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Good morning, everybody. I recall two dreams from last night. They're both fragmented.

I've been sick over the past couple days, and my sleep cycle has been all weird. So I think my body has taken whatever sleep it could get, and my dreams have been of secondary concern.

Plus, my boss has been playing some wacky cat and mouse game with me for the past two weeks. I've been stressing out, waiting for some resolution. It gets more stressful each day. That obviously screws with my dream memory, too.

Dream #1

A black and white view, as if of a somewhat modern movie posing as an old, black and white movie. A young, red-haired woman in kind of greasy denim overalls and a button-up work shirt was in her apartment, backed up against a wall or the doorway to a wide closet. The woman looked panicked.

A number of men rushed into the room. They were all big and strong. But the woman had a wrench. She smacked one man on the back of the neck with a wrench. She may have also beat another man with the wrench. The remaining men may have run away or scattered back against the opposite wall of the room, possibly near a radiating heater.

I got the impession of the men's names (or heard the men's names through narration?). The men's names were very similar, mostly like variations of Neil, like Niall, Niell, Nall, and Neil. Another man was either named Duncan or MacDuff.

Dream #2

A girl lay on the top bunk of some tall bunk bed. She noticed that she had bed bugs. Some other person, possibly a child, was probably up on the bunk bed with her. The girl started explaining that she knew she had bed bugs. She may have started explaining how she'd gotten them.

Her explanation became a narration from an adult male voice. The dream's view flew, just beneath the roof, through the girl's house (it might actually have been the girl's house -- i.e. she lived there by herself), to the front door.

The narrator explained how three bugs came in through the crack at the bottom of the door. I now saw three bugs come in. One was a "bed bug" (it was kind of a brownish, beetle-like creature). Another was a strange bug that looked like a mix between a big roach and a shaggy-looking trilobite. The last was possibly some kind of black beetle.

The narrator explained how each of the three bugs was attracted by some different element in the house. The narrator seemed to disregard the black beetle altogether throughout his explanation.

The narrator began with the shaggy trilobite. The trilobite had been attracted by some kind of mucousy substance on the floor. As the trilobite scurried along the floor, following this mucousy trail, which would have been unnoticeable to the human eye, it also created a mucousy trail. The trilobite may have ended up somewhere like the kitchen.

I didn't care much about the trilobite, and I was wondering when the narrator would finally get to the bed bugs. Finally the narrator explained the way bed bugs got into the house. I missed or forgot the explanation. I just saw the girl's bed again, the high bunk bed, dizzyingly high off the ground, almost touching the ceiling.

Good morning, everybody. My dream recall from last night is pretty fragmented, especially for the first dream.

Dream #1

In the context of something else I can no longer remember, I was looking at a website which offered some kind of songwriting (?) service. The user would either be charged by word written or by number of whole songs (?) written, depending on how many songs had been written and how long the songs were.

Dream #2

I was coming home at night. I was across the street from "my apartment building." I looked up to the windows of "my apartment" and saw that my lights were on. This, I knew, meant that someone was in my place, as if someone had broken into my place and was just hanging around in there while I was away.

I was now in "my apartment." I was going from room to room, trying to find whether the person was still there. I had a lot of rooms.

In one of the rooms, possibly the bathroom, I pulled back the curtains to the window. I saw that the window was wide open. I knew that the person who had come in here had gotten in through this window.

I went through the rooms, trying to find evidence that someone had been in my place. Was anything missing or misplaced? Was anything in disarray? But I don't think I found anything wrong. I may eventually have found some mess under or on top of a bed in a dim bedroom.

I eventually had one of my friends come over to investigate as well. I don't recognize my friend, and I'm not sure I ever saw him directly in the dream. He was an older, tall, white man with carefully arranged, grey, wavy hair. He wore a very nice suit.

At some point the man and I had left the apartment. I probably had to go on with my normal daily life despite the threat of this house invader.

But the man had an idea. If I stayed close to the apartment but I made it look like I had left the apartment building with no intention of coming back, perhaps the intruder would come back.

