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    maboroshi

    1. moving out; movie discussion

      by , 12-30-2011 at 03:16 PM
      Good morning, everybody.

      Dream #1

      I was walking up the stairs in a fire escape stairwell in an office building. The walls were white and the light was either incandescent or a warm-feeling fluorescent. There may have been one or two people ahead of me, guiding me. One may have been a pretty, young woman.

      I was told something about the office where I was being taken. It had something to do with the difference between this place and my old office. I felt like probably nobody would even know me here.

      The door opened to the office floor. Colorful Christmas lights were glaring somewhere at the periphery of my vision. The two people guiding me either disappeared or walked really far away into the office.

      I was by myself in a corner of the office. It felt kind of like an elevator bank. But it was open to the rest of the office. I wasn't even sure why I was supposed to be in this office in the first place.

      A young man came up to greet me. I knew him! (I don't think I really know him IWL.) I was so relieved to know somebody.

      But the man didn't quite want to acknowledge that he recognized me, as well. Some people didn't like me, and the man didn't want to be seen by them as liking me. So he just treated me politely, but indifferently, like he'd treat anybody who came into the office.

      The man may have told me that my old boss would be here to meet with me momentarily. In the meantime, the man said, I could visit the museum on this floor. The man walked me to the wall behind me -- the wall with the doorway to the stairwell.

      Off to the left of the doorway was something that looked like a display. It was about the size of an animal display diorama in a museum.

      The "display" was of something like a space station. It looked fake, like one solid, plastic piece -- almost like a Star Wars toy! But some part of it, I knew, opened like a door. From there, you would walk into the museum. The museum would, I think, be about the size of a hallway, or the size of one exhibit room in a large museum.

      Off to the left of this "museum" was a long hallway. On the right wall of the hallway, from the waist up, were windows letting in a lot of yellow-white sunlight. The floor of the hallway was blue.

      I was now in "my apartment," which was rather large. The living area, which may have included the dining area, was three or four rooms long, with all the rooms opening into each other, only distinguished from another by the varying widths of their rectangles.

      The place was empty of furntiture. But there was stuff everywhere on the floor. Nothing was cluttered, and maybe everything had some kind of order. But it mostly felt like I just had all the stuff I liked just laying around everywhere.

      I'm not sure, but at this point, I think I looked like Lance Loud, from An American Family.



      (In this photo, Lance is standing, to the far right. The mother, Pat, is seated, in the center.)

      I had my phone to my ear, and maybe I was waiting for someone to pick up on the other end. I was looking down to the floor as I stepped over all the stuff I had laying around on the floor.

      I think I walked over some vinyl records, in their sleeves, and over a really old cassette tape player, the cassettes for which were bigger than eight-track tape cassettes.

      I probably started thinking about music. I thought of something that I really wanted to hear. I was going to play it. The music may now already have been playing. I still had the phone to my ear.

      But suddenly I realized -- I'm almost all out of money! It's totally wrong for me to stay in this place with no money. I can't sit here listening to music. I need to get all my stuff reduced and organized, so I can get the hell out of here!

      I may now have started putting together a plan for how to throw out a bunch of useless papers I didn't need, so I'd have less stuff to take with me once I left this place.

      I was now in a house which was supposed to be the Loud family house. At this point I definitely looked like Lance Loud. The house had two stories. I was up on the second floor, in a bedroom which had been converted into an office.

      I wasn't a member of the family. I was like a friend of some member of the family. But I had also been doing some kind of work for them. I had had tough times, and I needed to stay at their house. I think I had been staying at the house a couple of days, but now I was getting ready to leave.

      Pat, the mom from An American Family, came into the room. I was reclined -- somehow -- either against an office chair and some small filing cabinets, or on a bed.

      Pat sat down on something and told me that she knew I was planning on leaving the house. But she said she didn't think I actually had enough money yet to go out on my own. She said she was going to talk with the rest of the family about seeing whether I couldn't stay here a little while longer.

      Pat stood up and left. I looked through the doorway. There was a short, balcony-like hallway, with the stairs on the end closer to me. Again, I'm pretty sure I saw the colorful glare of Christmas lights somewhere.

      I was kind of relieved that Pat had asked me to stay. But I knew that I couldn't accept the offer, anyway. I didn't want any of the manlier men in the family to think I was just being a waste by sticking around here. I knew that if Pat made a good case for me, none of the men would say anything to my face. But I'd always have to deal with them showing me how they felt in other ways.

      I figured that what I would do, then, if Pat got the okay for me to stay, was just act like I was going to stay here, after all. Then, when nobody was looking, probably when everybody was gone from the house or asleep at night, I'd just pack up all my stuff and sneak out, leaving a letter saying why I'd gone.

      Dream #2

      I was walking down the hallway of some movie theatre. I was in a huge line either for tickets or to get into the theatre itself. The wall to my left was just a plain, beige-colored wall, possibly with some kind of wallpaper that looked like thickly-threaded linen.

      To my right was a wall that occasionally had narrow, tall windows, letting in the grey light of late afternoon. There were also occasional arcade games positioned along this wall. And somewhere there was a feeling of faint, flashing, multi-colored lights.

      There were a couple of people, probably a man and a woman, directly ahead of me, talking about a movie. The woman was doing most of the talking, and she sounded kind of arrogant and pretentious.

      Apparently the film the woman was talking about was a short film. The woman was speaking about the director of the film. The director may also have been a character in the film -- a comic kind of character who, even though he wasn't the main character, was supposed to "steal the show."

      I may have had an image of this guy in my head. He may have been a white guy, kind of rich-looking, wearing a really garish, multi-colored tuxedo, and a hat that looked either like a wizard's hat or a dunce cap, which was also multi-colored.

