maboroshi

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in a "Quentin Tarantino movie." I think it was supposed to be like Inglourious Basterds, like in the final scene between the young man and the young woman in the film booth.

I was some kind of spy. I may have been a man in my forties, with a big, curly moustache. I may have a tiny bit overweight, and I may have been wearing an overcoat and a fedora.

I was sneaking through some building, trying to find and kill some woman, but also trying to escape her so she couldn't kill me. I went through a series of rooms like rooms in a mansion, even though this building was a multi-floor building, like some kind of museum.

I eventually found the woman working in a room like a film booth. The woman had her back turned to me. I may have been supposed to kill her. But I suddenly realized that I had to get out of here before she noticed me and started chasing me, to kill me.

I knew that there really wasn't any way out of this building, or at least no secret way that the woman wouldn't be able to get to long before I did. But I still went running away through the building, not looking for a way out, necessarily, but at least looking for a way to put distance between me and the woman.

But, for some reason, I almost purposely walked myself into a series of rooms that weren't just a dead end, but were a very short series of dead ends. I walked through one bedroom-like area, well-lit with natural light, then down a case of red-carpeted stairs. I ended up in a very small bathroom.

The bathroom barely had enough space for me to turn around in. The light was dim and incandescent, and most of the room seemed to be coated in yellow-beige tiles that faded into a dark brown at their edges. There was also a turquoise-colored towel.

I knew I had absolutely walked myself directly into a dead end. I knew the woman would catch up to me any time now. Yet I thought I would hide in the bathroom forever, or until the woman had gotten past me.

I knew that wouldn't work, though, and that the woman could easily find me. I just decided to leave the bathroom and face the woman.

I walked out of the bathroom. About halfway up the steps I noticed that the woman was standing over the top of the steps, off to their side, leaning over a waist-high railing bordering the staircase.

The woman looked young, maybe in her early twenties. She was pale skinned, with an oval-shaped, soft face. She had light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, pale blue eyes, and eyeglasses. She wore a green sweater and blue jeans. She actually seemed kind of nice and nerdy. But she was levelling a pistol at me.

At first, out of fear from having the gun pointing straight at me, I backed down a couple steps, like I was going back to the bathroom. But I realized that everything was over for me, and that I should at least be brave enough to face my fate. So I started walking back up the steps.

The woman seemed ready to shoot me. She didn't really want to wait until I got up the steps. She said, "Where do you want it? In the stomach?" She pointed the gun toward me stomach. "Or in the chest?" She pointed the gun toward my chest.

For some reason I "kind of" thought about my back, and how I thought the most efficiently killing shot would be one that went through "my back." But I couldn't quite get the concept of "my back" through my head. But I did think that my chest was close enough to "my back" to give me a pretty efficient death.

I told the woman to go ahead and shoot me in the chest. So she levelled the gun at my chest. I spread my chest out, so I could take the shot bravely, hopefully without flinching.

The woman shot me. I flew up into the air. I may have been falling down the stairs. But it really felt like I was just floating in the air, in a kind of "laying on my back" position, except with my head and maybe my legs bowed down a little bit, so I wasn't completely flat.

The woman said, "Well, that's all over, then. Thanks for being so cooperative about letting me get this over with!" She cheerfully walked toward the exit of the room.

I replied, "Oh, no problem. Thanks for being so nice and giving me a choice of where I could be shot."

Dream #2

I was standing in a hallway of a house. The house was kind of short, just a little alcove really, between a few rooms and the living room. The hallway was lit with incandescent light. To my right was the living room. The living room wasn't lit at all.

I was examining some papers in my hands when I heard some weird noises. It was like jangling glass and metal, like people were shuffling some stuff around or breaking stuff. But it sounded a little bit far away, like maybe one or two rooms separated from the living room.

I wondered if someone was breaking into this house. I was kind of afraid to go check, even though I knew I'd probably have to.

But then I looked out into the living room, to a computer out on a desk. The computer was playing some kind of show or visual program. It looked like a bunch of papers shuffling around on some kind of classical desk.

I could now tell that the sounds were coming from the computer. It seemed kind of weird to me that the visual program of papers shuffling on a desk would be accompanied by the sound of glass breaking and metal bars jangling and shuffling around.

But I think I figured that if I got closer to the computer, to see what the visual program was really all about, it would probably all make a lot more sense to me.

Dream #3

I sat in something like a conference room, at the right side a long, oval or rectangular table. I sat positioned directly across the table from the door into the conference room. To my left sat a woman who kind of looked like Camille Paglia, except taller and heavier.

The woman's hair was in a really bad fashion, about six inches long, but feathered all around her head like a bowl. She was probably wearing a terrible outfit -- some kind of circus-peanuts-orange blouse, a silver pendant with a black stone in the middle of it, and some kind of chunky, tweed skirt.

I had at least one notebook and a bunch of papers. I was sharing ideas about companies with the woman. I don't think the woman worked with corporations. But I think she worked a lot with ideas in general. So I wanted to throw my ideas about companies out to her as being just about ideas in general.

