maboroshi

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was a young, white boy, maybe in high school. I had a mustache, and, instead of shaving it off I would try to trim it down to size. But each time I thought I had it right, I would somehow, while going about my usual business, realize I had a few really long hairs in my mustache.

At one point, possibly while in school, talking with a male classmate, I suddenly realized I had a few long hairs in my mustache. In panic, I ran down a long hallway to a bathroom to get the hairs off my face.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I was short, skinny, with fair skin, and greenish eyes. I had shaggy, red-brown hair, and I wore a blue sweater.

I put my face really close to the mirror. I noticed that my "mustache" was just a few stray hairs above my lip, some of which were very long. I trimmed some of the long hairs. But I thought, in a panic, that this still wasn't enough. Why didn't I shave my mustache off altogether?

Dream #2

I walked away from talking with a male friend of mine. I walked through a city street of cobblestones and nice, old buildings about four or five stories high. It was daytime, clear, and sunny. The streets were almost completely empty.

Looking back over my right shoulder, I saw a young, black man in casual clothes walking down the street. I must have looked forward again. I may have been looking for one of my friends, as if I were meeting him somewhere.

I looked behind my right shoulder again. I saw a black man, maybe 10 or so years older than I, walk into what looked like a bar on the corner of the street. The man looked like one of my old friends, M. I hadn't seen him in such a long time, and he is such a great person. So I thought I'd run after him and say hi.

The place was a cafe rather than a bar. It was kind of narrow, and crowded with people. But it was full of a warm cheerfulness, as if everybody were happy to be out of the cold (even though I don't remember it having been very cold outside). The light was warm but and pale, as if the walls were painted a pale yellow.

I saw the man. But as I got closer and closer, he looked less and less like my old friend. Nevertheless, I still patted his shoulder to get his attention. I was about to say, "Hey, M!" But now I saw for sure that it was not M. I said, "Oh --sorry."

I was about to walk away, possibly toward a table. But the man stopped me. He asked me, "Did you want to say something? Why did you need to get my attention?"

I didn't want to tell the man I'd thought he was my old friend M. I thought that would make me look like an ignorant jerk.

I looked a little more at the man. He had dark skin, a round face, a little bit of grey and black stubble, and short dreads. He wore a pale blue and white striped button up shirt, dark, cuffed blue jeans, and sandals. He also wore a weird, metallic necklace with a huge dragon with open wings.

I thought I'd tell the man I thought his necklace was cool. But I didn't say anything.

The man told me that he made jewelry. He showed me a pair of silver earrings that looked really cool. The man then explained that he sold jewelry at this cafe, and that he came by every now and then to check on his sales.

The man walked me over to a wooden counter atop which were a few rotating displays of the man's earrings. The earrings were mainly long, narrow, and silver, with stones set into the ends or in the middles. I may have seen the man's name or the earring line's design name. The name started with "Bh."

Dream #3

I was in a big movie theatre. The theatre was dim and mostly empty. The theatre seemed huge, much larger than a normal theatre. The screen was high up on the wall. I sat in the front row.

I was here to see a Frederick Wiseman documentary, but I couldn't remember which one. I thought it had to do with kids in a tough situation.

A film now appeared on the screen (though, somehow, the screen appeared partly blocked by a tall potted plant or some pipes or wires or something).

The screen showed two boys, maybe about 8 and 10 years old. They were sitting in one of the front rows of the balcony of a theatre. The older boy was sharing popcorn with the younger boy, who wore huge glasses. The younger boy leaned his head against the older boy's shoulder.

Some young boy, about the age of the boys on screen, called from behind me, "Oh, Wiseman does this kind of thing all the time." I agreed with the boy's critique, although I didn't think it was a bad thing, just characteristic of Wiseman's style.

I wondered what the heck this documentary was about. I wondered if it was in fact a preview for the documentary I had actually come to see. I had come to see a film about kids in a tough situation. But here were these kids in a theatre. I thought that maybe the kids were in some kind of acting school for kids in a tough situation. But these kids looked like they were from a comfortable, if not rich, family.

I realized this documentary was about some kind of elite acting school. The second scene showed the parents as they were dropping their students off at the school. The parents all sat in a fluorescent-lit room. The room of folding-chairs was about half- occupied with parents.

The camera panned from the left to the right of the room, from the front, almost as if behind a pane of glass, as if from another room. But you could see (from what I could see behind the stuff partly blocking the screen) that a lot of these parents were themselves celebrities.

At one point, Shelley Duvall, in an Annie Hall like suit, was complaining about the way one of her kids was being treated at the school. Everybody in the audience (my audience) laughed at Shelley Duvall's speech, as if her ideas and mannerisms were so characteristic of her.