at the end of town, but I needed to get back home. It was daytime, and the streets were really packed. I was looking for a subway station. I kept zig-zagging through various crowded streets, hearing people's conversations. I kept finding subway stations, but they were never the right ones.

One subway station was elevated maybe five or six meters above ground. It was set into a concrete stairway which had shrub-filled planters all along it. This appeared to be a station for one of the green trains (4, 5, or 6 line in New York). But it also seemed like the station was closed, even taped off with yellow police tape.

I wandered down a straight road filled with people and cars and tall buildings. There was noise and rushing everywhere. I may have done more zig-zagging through the streets, looking for a police station.

I was now in a quiet, suburban neighborhood, walking up to a driveway on the right side of a house, coming from the front of the house. As I did, a 12- or 13-year-old girl came walking up beside me. She was only wearing a pair of yellow briefs-style panties. She had pale skin and brown hair down to just above her shoulders.

I was in some bathroom. I had a huge mustache, and maybe a huge goatee. I was trimming my hair. I realized that the more I cut off, the better I looked. I wondered what would happen if I just cut the whole thing off.

I was back out in front of the house. In my memory, I heard a black man telling me how it would be bad if I kept thinking about the little girl whom I'd seen topless. He said that something like that was bound to get me in trouble.

I was now walking back over to the driveway. At the curb, the driveway had something over it, like a gate of garlands, through which a new bride might walk on her way up the aisle at an outdoor wedding.

Just coming through the gate was what appeared to be some kind of creepy guy. It looked like the guy was trying to catch up to me and elbow in front of me for some reason. So I sped up my walking to get to the house's side door before the creepy guy could get to me.

But then the person called out to me, not by name, just something like, "Hey!" I looked at the person and realized it was just the girl again. She was naked, again, except for her yellow briefs. The girl held a white, terry-cloth summer dress in her hands. But she didn't look like she was going to put it on.

The girl's body was a little weird to me. She was pretty thin, but her bottom was a little bigger than would seem to be proportional with her torso. The girl also had two "breasts," which were more like two little nubs of flesh with nipples on top, very close to each other at the center of her chest.

The girl seemed to be pretty interested in me. She said, "Yeah, I'm studying -----." (I forgot what she was studying.) We got in the house. We were in a hallway. At the far end of the hallway I saw a room off to the left, with orange walls, where my mom was sleeping on a low mattress or couch.

The girl and I walked into a room near the front of the hallway and off to the right. The room was small and plain, with just a mattress on the floor and a white sheet draped against the back wall. There may also have been a loose door or a long wood board leaning against the wall near or under the sheet.

The girl was continuing to talk about her study project. Apparently it was all a real pain in the neck. Now she needed to use a computer for some research. So she'd come back here, apparently to use my mom's desktop.

But we were apparently in this room because the little girl wanted me to have sex with her here. I was thinking it probably wasn't a good idea, because I didn't want my mom to wake up and discover us. But I also felt like if I wouldn't get in trouble, I should probably just have sex with the little girl. She seemed to be really curious. I thought I should help satisfy her curiosity.

Dream #2

(I had fallen asleep while "rehearsing" the memories of my first dream.)

I stood in a dark room of a museum with a woman and possibly another person, maybe a man. The woman was very business-like, professional looking. The walls of the museum were either black or not lit at all.

The woman and I stood before a painting of some dramatic scene, like a Redcoat soldier on a hill during the Revolutionary War. But it was done in a very realistic style, like that of Millet (?), except more watery. The sky was a slushy blue, and the hill was like washy waves of green, dotted with white flowers. The Redcoat seemed to be collapsing. He may already have been down on one knee.

The style struck me as very dramatic and beautiful. But suddenly I realized the painting was a pointillist painting -- a style of painting I generally don't like very much.

I told the woman that this might be one of the very few pointillist paintings I actually like. I gave a description of the painting. As I did, I suddenly thought, Wait a minute! This isn't a memory from one of my dreams! What the heck am I doing here?

The painting seemed to start changing, a black, comic-book style painting "burning" out from underneath it, from the middle outwards.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in an office with my boss and the head of our department, J. J made a comment about the conditions of our company. He then said, "Well, your boss will tell you more about that." J then walked out of the office, through a doorway that may possibly have been to a stairwell.

Only my boss and I were now left on the office floor. The space was kind of narrow. There was some kind of long counter or reception desk running along the area where my boss and I stood.

My boss stood a few feet away from me. He looked a little different than IWL. His hair was cut short, and he was wearing really nice eyeglasses with no frames on the bottom of the lenses and nice, thin, black frames across the top. He was also wearing a pale, lemon-yellow shirt that looked very clean and pressed.