So now the old man and I were milling around in the deli near my building. I was probably looking at some bags of chips.

At some point, it may have become evident that the intruder was back in my place. The old man and I may have headed back to the place.

Dream #3

I was watching some old clip of a role Sarah Silverman had had as a child. Apparently she was in some kind of show about high school kids But she looked as young as an elementary school kid. She was also wearing a costume that looked like a plush easter bunny costume, except that it was Elmo-red.

Silverman stood on some huge stage, like for the Lawrence Welk show. The stage and the background were a seamless pink. Silverman stood with a young male friend beside a minivan, which was being displayed, as if for a game show. The front of the minivan was pointed toward the back of the stage.

Silverman was doing some act where she was supposed to be giving a huge, smart monologue about all the great characteristics of this prize minivan. But, as part of the act, she kept screwing up her lines until, out of frustration, she (still part of the act) threw the boy into the minivan and then slammed the sliding door shut.

Silverman then got into the front seat of the van. The shot was from the inside of the van now. It felt like the van was also oriented in the opposite direction.

Silverman was still giving some kind of monologue as she pouted and slouched in the seat, her knees up against the steering wheel. The monologue was supposed to be funny.

But the audience (of whom I hadn't been aware previously) was booing Silverman. Apparently they had been really offended by the way she had thrown the young man in the car, even though it had only been meant to be the comedic climax to her act.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was near "my car" in the woods. It was almost night. The sky was a dull, dark blue. I was all alone.

I may have been planning to sleep in my car for tonight and, perhaps, for a number of nights. I may not, though, have thought this was the right place to sleep. I may have been planning to drive my car somewhere else.

At some other point I remembered one of my male friends talking about living in some other town. He was complaining about what a boring town it was to live in.

He said, "The thing is, it doesn't have a road that leads directly out of town, up to the mountains. You have to take all these roads that wind around town. It's really hard not to stay stuck in town. And that gets really boring.

"Not like Boston. Boston has a road that leads right out of town! It's easy to get out of town and have fun."

At some point I saw a view of "Boston:" a town at the base of some deep-green mountain range, with its "main road" running along the side of the town and a little bit up the slope of mountains. There may have been houses lining one side of the road.

I thought how I didn't quite agree with my friend. I thought the town I was thinking of sleeping or spending some time in was fine. But I didn't want to disagree with my friend and look uncool (even though my friend wasn't really around, and I was just "remembering" a conversation with him).

I may now have been standing on the outskirts of a pretty big mountain town. I stood in the parking lot of some hotel. The hotel building looked kind of like a restaurant building.

(I've seen a building very much like this, in a space very much like this, in at least one other dream.)

Dream #2

I was in some bookstore. The bookstore was huge and mazelike. After winding my way through a few areas, I found myself at a manga section.

There were two thin, Japanese men shelving some books near the manga section. They both had a mild intellectual look, with casual, short haircuts, big eyeglasses, and nice, button-up shirts. They spoke back and forth with each other in Japanese.

I didn't want the guys to think I was just another American who only knew about Japanese culture through manga and j-pop. But I was also really curious about what manga the store had. In particular, I was looking for a copy of Tezuka's Phoenix series.

When I got over to the manga shelves, I heard the men laugh back and forth with each other. I "understood" their Japanese. They were basically saying exactly what I didn't want them to think about me. I got ashamed and thought I would leave the section. But I figured if I was already here, I might as well stay.

But I got bored pretty quick. It was all a lot of new manga. I had been looking for some really old, classic manga. Some of this stuff didn't even look like manga. It looked like airbrushed versions of American comic books with medieval European themes. Some of the books were tall, thin paperbacks with really glossy covers.

Good morning, everybody. I recall three dreams from last night. The third dream definitely occurred between 5 AM and 7 AM.

Just as a side note, in waking life my opinions about South Africa and Chile are not like the portrayals in the second and third dreams. The "South Africa" and "Chile" of my dreams are more a reflection of myself.

