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    maboroshi

    suicide over artwork; two big cookies; la strada spies

    by , 10-13-2011 at 01:25 PM (456 Views)
    Good morning, everybody.

    Dream #1

    I was standing in some place like an art museum. I stood at the edge of two rooms, like I was in a third room or a hallway. The two rooms were separated from each other by a small divider. Both of the rooms were pretty wide and airy. But the walls seem to have been spattered with paint, mostly red, with highlights of yellow.

    In the room on my right, hanging right next to the dividing wall, was a long, hanging-scroll type of artwork. I may have thought of it as a Japanese painting. But may have been more like an embroidery, with a lot of gold thread. It showed Buddha on the top of a mountain, meditating.

    A little, Asian boy ran up to the artwork and began pushing at it. He was pushing at it so hard that the fabric was stretching, becoming gauze-like, semi-transparent. I was panicked that the boy was going to tear the artwork. But I didn't want to say anything to him.

    I now noticed that the artwork hung by something like a paper towel roll, through which ran a little rod like a metal clothes hanger. As the boy was pushing, the paper towel roll kept coming more and more off the rod. I knew the artwork would crumple to the ground.

    I still felt shy about talking to the boy. But I went and found an older Asian man, who I figured must have been the boy's father. The man was skinny, with coppery skin, a receding hairline, and a slim, square cut of dark, black hair.

    The man seemed to have a little trouble understanding English. But once he understood what I was saying, he went after the boy. By this time the artwork had probably been pushed to the ground. There seemed to be smoke, more like the sweetish-smelling stage smoke, all over the place. I seemed to be standing behind waist-high stacks of boxes.

    The man and I now stood in another room, which was like the frame of a burnt-out house. There was smoke or steam everywhere around us. But we may basically have been outside, on a kind of yellowy-pale day.

    The woman was upset, possibly because the artwork had been ruined. She was telling me and the man that she would be fine.

    I now saw from the woman's viewpoint. I told the man (and somebody else?) that I was going to go home and shoot myself in the heart.

    Dream #2

    I was in a living room with my old friend R. I sat on the floor. R sat either on the floor or on the couch. The room was kind of dim, and there was stuff, including blankets, cluttered all around us.

    I had a huge cookie before me. It was maybe 75cm in diameter. It was white, and it may have had something in it, like walnuts or pecans.

    R encouraged me to eat the cookie. He seemed to think I was being a bit too shy about it. So I took a piece off the edge of the cookie and ate it.

    R now revealed that he had a huge, brown cookie with stuff in it like chocolate chips, but not quite. R had to unwrap his cookie from a clear cellophane wrapper. He began eating his cookie and bragging about how good it was. Something about this was supposed to make me feel bad, like he'd "tricked" me into eating my own cookie while he got to eat his cookie, which was better than mine.

    I decided I'd test out R's cookie, so I grabbed a chunk of it and ate it. R looked at me like he wanted to kill me.

    Dream #3

    It was night. I was in the back of the car with a guy. I sat on the left side. The guy sat on the right.

    The guy was kind of tall, heavy, with a rounding jaw and squarish head. He had a short, square haircut with red-brown hair. He wore a black leather jacket. When he spoke, the guy had an accent that sounded Russian to me.

    The guy talked about the Federico Fellini movie La Strada. He mentioned a group of people who were in the movie, but more in a sense like the movie was a real-life environment, of which they were a part. They had come into this place as spies. They may have been from the FBI.

    The guy said these FBI spies had had such a great time in La Strada. "If they were having such a good time there, why did they go back to America? Why didn't they stay?"

    Something about what the guy said didn't make sense to me. It may have been that I'd thought that of course the guys would want to go home: they'd only been here to spy.

    We drove past some building like an auto repair garage. The garage door was all clear plexiglass, and the lights were on in the garage. But a couple of guys were pasting a humongous map of the United States up against the garage door, to block the view inside.

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