maboroshi

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I, possibly as a little boy, stood on what looked like the crumbled walls of ancient American ruins below a purple sky. I saw myself from behind, and maybe a few meters away. The walls I stood on were less than a meter tall, and they seemed to have all been cleaned out and made presentable for tourists.

The purple sky almost looked like a stage sky, or like the screen-dome of a planetarium, shaded purple. There was a form in the sky, maybe up from the horizon at about a 30 degree angle. The form was almost elliptical, like a half-open mouth. The form was full of black and grey circles and circles within circles. It was almost like gravel.

I knew that people used this form in the sky as a kind of transmitter for psychic messages. I may have used the form. But mainly it was older men, who may possibly have been known as wise men.

I thought it was kind of silly that people were using suchs a complicated method of psychic sending, a big transmitter in the sky, and psychic reception. I cynically reflected, Haven't these guys ever heard of cell phones?

I then felt bad. I didn't want the wise men to think I thought they were stupid, and I didn't want other people to think I was stupid, just because we hadn't thought of doing something simple like using a cell phone, which everybody else already did.

Dream #2

A view of a parking lot with a trailer-office, like for a construction site. Lance Loud from the 1970s reality show "An American Family" sat out on the steps of the trailer-office. Lance looked to be maybe 12 or 13 years old. He was resting his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees. His dad, Bill Loud, was inside the trailer-office.

The view closed up on Lance. He had been sitting alone. But now there were a couple of other boys sitting on the steps below him, and maybe standing before the steps. The boys were all in line to see Bill. But Lance was first in line.

Lance looked really depressed. It suddenly occurred to me that Lance worked for his father, and that he was now anticipating getting fired.

The trailer door had been closed. But now it was open. From inside, Bill called, "Lance!" Lance slowly stood up as Bill continued, "Come on in here! Death march!" This confirmed that Bill was going to fire Lance.

Lance walked into the trailer-office. My view was still from outside the office, at the bottom of the steps. Bill's desk was just inside the door. Beyond the door, the trailer-office seemed as huge and full of people and activity as a large factory. There even seemed to be huge cranes and heavy-duty fluorescent lights inside!

Once Lance stood before his father's desk, he was about 20 years old, about the age he is in the TV show. Bill had some kind of discussion about firing Lance. Lance didn't seem to care that much, although he may have said some semi-nasty thing to his dad.

Bill apparently felt bad for firing Lance. But he himself was also depressed. He had just gotten divorced from his wife, Pat.

Bill was now in the living room of one of his good friends. The living room was huge. It had three large couches in the center, arranged in a backwards "C." Bill sat at the right end of the top couch.

Bill's friend and the friend's wife seemed to change positions. Once they were both on the right end of the right couch. Then the wife was still in that position, while the husband was on the right end of the bottom couch. Then they may have switched positions. Then they may both have been on the right end of the bottom couch.

Bill was trying to talk for a bit about how he was depressed over his divorce. But the wife started talking about how she and her husband had gone to some kind of store like a K-Mart or a Walmart and picked up stuff like gardening supplies. The store may have been called Libby's. Something about it had a Mexican feel.

Bill seemed at first to wonder if the husband and wife were trying to ignore or belittle his depression by talking about shopping. But he eventually seemed to decided they were only trying to distract him from his depression and cheer him up that way.

So Bill joined in on the discussion about this store. He said to the wife, "You know, Libby's always had that great feel to it. You could just walk in there and it was great. Is it still like that?"

The wife said, "Well, you know, the service at Libby's has gone downhill a lot since you've last been there. I don't think it will be what it used to be ever again."

Dream #3

Whitley Strieber was driving in a car with two other people. A man sat in the front passenger seat. Another person, probably a really pretty, blonde woman, sat right in the middle of the back seat. My view was from just behind the woman's head, as if I were a camera stuck on the inside of the back window.