The "keyhole" comment the father makes in the third dream is absolutely influenced by the "keyhole" comment the prospective stepfather makes in Laurel Nakadate's movie The Wolf Knife.

Also, I seem to portray myself as some kind of awesome ladies' man and businessman. It would be cool if I were. But, alas...

Dream #1

I may have seen this dream from the third person, and from a very low angle, possibly as low as the floor.

A man was standing on some lower level of floor, and possibly also separated by a barrier, from two other people. The man was probably young, though he may have acted old.

The man was bragging about how McDonald's in his country was better than McDonald's in America. The other two people asked him to explain why.

The man, agitated, shouted, "Well, for example, Big Macs! In my country, our secret sauce has an extra special ingredient!"

The other two asked what this ingredient was.

The man shouted, "Gall!" By which I understood that human gall was being used as an ingredient for the special sauce.

That sounded terribly unappetizing to me. I may have been half awake at this point, wondering why people would volunteer to have their gall-bladders drained so that the gall could be used in Big Macs.

Dream #2

I was sitting with a woman at the back of a darkened conference room. The conference room was full of rows of long tables. At the front of the room was a large pull-down projector screen.

Projected on the screen was a view of a man and a woman. The woman in the room with me sat to my right. The way the woman and man on the screen were positioned, the woman on the screen was across from me and the man on the screen was across from the woman.

The woman on the screen was maybe 17 or 18 years old, black, very pretty, with short, black hair. The man, possibly a little older than the woman, looked Latino or possibly Filipino. He wore a frumpy dress shirt.

The woman and man were representing the appliance company Maytag. They were holding a video conference to discuss the company's financial results.

The woman and the man spoke for a little while and then came to something like a conclusion. I'm pretty sure the discussion didn't have anything to do with Maytag's operations.

The woman then began bowing repeatedly and saying something in Japanese, something incongruent, like "onegashimasu."

I suddenly noticed that the woman was wearing a costume like a mix between Uhuru from Star Trek's dress and a pink, silk cat-girl outfit, even with pink, silk cat-girl ears on her head.

The man and the woman then began joking, as if they were having banter on some kind of TV talk show. I wondered what the heck kind of financial reporting this was.

The man now said something about how the South African broadcasting company was experiencing technical difficulties broadcasting from the present building. So the man and woman had to switch buildings.

I don't know if I'd realized before this point that the conference call was taking place in South Africa. I figured it made sense that there were technical difficulties, given the current infrastructure situation in South Africa (???).

The man and the woman now began clowning around on the screen even more. The screen's view then switched to a view of either a huge office or a huge apartment in a tall building. A pretty, young, Asian woman with really sexy eyes and brown hair sat before the camera, with a huge window behind her.

The Asian woman was eating a huge, sloppy hamburger. She got all fussy and pouty, as if she were offended that anybody might expect her to act professional. She whined, "Well, everybody is still coming over here to get the conference call started. So I'm gonna eat some food."

I was wondering what the hell was going on with this conference call. It was the least professional conference call I'd ever seen in my life.

I wondered how long it was going to take to get the conference call started back up. I wondered if I needed to change buildings as well. I felt like that would cause a terrible delay. But I then realized that my screen was fine. I didn't need to change buildings. It was just the connection in South Africa that was having troubles.

Dream #3

I was in Chile with a somewhat wealthy Chilean family. The family was a father and three daughters.

We had been out doing something when something happened to me whereby I received a lot of money. At the same time, the father received a call from a company saying that he owed the company a lot of money. We had to head back to the family's home, which was a pretty big apartment in a tall building.

I had been flirting with the oldest daughter while we had been out. But, also, something I had done had upset the middle daughter. She was now in the kitchen, pouting.

I walked from the hallway into the kitchen by pushing open a set of swinging doors (like might be in the doorway of a saloon in a Western movie). The kitchen was narrow. The daughter sat in a window well at the end of the kitchen.

