maboroshi

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was with two friends, a man and a woman. We were walking into something like a high school gymnasium which had been done up for a flea-market-type sale.

Just inside the heavy metal doors was an aisle of tables, running from the left to the right, and extending across the width of the gymnasium. The tables were all divided into booths, and were filled with people selling things.

It seemed like my friends and I had gotten to the flea-market sale pretty early. There weren't many other customers around. Some of the vendors may still have been arranging their booths.

My male friend split off from my female friend and I. My female friend was a black woman, short, a bit overweight. She had short hair arranged in little spikes or braid-like twists.

We walked toward the back, right corner of the aisle. My friend stopped and looked at some shirts. They were long-sleeved shirts, warm for the winter, in kind of flat green and cream-white. I may have fondled a square, paper tag that may have said something about how the shirts were made of hemp-cloth.

My friend now stopped at a booth with hats on it. She picked up a blue denim hat with a short, round brim. She put it on and asked me how she looked. I thought she looked pretty cool.

I thought I'd fool around and try on a hat as well. But my friend chose a hat for me. She said I'd look good in a cowboy hat. The hat she gave me was huge, almost like a caricature of a cowboy hat. But both sides of the brim were also pinned to the crown of the hat -- so the hat kind of looked like a hat-taco.

I put it on anyway and looked at myself in a mirror on the back wall of the booth. I thought I looked like a complete goofball.

I think at this part I started to hear voices in my head. They sounded like the voice of Sherlock Holmes. I may have been reasoning something out, as if I were Sherlock Holmes.

Suddenly I was in a room. I was one of three children. But I wasn't in the body of whichever child I was.

The children were actually more like young adults. They were probably in their late teens and early twenties. There were two boys and one girl.

One of the boys was Sherlock Holmes. The girl was a really pretty, fair-skinned girl with kind of slim eyes and long, pale-brown hair. The kids all had the style and attitude of kids from the late 1970s.

The kids were all up in one of their bedrooms, which was a kind of small room up on a second or third floor of a mansion. They'd each alternately pace lazily around the room or lay down on the bed, roll around on it, etc.

The kids were all speaking with each other. Sherlock Holmes still seemed to be reasoning something out with himself. The girl was at least teasing Sherlock Holmes, if not the other boy. All three kids were lazy -- and they knew it. But the girl took a little bit more pleasure in teasing the boys for being lazy.

The girl had to leave. Then the two boys were together. But then one of the boys had to leave. The other boy was by himself.

During this time the boy had transformed from Sherlock Holmes into Lewis Carroll. As Sherlock Holmes, the boy had been just a regular boy, or young man, from the 1970s. As Lewis Carroll, something about him changed. He actually took on more of a late nineteenth century appearance.

But the boy was still lazy. He may have known that the girl had gone off and found a job. And the other boy may have at least gone looking for a job as well. But Sherlock/Lewis was still just sitting up in his room.

Sherlock/Lewis was thinking of what kind of excuse he'd give his parents (with whom he was still living) for not yet having found a job.

He thought he'd make up something about being a writer and needing his time to write. In my mind's eye I saw a huge, yellow pencil laying across the bed with the boy. I thought the writer excuse kind of made sense. After all, if this was Lewis Carroll, he was really a great writer.

But then Sherlock/Lewis, looking out the window, started thinking about what his dad would say about him. I could hear his dad's voice in his head. Eventually the dad's speech took over the narrative.

The dad, who was like Bill Loud in the show An American Family, was narrating a letter that he'd written to his wife. His wife was out in some foreign country, maybe France, taking care of some business.

The dad wrote his wife that he'd gone to visit the daughter at either the location of her new job or at her college campus. Either way, the daughter was in a new town. But this was a town where the dad and mom had met and fallen in love. So the dad was happy to go back there.

There was a view of some part of a campus, I think, in this town. There were a lot of trees. But it was winter, and the trees were all leafless. The branches struck me as being very black.

The father wrote/narrated a very sentimental statement that began with him sighing, "Ah!, the memories..."

Now there was a strange view of painty-looking or animated-looking flowers, huge, five-petalled, yellow flowers, blossoming on the barren branches. The father made some kind of statement about the first experience of love between him and his wife, and how it was as delicate as trembling petals.

Dream #2

I was watching a documentary. There was a black and white photograph of two girls from a wealthy Italian family. The girls were sitting on the left rim of the pool for a big fountain, which was out on a gravel driveway leading up to the family's huge mansion.

