maboroshi

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

It was really late at night. I was walking out on a sidewalk in front of the building where my old job was. I noticed that there was a karaoke bar similar to the one I regularly go to. I was kind of surprised to see a second bar like this, so I went in to check it out.

There was a small, narrow staircase leading down into the bar. The bar was also small and narrow, very dark. There were a few young, white men sitting at the bar. They looked kind of miserable, a little scraggly and unkempt. The bartenders were all Indian, and they all wore headdresses.

I looked for the karaoke song books. I found a couple laying around. At some point, I looked at a menu and ordered food -- home fries and cucumbers. I didn't really feel like singing. The place was so dark and cheerless. I looked around, but I couldn't seem to find any screens for singing.

I finally saw a television screen. A news program was playing on it. A mass grave had been found somewhere. Some group like the al Qaeda had murdered a bunch of people, possibly Jewish people. They had buried each person in a specific square and then put some sort of statement in the square of soil over each person.

The news report may have said that the statements were Jewish or written in Hebrew or the language of the victim. In this way, it almost seemed like the statement was a statement of solidarity with the victim, as if the people had been part of some kind of voluntary death. This was confusing to me.

I then got a closer look at the grave -- still on the television screen. Some squares of soil were undug, revealing people's bodies, which weren't decayed at all, so that it looked like the people had only recently died. Other squares were still untouched. I saw the writing on the soil. A lot of the writing was actually ancient Egyptian. I couldn't figure out why al Qaeda would use ancient Egyptian.

A young man, apparently of the family of the people running this bar, was sitting behind the bar or at the end of the bar. He was dressed in a modern fashion. His skin was pale, and his tightly curly hair was cut short. He may have had green eyes.

The man turned around and looked past me, into the kitchen, which was bright with fluorescent light (and which may have been the only source of light in the bar). The man spoke to one of the older men, saying something to the effect of, "Well, that's what (whatever race it was) gets. They deserved it."

I felt like, when the man was saying that, he was also saying something about me. I felt like the men didn't like me because I appeared to be of whatever race it was that they didn't like. I figured I'd just get my food and go.

The young man took my money and handed me a small, white bag (paper or plastic or some kind of papery plastic?). There was, I could tell, a very small, clear, plastic box inside of it. I thought I'd ordered a decent amount of food. And I thought I'd paid a good amount for the amount of food I thought I'd ordered.

The young man was already talking more with the older men and making it clear that he was going to ignore me for the rest of the time I was there. I opened the bag to see if I'd actually gotten what I'd ordered. I saw a little bit of home fries and a little bit of cucumbers in the small, plastic box. I figured that was fine, and that I'd take it. I didn't feel like arguing with the men to get more food.

I walked toward the exit. As I passed something that looked like a tiered display for desserts, but which held karaoke books, I thought that I would say something out loud like, "Yeah, I really like this place, but I'll come back at another time. I just wanted to check it out and see if it was good." It was like I thought the men actually cared whether I liked this place and like they actually wanted my business.