I pulled my wallet out of my pocket. I told the girl, "You know I said that once I had money I'd help you with -----." I began fingering through some American bills, trying to figure out how much money I needed to give the girl. The girl warmed up to me. She didn't seem so upset anymore.

I sat in the window-well with the girl. I put my right arm around her. I then began fondling her between her legs with my left hand. I wondered if what I was doing was right. After all, I had just been flirting with the oldest daughter. Should I really be flirting with the middle daughter, too?

Then I realized that, somehow, the "agreement" among the family was that I should act as a "husband" for all three daughters. So it was okay for me to be messing around with all three girls.

Someone called the girl and me out to the living room.

I was now lying on my stomach in the living room, looking into another room through a doorway. I saw a young man lying on his back on a mattress. The young man was sick. He was possibly about to die. One of the reasons, I realized, that we had come back home was because the young man had suddenly taken ill while we had all been out.

(I should also say that somehow the mother's death, "a few years back," played into this part of the dream. But I can't remember how.)

The father was sitting at the table in the adjacent dining room. His business partner sat to his left. The father was on the phone, possibly with the company that was claiming the father's supposed debt.

I figured that there was something I should be doing to take care of this situation. I felt I could be resourceful enough to take care of something. I knew people (???). I should be able to get in touch with someone in the US who knew an expert in Chilean financial legal matters.

The father addressed me. He told me how much he loved this place. He had a black-and-white satellite-photograph map of the neighborhood laid out on the table. He pointed out a specific park that he and his family loved going to. The park was next to a plaza and a museum. It was a very prestigious neighborhood.

My view zoomed "upward" away from the park as the father explained mournfully how it was likely that the family was going to be forced out of this neighborhood by its sudden financial troubles.

My brother, who, I now saw, had been sitting across from the father, pushed a piece of notebook paper across the table to the father. The paper had a transcription of the "contract" which was the main point of dispute between the father and the company.

My brother had made the transcription in green pen. The writing was all some kind of hieroglyphic or symbol language, full of radish-shaped, circular letters with circles inside of them. I might have told myself something silly, like this was the native Mayan (???) language of Chile.

The father began critiquing my brother's transcription. He used a pen to insert a crucial "keyhole" (as he called it) glyph into the transcription.

I sat down to the father's right as he tearfully began explaining everything the contract meant. The father was thin, but it seemed like he was just beginning to gain weight, as if he'd be overweight in a few years. He had coppery skin and a tight, curly hairstyle. He wore a brown, tweed suit, a white dress shirt, and a tie.

The man's business partner wore a very similar suit. But the partner was pale white, very thin, tall, and gangly. He wore square, silver-rimmed glasses. He had shaggy, red-brown hair and a half-stubbly beard.

The father translated the "Mayan" document for me. He was eventually able to explain to me that there was some kind of claim being made by the company for cash which should really have been considered a "non-cash" obligation (???).

It was becoming increasingly clear to me, as the father tearfully explained the text, that the terms of the contract actually didn't specify a monetary obligation at all, but a kind of conditional agreement that would only have a monetary value based on certain successes, which the father did not have.

Finally, when I saw the situation for what it was, I began talking, right over the father's weeping explanations. I kept asking the father who his legal counsel was. It took a while for the father to stop crying and just listen to me.

My plan was to see what kind of legal counsel the father had. But I already knew that if the father didn't have sufficient legal counsel, I would almost certainly be able to find some in the United States.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in a room with a couple other people, possibly my mom and great-grandmother. The people were talking with each other in a normal, quiet tone of voice.

I was looking at my left arm. I had three gashes on my forearm. One ran down from my wrist about 15cm. Another ran at about the midpoint of my inner forearm's side, along the bone, and was about 7cm. The other was just a small gash, about the size of a large coin, in the center of the underside of my forearm.

The gashes all had a dry,plasticky, purplish look. The big gash showed a few layers of purplish "flesh," which lightened as they went futher down. Each of the layers had a grid-like pattern in them, as if the flesh were a web of little squares.