The photo was really blotchy. It was apparently taken in the 1940s, though the girls seemed to me to look more like they were from the 1970s, or even the present.

The girls both had really long hair, which was very straight and plain. And the girls wore very short denim shorts, or denim coveralls with very short leggings. Both girls had a skinny look about them, though neither really was skinny. They both looked a little dull and overly spoiled.

The view now closed in on the girl sitting higher up on the rim. This girl was the older sister. A narrator now explained that the older sister had a disease, which had made her life very tragic.

As the narrator continued, the view now became active and in color. The view had shifted away from the fountain and onto the gravel driveway. It was the present. But things at this estate were pretty much the same as they had been in the 1940s.

There were a few old men standing out by some junk in the driveway. It looked like it may have been a ticket booth and some other equipment related to an old-time carnival.

The narrator's speech had continued. The narrator had explained that the girl had never been particularly pretty. But as she reached her seventeenth year, she'd begun to blossom into a more beautiful girl.

But at this time, the girl was suddenly struck by a disease which was like a cancer, eating away at her face. The disease was combatted once, and the girl was okay. But then the disease came back again and again, until a few years later, the girl's face was completely ravaged.

One of the men in the gravel driveway now walked over to the right side of the road. There was a big structure there. It was made of concrete, and it was as tall as the man. It was shaped like the plastic head of a baby doll. And I supposed that the face of this giant, concrete baby doll was turned away from me, so that I only saw the back of the head.

The back of the head, though, had a huge chunk smashed right out of its center. The chunk revealed , through a thick, ragged window of concrete-white, pebbly casing, the hollowness of the doll's head.

I assmumed that there was probably a similar smashing in on the front side of this gigantic baby doll's head. And I assumed that this head was a metaphor for the 1940s girl's head. I realized that this was what the disease had done to the woman.

Dream #3

Some anime. The main bad guy was a beautiful-man kind of figure: skinny, elegant, with long, purple hair. He was a very sinister kind of character.

But it turned out that the reason the bad guy had been causing all the trouble was because somebody had taken his favorite teddy bear away from him. He assumed the good guys had done it. So he was causing all kinds of trouble for them.

I thought this was a really disappointing reason for a bad guy to be bad. It cheapened the whole story. I couldn't even figure out why good guys would fight this bad guy at all.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was watching some kind of documentary or TV show about a man who had some kind of really bad disease. But I was also, somehow, in the scene, helping the man. The man's disease may have been terminal.

The man was really overweight. He had dark olive colored skin. He wore a running cap and a white, long-sleeved shirt. The man and I may have hugged or something like that. The man seemed to be really grateful that I had been helping him.

There was another scene that I'm pretty sure I wasn't in. It was more like watching a TV show. The man was standing outside, embracing a girl with his right arm. The girl was probably the man's daughter. The man and daughter were surrounded by news reporters.

The man mentioned something about his appearance. It looked awkward somehow. This was, the man explained, because he was going through sex-change therapy. The chemicals he was taking were giving him a more "feminine" appearance.

I wondered why the hell this guy was taking chemical sex-change therapy at this time. He was apparently dying from a disease. Plus, he had to take all kinds of chemicals in hopes of getting rid of this disease. Now he was taking chemicals for a sex change? It seemed like too much for his body.

Dream #2

I was in a living room with my brother. We were probably watching TV. I was laying on the floor. My brother sat on the couch.

My brother told me, "Sit up and give me the device."

As if I had no will of my own, I sat up, as if to get my brother the device he'd mentioned. My brother seemed to gloat about this. He knew he had the power to control people's minds and actions.

I told myself my brother wasn't really controlling me, and that I would get him the device, just to show that I liked my brother and I wanted to help him.

The device was up on the top of the entertainment center in which the TV sat. It may have been just to the right of a VCR or a DVD player.

The device was some sort of rocket shaped like a stick. But its propulsion mechanism wasn't an explosive. It was like a clear lens that used some kind of electronic process.

My brother had attached a camcorder to the rocket. He was going to film what the rocket did. The rocket and the camera together looked like a bottle rocket.

The rocket was made only for destructive purposes. I knew that my brother's first use of this rocket was going to be to crash it into the face of some woman on a TV news program.

In my mind's eye I saw the rocket crash into the newswoman's face. The rocket may have lodged itself pretty deeply into the newswoman's head. It had to be pulled out. When the rocket was pulled out, I may have seen a view of the newswoman's mutilated face.