Suddenly a tall, overweight, pale, bald businessman came walking into the room. He was apparently my boss -- even though I didn't have a job anymore. The woman left for some reason or another. The man eyed the woman and me with jealousy.

I felt like I shouldn't have been sharing my ideas with this woman. Instead, I should have been sharing them with my boss (or ex-boss). I got all sheepish, panicky, and stuttery. I stood out of my chair and pulled up one of my notebooks.

I told my (ex-)boss, "Y--y--you see, I was just talking to her about Lockheed Martin. You see, I've pulled some ideas together about the company." (I may have said "LMT," and not "Lockheed Martin.")

When I mentioned Lockheed Martin, the man made a kind of impressed, humming-grunting sound. Encouraged, I went on. I flipped through a few pages in my notebook, explaining some stuff about Lockheed Martin that I don't remember at all anymore.

Most of the pages were written in black ink. But I got to one page where I'd written on three themes regarding "LMT." Each theme was written in a different color. There was a red section, then a blue section, then a green section.

Each section was separated from the next by a line, which may have had the title for the next section or theme. This line may have always been written in red ink.

Good morning, everybody. I recall three dreams from "last night" -- although these dreams all come from about the last hour that I was in bed.

Dream #1

I was in "my house," which was a two-floor house. I was in a bedroom on the second floor of the house. The curtains were pulled back. Outside, the sky looked grey and cold.

I may have just moved into this house. I was kind of surprised that I had so much space. I'd never had this much space in my life. Still, the place wasn't huge. It was two floors, but it was rather narrow.

Nevertheless, as I walked down the stairs to the first floor, I thought that people would see a guy like me living in a place like this, and, getting jealous, they'd try to break into my place.

I tried to think of what I could do to prevent a break-in. I thought I would never use anything I owned while sitting near a window on the second floor. That way nobody would ever see that I actually owned anything.

I thought that the only thing I would do on the first floor would be to watch TV, even though I thought that would be dangerous, too. But I figured that everybody owned a TV. So why would anybody want mine, too?

I considered what I would watch on TV. I wondered if I had cable TV. I hadn't owned a TV in quite some tiime. Maybe everybody got cable TV nowadays. Or maybe, I thought, this place was like a hotel. And all hotels had cable TV. I may have considered watching some porn.

Dream #2

I was in a living room of an apartment with a group of friends, none of whom I recognize. The friends were all young, pretty cool. The living room was a little dim, as if it were lit only from a light in the hallway, around a corner.

I sat on the floor before a coffee table that was set against the wall. A stereo stood on the coffee table. Cluttered before the stereo were huge binders full of lists of karaoke songs.

I had one book open and was flipping through the pages, trying to find a particular song. But the book was full of pictures instead of titles. Each page may have had two or three CD-sized pictures on each side. One picture I remember of a person (man?) standing over a dark landscape under a purple sky.

There were so few pictures per page and so few pages in this book, that I thought the chances were slim of my song being in this book. And I couldn't figure out how the songs were arranged: not in alphabetical order, but in some kind of picture order -- if they were, in fact, in any order at all.

I concluded that my song wasn't in this particular book. Somebody may have taken the book from me. I shuffled through some of the other books. I may now not even have been able to remember what song I wanted to sing.

The covers of the binders were all really awesome. They had all kinds of flaming designs of people,guitars, and monsters. Each binder held song lists for a specific genre of music, and the picture on the front represented the genre. Sometimes the picture actually had the name of the genre written above it in fancy lettering.

I finally chose a certain binder, figuring this was the genre of music I wanted to sing, so that the song I'd been looking for all along would probably be in this binder.

Dream #3

I was at "my house," an apartment on the upper floor of a big building. The apartment probably had a living room and two or three bedrooms.

The apartment was busy with a few other people, probably all older than me, some of them somewhat older. There weren't a lot of people in the apartment, but the craziness of their actions made it feel like the place was stuffed with people. The living room was bright, frenetic, and totally messy.

The apartment was all mine, but the people who were here right now were trying to move in and stay here. For some reason, I really wasn't doing much about it.

Just off from the living room was a small, bright hallway. At the end of the hallway was a little niche, in which was set a white, wood chest of drawers. The chest was a little more than a meter tall, and maybe 2/3 of a meter wide.

Some old, short, fat, white man with a balding head, scraggly, grey hair, and a loose, stubbly face, had one of the drawers open and was crowding me away from it. I was fighting the man, trying to get him out of my stuff. This was my chest, and the man had no right messing around with it.

But the man kept shoving me off. He was pouring stuff into the top drawer from out of a garbage bag. The old man himself may have been wearing a weird outfit that looked like a mix between a potato sack, long underwear, a mattress, and a garbage bag.

I looked into the drawer. It looked like there were a bunch of small, empty,glass vials inside. It looked like vials that had once held drugs. I got really mad. Was this guy pouring garbage bags full of drugs and drug paraphernalia all over my house?