My boss said, "Well, I guess I should tell you it's going to happen to me next. But don't say I told you."

I understood this to mean that my boss was going to leave the company. But he'd said it so quietly and mumbled, and he'd told me not to talk about it. So I acted like it wasn't a big deal, like I almost hadn't heard him in the first place. I actually may also have hoped he'd say whatever he'd said again, since he'd mumbled and been so quiet that I wasn't quite sure I heard him correctly.

My boss was annoyed by my reaction, as if he thought what he'd said hadn't sunk into my skull at all. So, as I walked closer to him, he took out a plastic pen, kind of fatter than normal, and poked me at the top right side of my chest, and said, "Au revoir."

It was now clear that my boss was leaving the company. My boss had given me a parting gift. It was a huge book by Marguerite Duras. I don't remember the title. It was a fat paperback. It had a yellow cover, possibly with some kind of painting inside a circle on the center on the front.

My boss and I stood at the far end of the counter now. Just beyond us was an unlit area that looked like a living room, or even like two decent-sized living rooms separated from each other by some kind of partitions. The rooms were visible only by the fluorescent light of the office area and the deep blue morning or evening light coming in through the wall-sized windows.

The counter looked now more like an alcohol bar made out of office materials. My boss wandered around to the other side of the bar. As he did I told him, "Well, I'm really thankful to you. You took a chance on me when nobody else would..."

But my boss waved me off, as if to say, "Don't start with all that modesty stuff again." He came back around the bar and handed me another book. It was also by Marguerite Duras. It was much thinner than the first book. It had the same kind of yellow color. This book was titled Abe Diem----- or Abe Dies----- (can't remember the rest of the word). I figued the title was German.

Dream #2

I was walking on some concrete path with two other people. One was probably my sister. The other was a kind of fat man maybe my age or younger, maybe in his mid 20s.

It was a bright, sunny day. The path we walked on was like a sidewalk, and it was in a suburban neighborhood. But it was actually crossing some area between two grassy fields on either side of which were blocks of houses. The area we were walking through at first was narrow, as if there were some kind of construction trailer to our right.

At least my sister and I were carrying something. We both carried the objects slung over our shoulders. My sister carried one bag of something and a huge, black-metal frame almost like a bed frame. The frame had a bunch of figures molded into the empty space. The figures looked like toys, like army figures, or little toy-wrestling figures. The thing looked extremely awkward and heavy to carry. I may actually have felt this from my sister's point of view.

I was carrying a plastic bag with a huge pack of Huggies diapers in it. It wasn't very heavy at all.

I felt kind of guilty for carrying something so light and easy while my sister carried such a big, heavy frame. At some point either I or the other man suggested that we stop a moment, ostensibly to give my sister a break. The man stopped. I slowed down, unsure as to what our plan was. My sister kept going. She said she didn't need a break. And before long, she was altogether gone.

We were finally now just past the trailer or series of trailers that had made the place seem so narrow. We were in a grassy field, like a litte park. The guy had stopped right past the far end of the trailers. I'm pretty sure he hadn't been holding anything before. But now he set down a white, cloth bag and a black frame like the one my sister had.

I set down my bag with the huge pack of Huggies diapers. I was also carrying a small, black bag which had something square in it. I set the black bag on top of the Huggies bag, hoping that I could conceal the fact from the man that I was carrying all these diapers around with me.

The man now explained the black frame to me. He said you painted one side of the figures and then pressed them against a canvas. In this way you created some kind of big painting of all these figures.

There was also another frame, which may have been of copper or bronze. Not everybody had this second frame. But it produced a second layer on the paintings, which gave the figures "moveable arms." The arms really weren't moveable on the painting. But I guess what was meant was that the torso, legs, and head of the figures were one color, while the arms were another color.

In my mind's eye I saw a brownish-copper color canvas or paper dotted with gnarly, little paint-figures. The legs, torsos, and heads of the figures were black, while the arms were either white or a very pale, bright shade of purple.

Dream #3

I was in a movie theatre with a few other people. The movie theatre was huge, but there were only a few of us, all scattered through the first three or four rows of the theatre. Two people I was aware of were an older man with big, clear glasses and pale, blue eyes, and a young, pretty, blonde woman.

We were all here as part of some audition. Or we may actually already have been performing. But as part of this audition or performance we had to watch whatever movie was playing.

I may have been second row. Something felt very weird just to my left, as if the seats were gone, or as if something or someone was crowding me almost to the point of pushing against me.