The car was a big car like from the 1970s. The car drove through some nice valley of green and tan grass between two pine-covered mountains. The road was pretty straight. We were just heading down a slope away from the first mountain and toward the next mountain.

I could see either a very small town or a large estate just up the slope of the next mountain. Strieber's house was there, just around a left curve.

I only saw the people in the car from behind. Strieber had a thick head of brown hair in a bowl-like cut. It was a really nerdy, 1970s-style cut. He also seemed to be wearing a blazer that looked like tweed, but which was of a chunkier, nerdier fabric.

The man and woman had picked Strieber up from the hospital, apparently. He had been at some kind of speech or presentation. Then he ended up in the hospital. Now the man and the woman were making sure Strieber got home okay. I think the man may have been wondering why he was letting Strieber drive, right after he'd gotten out of the hospital.

Strieber now spoke in a really thuddy, low, dull voice. He said he was at the meeting when, "I just couldn't see straight anymore."

I could see as if through his memory. There was a person in his view. The person split into a few different images, which were all glimmery and white, surrounded by rainbows, somewhat like looking at something through a blurry prism.

Strieber continued, "That's when they came to me. They told me. And from what they told me, I knew. I have only 15 days to live."

Dream #4

Two women were in a TV studio which was colored orange and yellow, and styled very much like a TV studio from 1960s or 1970s. The women sat in plasticky swivel chairs with metal bases. Between them, on the wall, was a TV screen. Shelley Duvall was on the screen.

One woman was an older, classy, experienced interviewer. The other woman was young and very pretty. She was actually a model, not an interviewer, although she was apparently going to help the older woman on her interviews from here on. The younger woman may actually even have been holding a teddy bear.

Duvall was maybe in her late forties. She looked really pretty, but not quite like herself. She was tan, and she had freckles. Her hair was dark and really silky. Her skinniness was over-accentuated. And she had dark, dark eyes. In fact, her eyes may have been all black. She wore a red dress with white polka dots and lapels.

The interview seemed to be going well. But then, suddenly, the younger woman interrupted Duvall and asked, "So, wait. Are you, like, an actress, or something?" This question had been posed half in ignorance and half in the young woman's attempts to hurt Duvall in some way, just because she was older than the young woman.

Duvall stopped what she was saying. She said, "Yes. I am an actor." She held up a color headshot of herself. It may have alternated between a rather pretty and colorful shot of herself and some shot that had to do with her playing Olive Oil in the movie Popeye.

Duvall may have scolded the young woman a little bit, angrily. She may then have continued on with whatever she had been talking about before.

But, again, the young woman interrupted. She started asking Duvall for advice about some kind of life problem or professional problem she was having. Duvall stopped talking about whatever she had been talking about and started giving the young woman advice in a very caring manner.

Dream #5

No, or few, images. A few old, rich people, possibly including a couple of old ladies with grey hair and blue-violet colored hats, were talking.

One said, "How are they doing after the breakup?"

Another said, "Oh, well, Arnold is still depressed. We try to cheer him up and get him out of the house. He's only just now started seeing people again. So maybe he's about to turn the corner."

Another said, "But Maria! She's just throwing all kinds of wild parties! And they just get more and more lavish!"

This was said as if Maria were breaking some kind of rule. It was like people thought she should have hidden herself away in depression. Since she was doing the opposite, she was apparently a bad example of womanhood.

Good morning, everybody.

My nighttime discipline has been terrible lately! Last night, I spent too long watching the Girls' Generation "Visual Dreams" video and some anime stuff on YouTube. It wrecked my dream recall.

One thing before I do the dreams. At the Japan Society in NYC a series is currently running showcasing the work of the director Sabu.

On Wednesday I watched Sabu's film Monday. The plot of the story revolves around a businessman who wakes up after having been drunk for two days. He slowly recalls all the things he did while he was drunk.

The story reminds me of waking up and looking back on a dream. But at a certain moment the main character takes charge over his actions. At this moment, the "dream" stories become more like lucid dreams.