I thought, by the dry, plasticky look of the wounds, that they were healing. In fact, the large wound was the only one still completely open. The second wound was just a dark purple line of exposed flesh bumping up on my arm. The smallest wound was really only like a rough, bruised spot.

But I still wondered whether the large wound would heal, or whether I would get huge gashes in my arm like this again. The gashes may possibly have been from something like a disease, as opposed to my actually having gotten cut by something.

Good morning, everybody. My dream recall has been terrible over the past couple days. It's probably because I've spent hours each night watching all the different versions of RC Succession's Transistor Radio on YouTube. Hitto kyoku!

So these entries will be pretty fragmented.

Dream #1

I was watching a scene like a theatre production or a large-scale movie as if I were actually in the environment without participating in it.

The scene focused on a woman who stood atop an enormous, colorful temple, which was somehow inside a much larger building. The temple was as colorful as a Buddhist or Hindu painting. It was decorated to the last inch with beautiful flowers in plates and vases. There may even have been colorful foods decorating the tables.

The woman walked out of a room at the top of the temple, turned right, then sat on her knees on a cushion, facing the wall to the left (her left) of the doorway. (The doorway and the top room looked more like in a Mayan temple, not a Hindu or Buddhist painting.) My view was from behind, above, and just to the left of the woman.

The woman didn't look normal. She was probably a dark blue. She probably didn't have a complete form. Her body may have had a stony look, like Jack Kirby's version of the Fantastic Four's The Thing, except with a feminine figure. She may also have had chakra markings delineated on her somehow.

The woman was breaking some kind of law or rule by meditating. Apparently meditation was forbidden. So now there was a group of high officials heading out to capture and arrest the woman. But there was also a group of men who had taken it upon themselves to protect the woman. She was a hero to them, possibly because her meditation had some kind of power.

I was now among the group of men, acting as a part of the group, not just watching. The men looked big and tough. One of them may have looked like Russell Crowe.

We stood at the bottom of the temple, before a beige-colored stone gate. But it also felt like we were standing in a messy living room.

I was happy to be helping the men. But I was also afraid. I was afraid of getting hurt by the officials. But I was also afraid of looking stupid with my usual clumsy actions. I may have said something regarding all this. The man who looked like Russell Crowe may have looked at me in disgust.

Dream #2

I was in my great-grandmother's living room. The room was filled with dim, yellowy light. The floors were strewn with sheets and blankets.

I was with a few other people, possibly co-workers. We had just finished some task. Now we had to go to another task. But we had to change our clothes first. We were all running around to different rooms, as if playing a game, looking for the new clothes to wear.

I was in my great-grandma's guest room (which us kids would sleep in when we'd spend nights at her house). I was taking off my pants or putting new pants on when I noticed that C, a guy from my work, was in the living room. I could see him from the bedroom because the walls now, apparently, only went up to about my waist.

I thought C was going to accuse me of not doing any work because I was in the middle of changing my pants. I thought I would explain to him that changing my pants was actually a part of my job.

But suddenly a cat with a black body and white belly and paws jumped down through the circle my arms were making with the pants. C was amazed by what the cat had done. I was amazed, too. It seemed so random that the cat would jump down through my arms like they were a hoop.

Either I or C may have wondered if the cat had been trained to do that.

Dream #3

I was out on a street corner across the street from "my apartment building." It actually looked like the street corner at the beginning of Youth without Youth, except with really wide streets, as if the streets were somehow an entire horizon.

There were a lot of young men and women out on the street with me. They were all beautiful and well-dressed.

I had thought that this might have been a bad time for me to go out and do whatever it was I needed to do. Either it had been too early or the sky had been too dark due to clouds or else the clouds in the sky had been presaging a storm.

But now I looked up into the sky to watch it clear smoothly into wispy, white clouds. I was amazed. But I also had that inconvenienced feeling, like when you realize that you now have to do something for sure, no excuses. I thought that if everybody knew how lazy I was about getting moving, they'd dislike me.

