maboroshi

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

A group of young men sat in a basement room like in some kind of church or school. The walls may have been red bricks. There were windows high up on the walls, letting in plenty of natural light.

The young men sat in a group of folding chairs arranged in a triangle near the left wall of the room. A group of older men entered the room. They sat inn a triangle of folding chairs opposite the men. I saw all this as if my eye level were at about seat-level with the chairs and as if I were between the two triangles of chairs.

The young men had apparently served during some war in the role of torturers. These young men had actually tortured the old men. But now the two groups were supposed to make peace and be friends.

One of the young men asked the old men a kind of silly question about art or movies. One old man didn't want to hear it. The old man was kind of short, with tough, tan skin, and thinning, grey-white hair. He wore a grey blazer and slacks and a maroon sweater. He began shouting at the young man, didn't he think anything he'd done was wrong?

I now got a good view of the young men for the first time. They all projected a feeling of being very beautiful, though they were all actually kind of plain looking. Yet this feeling of beauty also created a scary feeling of calm, methodical cruelty. The men all had books in their laps, different books, as if they had each been independently reading before the old men came in.

One of the young men, a tall, pale man with thick-rimmed glasses, frizzy, black hair, and stubble, and wearing a kind of loose, pudding-yellow sweater, asked the old man a question. The young man had a pencil, as if her were going to write notes in his book.

Somehow the old man and young man got into an argument that implied that now the old men had been the torturers while the young men had been tortured.

The young man asked, "Why did you gather all of us up? Why did you carry us away?"

The old man said, "Because you looked guilty."

The young man asked, "How could we look guilty?"

The old man said, "You know, your looks. You look like a certain type."

I may have figured in my dream or just waking up from my dream that the old man meant "the Jewish type."

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.)

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in a bedroom which may have been my bedroom with a pretty woman. The room was warmly lit and it seemed to have pink coloring in certain parts. The woman wore a white tank top with pink straps.

The woman sat on the floor, explaining how she was new to this town and how she needed certain things. These things weren't necessities but were rather like items for fun. Maybe they were tickets to shows, or something like that.

She might have been planning to sell the tickets once she got them. Her plan might possibly also have included befriending men to get them to gibe her these tickets for free on a regular basis, then turning around and selling the tickets above face value.

I was now walking through a pine forest. The forest seemed clean, too clean, almost like a stage forest. The trees were tall and deep jade-green. The forest was shady.

Somehow I discovered something about the branches of the pine trees. It was like they were all dripping a clear, sugary syrup.

I was somewhere, possibly back in the room, trying to explain to the woman that she didn't need all the stuff she thought she needed. The trees produced food, and that could sustain her. But the woman wouldn't listen to me. I wasn't talking about the same thing as she was talking about. She didn't want only sustenance. I tried again to explain to the woman what was going on with the trees, what they were producing.

I was in the forest again, floating up through the trees. Beyond the trees was a tree-like structure in the sky, all made out of the clear, sugary syrup. The syrup was solid enough to form a lattice-like structue. I saw a couple of "my friends" (both male or one male and one female) sitting on a couple of seat-like parts on either side of this tree.

As I approached the tree the syrup became like drops, raining down on me. I opened my mouth to try and catch the drops.

Dream #2

I was in a room that looked like a room in a house that had been converted into an office. The place was very cluttered with paper and old office equipment. There were desks for at least two workers.

I had possibly done something dumb at my job. I was listening to a voice message from "my CEO" (!) about what a bad job I'd done. The CEO's voice was mellow and rambling, but a little bitter. I got up from my desk and walked away.

I came back. The voice message was still going. The guy who sat in the desk next to me -- a bunch of old, unused office equipment served as the partition between us -- told me, "Man, you're in trouble. This guy's saying a lot of bad stuff about you. I think he's gonna try to make you stop working here."

I thought that could be true. The CEO could be trying to make it look like I was trying to quit my job and go work somewhere else. Then he could fire me for that. But I didn't care. I just kept listening to his strange mellow, rambling, bitter voicemail.

Eventually the voicemail became something about how everybody in the office was quitting. The voicemail then became something like an online news show about everybody in my office quitting.

I walked out of this room and into another room. I was apparently in the basement of this house. The place was cluttered with household items and office items. In one big room, a bunch of workers were gathered around on a couch, eating pizza and watching TV.

I went into another room. Some tall, thin, pale, white man with a thin beard and wearing a casual sweater and slacks, told me about a number of people who were quitting. This apparently included the CEO.

The man and I walked through a hallway with another man, talking about how unfortunate it was that everybody was quitting. We were now in a kitchenette near the stairs up to the ground floor of this house.

The two men, who were gentle and easygoing, opened the fridge and started pulling out pizza. At this point, I may have seen from the viewpoint of a child. I thought that I was hungry, too, and that I would also like to have some pizza. But I also felt bad for wanting pizza, as if I'd eaten too much already.