There aren't any extreme special effects. But I think the film, in itself, is very good. And I think it's also good as a metaphor for the dreaming and lucid dreaming processes.

Anyhow, I want to suggest that anybody in or near NYC go to the Japan Society to check out some of Sabu's films. Sabu is there to introduce each film and do a Q&A. So that's also incredible.

Dream #1

I was in my great-grandmother's backyard on a sunny day. My great-grandmother was still alive. My family may have been near me somewhere. My great-grandma was talking to me, possibly standing very close to me, or possibly through some kind of telepathy.

I was now in my "great-grandma's basement." I stood before a bed that was covered in deep blue sheets. My great-grandma told me something about my great-grandfather. I got the feeling that this may have been the bed my great-grandfather had died in.

My great-grandma now told me that I had to lay in the bed. It was as if I was going to be in town for a while, and that I would have to stay at this house while I was here. So I'd be using this bed.

The bed was now different. The previous bed didn't have any headboard. But this bed had a very fancy headboard of nice wood. The bed also had blankets. In fact, the bedding appeared to be a very nice, homemade quilt with mint-green squares alternating with white squares with pink flower (?) designs on them.

I was a little afraid to lay in the bed. I felt like it had been empty for so long that maybe bedbugs had started to live inside of it. I thought I would check the bed for bugs. But I knew my great-grandmother was somewhere around me. I didn't want to check the bed in front of her and offend her by implying that she had neglected the bed.

Dream #2

I was in some museum or art gallery. I was in a room, possibly laying face down on a cushioned bench that was backed up against a wall. My head kind of hung down over one end of the bench. This specific room was spacious but small, kind of dimly lit, with white walls and possibly some thin carpet.

There had been some big art exhibit opening. The opening included some kind of presentation by the artist, a woman who kind of looked like Laurel Nakadate. Now everybody was milling around or leaving. Most of the people looked like somewhat wealthy business people.

The artist woman leaned against the wall near the bench on which I lay. I was playing with some device like an iPhone. All the icons on the phone were squares with a swirly pattern of pinks, browns, and oranges. I was scanning through a number of different icons.

The artist said something to me like, "I could never figure out how those things worked. You seem to know it pretty well. You must be smart."

I figured from this that the artist couldn't afford to own an iPhone. I let her look at mine, so she could figure out how to use it. But as soon as I handed it over, I felt a little bit of anxiety. I knew I had a lot of really wacky porn sites still up on my internet. I hoped that she wouldn't look through my internet history.

The artist, did, however, end up scrolling through my internet history. As the artist continued using the phone, the phone became something like a sit-down driving game like you would see in an arcade. The artist was sitting inside the game, scrolling through my internet history, which was a black screen, with old, pixellated, dim-white lettering. The room also became dim, like an arcade.

The artist, thankfully, kept scrolling down to sections full of internet searches I'd apparently done for really fancy recipes. Also, there seemed to be some sections where I'd taken pictures of these fancy dishes I made.

The artist may have made some comment about how nice it was that a guy actually put effort into making all these delicious meals. That comment made me even more afraid of the artist finding the porn sites.

I thought that maybe I'd get lucky and that the artist might not happen upon any of the porn sites that I'd looked at on my phone. But she eventually did. The porn sites in question were apparently of me, all by myself, on my bed, masturbating or dressed in women's underwear.

At some point the arcade game version of my phone became my phone again, although at certain times the views were coming straight into my head, as if I were just imagining them all. The artist was gone, although I may have heard her talking to me, as if I were hearing the conversation telepathically or through "memory-phone."

I now stood before a bed in an almost completely dark room. I may have thrown the phone on my bed. I still had the weird photos of me running through my head. Eventually I got on the bed, standing on my knees.

(Side notes: Dream #2 implies that I look for porn and fancy recipes on the web. This is wrong. I don't look for fancy recipes. But I probably should, because I think cooking is really cool.)