I was about to cross the street with everybody else. But the sky suddenly clouded over heavily. It looked worse than rain: it looked like a terriible storm.

I crossed the street back toward my house instead of heading in everybody else's direction (which would have been crossing to the corner caddy-corner from my house). It was already beginning to rain.

I thought something like how lucky I was to be so close to my place, especially because I hadn't brought an umbrella with me. My building was a beautiful, peach-colored, stone building.

I remembered that there was a woman who lived in my apartment with me. I knew she was planning to go outside for something she had to do. I thought I would warn her not to come out. The sky was almost black. It looked like the storm would be terrible.

But I knew the woman would go out anyway to do her thing. I may have thought that I would at least offer her my umbrella.

Good morning, everybody. I was exhausted last night, and I slept a lot. But I only remember one dream, which I know happened way early, some time before 11 PM.

Dream #1

I was in a big lobby area like the front area of an airport: a long, wide, busy hallway full of counters and with tall ceilings. The walls were light brown or grey stone, and the floors may have been concrete. The light was fluorescent, but gentle, not glaring or depressing.

I was walking toward a set of sliding glass doors at the far left end of the lobby. I ran into a couple of people from my job. Then I ran into a few people from my job who had a few people from my old job with them.

I greeted the people from my old and new jobs happily. I was especially pleased to see the people from my old job. They were just walking into the lobby, so I decided to turn around and walk a ways with them.

I had come to understand that the people from my old job were coming to work at my new job. I was excited about this. I kept trying to tell the people from my old job something about the new place. But I couldn't seem to remember anything specific about my job. All my memories were very fuzzy.

I may now have been walking to "my desk" at "my office." My cubicle was off along the right wall, all by itelf. On the left wall, maybe 15 feet away from me, was another lone cubicle, where my co-worker S sat. Everybody else who worked here apparently sat in office rooms.

But I don't know how many people still worked there. It seemed like a good deal of people had quit.

I may have walked (backwards?) past the office of a person who I called by the name D, like the name of the person D who actually works in my office. He was standing in the doorway. He didn't look anything like D. In fact he looked like some kind of office-person mix between a scrunchy-headed puppet and that plastic-faced Burger King guy.

I was now sitting in my cubicle. The lights had gone out in the office. First about half the lights had gone out, making the place dim grey. But now almost all the lights had gone out, so that it was almost pitch black. I may have thought that this was because so many people had quit. It definitely felt like there weren't any people in the offices.

S, still sitting in her cubicle, mentioned something that was happening, like a group of clients who were coming in for a meeting. I had either had no idea about this or I had completely forgotten. I felt kind of dumb that S knew or remembered while I hadn't.

I may have seen the name of the person coming in to visit, as if I was looking at it on a piece of paper in the dim light. The name may have looked very old and Italian, a very stately name, but distorted, something like Sangiovese or Sangioviese. I may have wondered if I'd be able to help this client out.

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.

Good morning, everybody. I had no dream recall over the weekend. But I recall three dreams from last nignt.

Dream #1

I had been looking through a series of photos, possibly with my mother and an unidentified male. The photos were either of people who had some kind of congenital deformation or who had been tortured and mutilated. A lot of the victims in the photos had bloody eyes.

My mother asked me if I wanted to see the last photo, which was apparently the worst. I tried to see it, but it was now like I had to walk through a series of white bedsheets just to get to the photo.

I had an image in my head of a young, white man with lightly tanned skin and long, curly, blonde hair. I told myself, He's gotten so deformed, he's even growing fingers out of his head.

I was afraid to see the photo. But I may finally have seen it. The man had bloody eyes, just like the people in all the other photos.

Dream #2

I was in a dark room that was like a bedroom but was also like some kind of big, back room that might be used for storage in a shop or theatre. I was floating around, possibly disembodied, possibly only a couple feet off the ground.