The old man was in the row behind me. He tapped my left shoulder. He said to me, "See over there, in the front row? That boy? Even though he's a star, he wanted to be part of this thing, too. Heh, heh! He called his agent up directly and asked to be given a space down here today!"

I looked to the boy the man had pointed out. He seemed to look like Frankie Muniz from Malcolm in the Middle. But he wore a round-brimmed hat and big, thick eyeglasses. He sat in the front row, in one of the far left seats. He had seemed a little standoffish to me, though I'm not sure when he had seemed this way. But now he seemed shy, kind of fragile, and in need of a friend.

I was now sitting at a table, apparently in some kind of restaurant. The table was for four. To my right was a window wall which revealed the pink-peach light of early sunrise or late sunset, possibly over a body of water, like a huge lake.

The "star" sat caddy-corner from me at the table, eating something like cereal or oatmeal. I may have been eating or only drinking a cup of coffee. I suddenly recognized the "star." It was a man named Aki, a guy who DJ'd at a relief concert that had been held at the Japan Society.

I was excited to see him again, as I'd lost contact with him. But I remembered how shy and fragile he'd seemed as the "star" kid in the theatre. So I didn't speak too enthusiastically to him, or even let on that I knew who he was.

I asked him something about his life. He responded in a kind of quiet tone, like he was a little depressed. I thought I wouldn't press any more conversation, although it looked like he was probably getting ready to say a few more things on his own.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

Some kind of disaster had occurred. It may have been a bomb of some kind. The force of this disaster had been so great that it blew an entire garbage dump into another location.

I saw an Asian woman, maybe in her late fifties, sitting inside her house. The house was small and empty. It was just one room, maybe 4m by 4m. The walls were probably made of wood and were dark. The only furniture in the house was a bench along the left wall. The woman sat on the bench.

The woman's hair was in disarray, as if blown out of shape by the wind and set in place by sand and grime. The woman was wearing a dress of rough, dark fabric. She seemed to be studying something. She may actually have been some kind of scientist.

The front doorway of the house had no door in it. I saw outside, to the piles of garbage that had been blown over in front of the woman's house.

Dream #2

Some historical event which involved a group of scientists or businessmen in Philadelphia and Pittsburgh. In relation to this I may have seen film footage from the 1920s.

I was now in a nice restaurant with my mother and grandmother. It was like we, mostly my mom and grandma, had been discussing the historical event. Now the discussion was done and I had my normal awareness again.

The table we sat at was really long and possibly full of eating implements, though we three were the only ones sitting at it. I sat at the head of the table, and my mom and grandma sat near me on the left and right side. The restaurant was busy with people but calm. Natural light apparently came in through some bigs windows behind me.

I told my mom and grandma, "Well, speaking of Philadelphia and Pittsburgh, have you heard of -----?" I had named somebody who was apparently a scientist in the area.

Dream #3

A FedEx truck was in front of a UPS truck. They were both stopped, but they were on a road and could have started moving again at any moment.

A young man who may have been Latino, kind of skinny, with short-shaved hair and a thin mustache, jumped out of the back of the FedEx truck. He wore a FedEx shirt and black denim shorts that went down to or just below his knees.

Just as the young man had jumped out of the FedEx truck, the UPS truck rolled forward a tiny bit. The young man did some weird flinching move, rolling and twitching his head downward and kind of spinning around a bit. The young man barely missed getting hit. He walked away by the driver's side of the UPS truck.

Dream #4

I was looking at a big sheet of paper or a big sign made to look like an old sheet of paper. It was a list of people who had done research into zero-point energy. The words were all blurry. But the font looked like the stereotypical lettering for wanted posters in the old west.

Dream #5

I was in some room which may have had dark floors and dark walls. At least one other person was in the room with me. He was an artist. He may have been trying to teach me something.

I suddenly had a vision of a clay-red pyramid on a horizonf of grass before a white-grey sky. I got really excited about and absorbed in this vision. Then the vision was before me, as a painting.

The man kind of forgot what he had been teaching me. He seemed to think whatever I was doing with this painting was just fine.

I now walked out of the room with the painting folded slightly in my hands, so the pyramid was still visible. The paper may have had a weird, rough feeling to it. It was paper, not canvas. But it was a rough kind of paper. The painting was folded up with a number of other paintings as well.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was watching a commercial that looked like it was from the 1970s. There was a black bakckground. In the foreground was a side-lit vending machine. The vending machine was basically a clear, plastic bubble atop a red, rectangular stand.