      I then looked off to my right, to a part of the right wall of the hallway that bent diagonally toward us, making the hallway narrower. On the sloping part of the wall was a poster for the movie the woman had just been talking about. The man was on the front, in his costume. He may have been waist-deep in popcorn.

      I realized that the film wasn't a short film. It was feature-length. And it was the film we were all heading in to see (or buying tickets for?) right now.

      I had been telling myself that I really didn't want to see the movie. I really didn't like the director. But now that I'd seen the poster, and now that I realized the movie was feature-length, I decided that I actually would like to see it.
    2. american family resentment; dad and doll-boy

      by , 12-10-2011 at 03:13 PM
      Good morning, everybody.

      For anybody interested in time and dreams, I'm pretty sure that the first dream took place in less than one minute. I woke up to a police siren, fell asleep, had the dream, and woke up to another siren.

      Dream #1

      I was walking through a museum, along a second floor balcony overlooking a first floor kind of atrium area. It was probably night, and it seemed like more than half the lights in the museum were turned off. I may have been looking down to the first floor, to a few glass-cased displays along one of the walls.

      I was now listening to some man, who was supposed to be the father, Bill Loud, from the 1971 reality show An American Family. But the man sounded a bit younger and a bit meaner than Bill Loud. He was complaining to someone about how one of his sons, probably Lance, was too into museums.

      The man complained that now the son wanted the man to go to the museums with him. But the man said, "God, what makes him think I'm interested in going off to see a bunch of tropical colored, electrical fish?"

      I now sat at a dining table at the back end of the balcony area. This part of the balcony extended, it seemed, into the main part of the second floor. There may have been a number of tables here. The table I sat at was long, able to seat eight or ten people. But the only other person at the table was Lance Loud, who sat directly across from me.

      We sat mostly in darkness. The only light seemed to be coming from a kitchen area, behind me and maybe twenty or thirty meters away.

      I had looked down to the first floor at some point. It was now like a movie theatre, including a ground level and a balcony. And it was packed. I knew now that the creators of An American Family had come out with a new documentary, possibly further documenting the life of the Loud family.

      I thought of the creators of America as Frederick Wiseman, the great documentary filmmaker. But apparently Wiseman was actually twins. There were two Wisemans.

      Lance was here for the premiere of the new Wiseman documentary. But it was kind of against his will. He kind of resented the Wisemans. He felt like the An American Family reality show had ruined his family. The Wiseman twins knew that Lance felt that way. And they resented Lance as well.

      Lance was busy complaining to me about the Wiseman twins when they walked past us, heading toward a stairway down to the movie theatre.

      The Wiseman twins looked nothing like Frederick Wiseman. They looked more like short versions of the psychic researcher Russ Targ. They had puffy, curly, grey hair, though most of their forehead was bald. They were square-faced, though their faces were a bit wrinkly. One of the twins wore a white sweater. The other one wore a black leather jacket.

      As the twins passed us, one of them made a kind of rude remark to Lance in a deep, gravelly, but loose and relaxed kind of voice. The twins knew Lance didn't want to be here, and the twins didn't want Lance to be here.

      But one of the twins saw that I was sitting with Lance. He had walked to the top of the staircase. But now he turned around and came back to Lance. In a relaxed, but courteous tone he told Lance, "We're having a ----- after the show. You're more than welcome to come."

      The twin walked away. Lance said, really loud, so the twin could hear him, but in such a way as to sound like he was talking only to me, "Oh, like I'd actually want to go to something like that!"

      The ----- was something like a viewing of behind the scenes clips from the documentary. This was supposed to be of great interest to a lot of the people who had been involved with the film.

      Dream #2

      There was a man in maybe his forties who was the father of a girl in her early twenties. The father had had the chance on a couple occasions to be around the girl's circle of friends.

      The father felt like it was possible that one of the men in this group would want to marry the girl. The father didn't quite feel comfortable about this. The men seemed either like total screw-ups or like people who would kind of treat the girl in a mean way.

      But the father decided that he needed to get to know the guys better before he jumped to such conclusions about them.

      The father was now standing out on a driveway in the late afternoon. The father was white, with tan, tough skin and a square haircut of grey and white hair. He wore a white polo shirt. He was in shape, if not actually even muscular.

      The father thought it was a stroke of luck -- one of the girl's friends, the one, it seemed, the girl was most interested, was standing in the driveway as well. The father could get to know the guy.

      The guy was now standing before the garage. The garage door was open. An incandescednt light lit the garage. There was no car in the garage. But at the very front of the garage was a small shelf, on which sat a few doll-like girls' toys.

      The guy was standing there, staring at the doll-toys and giggling to himself. I was kind of concerned for the boy. I felt like the father might think the guy was some kind of pervert for being so interested in girls' toys. But the father didn't feel that way. The father just thought the guy was artistic, interested in these toys for an artistic reason.

      The father walked up to the guy to talk to him. The guy was a bit shorter than the father. He was pale white, about half bald, with short, disarranged hair on the rest of his head. He was a little chubby, and his flabby cheeks were dotted with stubble. He wore chunky, square eyeglasses and a too-big, blue-green t-shirt.

      The guy, sensing the father behind him, turned around, while still giggling at the girls' toys. He found himself face to face with the father.

      But the guy didn't feel he needed to acknowledge the father at all. He kept giggling about the toys, then turned off and to his right, walking toward and then into the front door of the house.
    3. purple sky telepathy; lance loud fired; strieber to die; duvall's interview; talking schwarzenegger

      by , 06-19-2011 at 01:14 PM
      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.