Inside the vending machine were little robots. They were toy robots. An announcer said that the robots were made in Japan. There was a close-up of the robots. They looked like they were made of wood rather than plastic. They seemed to have been made in two or three pieces. A main piece was c-shaped, like an old telephone receiver. Then there was a rectangular shape that revolved within the c-shape. Atop the c-shape was possibly a small, marble-like head. The toy was red with yellow squares running down it.

I found something wrong about the toys. They seemed to be projecting a strange message about the body to children. I couldn't believe that the toys were made in Japan. So I tried to get at the toys, for a closer look.

I was now on a stage, where there was blue light, like a fake sky, somewhere in the distance, blocked by a number of black scaffolding pieces and stage walls. I walked into a dark, black corner of what now may have been a room. I saw a vending machine. It was huge, and the top half of the sphere was missing, so I crawled right into the bowl of toys.

Somehow I found out that the robot toys had actually been made in Germany. But I didn't seem to be able to grab any of the robot toys. Instead I grabbed what I thought was a robot toy, but which ended up being a thin, long pillow with a pink, plushy casing around it. The pillow actually spoke if you either pressed some part of it or pulled a string.

The pillow had said something strange, so I tried to make it speak again. I pressed the button inside it and bent it and played with its string. I may finally have gotten it to say something, again something strange.

Dream #2

I was in a car with my mom, possibly on a grey day. We had driven up to some hotel, which looked more like a series of townhouses. I was apparently going to stay here for some amount of time, for something like a vacation involving my family, but not quite with my family.

We walked into the front office so I could get checked in. Along the left wall there was a whole display of pornographic programs for sale. I picked out one that looked particularly interesting to me, a lesbian porn flick. Apparently you had to get a big card, which was like a DVD, and then a smaller card, which was like a calling card.

The larger card was yellow. The smaller card was purple. On its front were photos of pin-up style girls. On it back was a description of the film. Some of the language was porn-like and hot. But eventually the language became the description of some piece of classical art in a museum. I thought, Don't they think that kind of language is a real turn-off?

I had walked up to the front desk, where my mom was talking with the worker, a pretty, Asian girl. Behind the desk and in some rooms off to the left, everything was dim. I was suddenly on the phone with my grandmother. I was telling her about some kind of bad thing that had happened in my family, something involving either my brother or sister getting really angry.

I was walking around in one of the side rooms, which was now like my mom's living room and kitchen combined. I was kind of getting sick of telling my grandmother about the incident. So I told her that my mom had lunch ready, so I was going to go and eat it. I could see the lunch -- something like a birthday cake with white frosting and blue sprinkles -- being set on a counter cluttered with books and other things.

My grandmother was already pestering me to call her back in five minutes. I told her I probably couldn't.

I had hung up the phone. My mom, my brother, and I were all in a room like a living room in an apartment. My brother pointed to a picture on the wall and asked if that was by Henry Darger. I said it was and then looked over my right shoulder at it.

The painting all seemed to have been made on wood. It looked like it was four large fragments, not quite the whole painting, all within a wood frame of the same thickness of the wood on which the painting was done. The painting was mostly white, and it depicted little girls on a battlefield.

My brother had been concerned that this was a fake Darger. I tried to assure him it wasn't. On the opposite wall, right near a corner around which was a dim room, was another Darger fragment. This was painted on a huge block of material that looked like cardboard. The painting depicted two children in a deep, green forest. But the two children were just bellies and legs -- nothing else. They looked like the bottom half of Homer Simpson, except shorter and with green pants.

The fragment was shaped like a patch of camouflage, and it hung like a lone puzzle piece in a much larger, rectangular frame of the same cardboard material. I looked closer at the thick fragment. All the colors of the painting appeared to go straight through the carboard, as if you could slice the carboard at any width and find the same picture.

My mom started getting hysterical. She said I wasn't paying attention to her problems, and that I'd pay for it. I acted like I didn't care. But then she said something like she had a lot of ways to make me pay, such as getting me arrested.

I turned away from her. We were now in something like a subway car. Three kind of trendyh, young men all walked up to me. I thought they were going to start trouble with me, as usual. But they asked me if I wasn't the guy who "that tall, blonde guy had hit on the head on the train." I said I was. They all kind of cheered me on. They said they had all been watching me, and that they thought I'd handled the situation really well.

I was trying really hard to remember the situation. But all I could remember was that I didn't get intimidated and I was ready to fight the guy, but that he had walked away. I made some body motions, swinging my body back and forth and holding my fists up. The guys mimicked me.

I was kind of hoping the guys would get off the train. I felt like the situation could easily change and that the guys would decide they didn't like me. I tried to change the subject. One of the guys was wearing a t-shirt with the Superman logo on it. So I asked the guys about Superman.