I was imagining or remembering a conversation I'd had with an Asian man who had just auditioned for a rock band I was starting up. Apparently there were a lot of similar auditions going on. I had asked the man if he had made any plans to be in any of the other bands, as if to say that being in my band would be his second or third choice. By this, I seemed to imply that he would really only be my second or third choice.

The man had replied that this band was the only band he was interested in joining. I was disappointed. But I also felt bad for making the man feel like he was only my second or third choice. I probablly decided, while floating around, disembodied, in this dim room, that I would have this man in my band. I may have felt at this time that the man was in a dark bedroom off to the side of this room.

I may have floated up a wheelchair ramp toward the front of this dim room. I may have seen the exit to this room. The door was open, revealing a hallway that looked like a hotel hallway.

I floated back down toward the back of the room. I started singing a rock song that I was making up on the spur of the moment for the man. The song was about how hard it was to be in a rock band, but how, if he wanted to be in my band, he could.

As I sang this song, I floated around a small pile of junk on the floor, then back up to the front of the room.

Dream #3

A young man was living in some gigantic apartment building. He had gotten mixed up with some young men who were starting up trouble in the building.

The young man had a friend who was keeping away from the troublemakers. The troublemakers had decided to hurt the friend.

The young man was torn by this. He wanted to be part of the troublemakers' gang. But he didn't want to hurt his friend. He'd thought the gang had actually stood for something. Now he was starting to wonder.

The young man went into his aunt's apartment, which was little more than a bed-sized room. The aunt, who looked like Aunt Bea from Andy Griffith, sat, maybe on the edge of her bed, using a sewing machine. Her "sewing" project was a series of colored strings that ran, like a spider web, up to the ceiling, then back down to a white sheet hung on the front wall, beside and over the bed.

The young man had to walk on the bed to get from the door, on the left side of the room, over to the side of the room. As the young man walked over, his aunt gave him a big speech. It was about where the young man would have to live if he went to prison, and particularly to death row. The aunt would have to follow this man wherever he'd go. Apparently this might even involve going to "the Gulf Coast of Mars."

The aunt said she didn't want to have to move to some new apartment building on Mars or anywhere else, so the young man better just shape up.

The young man finally understood that the troublemakers were just criminals, and that they didn't actually stand for anything. He decided to quit the gang and try to save his friend. He walked back over the bed and out of his aunt's apartment.

I was worried for the young man, his friend, and his aunt. I thought for sure the friend would be killed. But I also could imagine a scene where the aunt's sewing project was destroyed --vandalized -- by the gang because the aunt had taken a stand against the gang.

Good morning, everybody. I remember two dreams from last night.

Dream #1

I was, or was seeing through the eyes of, a pretty girl. The girl had a face like Alyssa Milano, but she was short and very thin.

The girl was at a beach house. Out the back of the house, she saw one her female friend in the water, about up to her waist in waves. The girl thought that her friend was hurt, not as if she were drowning, but as if something about the water was making her friend ill. So she ran out to help her friend.

The scene now seemed to repeat itself. Except now I was watching it from a 3rd person view, as if I were watching a movie. Now the woman in the water was the Alyssa Milano-type girl I had just been. She was a transgendered woman, now, too.

The woman who ran out of the beach house to save the woman in the water was now an Asian woman, slightly overweight, and a little ditzy looking, like the girl from the live action Cutey Honey movie.

The ditzy woman now had the other woman on the shore. The ditzy woman wanted to make sure the other woman was still breathing. She pushed the other woman's thin, pink tank-top down below her shoulders, even below her small chest. The woman had pink glitter or pink, glittery coverings, on her nipples.

I now saw this scene from inside the beach house, as if I were myself looking out to the beach. I turned away from the scene. My friend, a girl or a transgendered girl, thin, with blonde and brown hair, and wearing a thin, zebra-striped tank-top and skirt, sat in a big, leather chair, her legs curled up into the chair as well.

I laughed and said to my friend, "I forgot how in love she (the ditzy woman) is with her (the woman who had been in the water)."

My friend asked me why I cared so much about those two girls. She seemed hurt. She then looked at me in a sexy way. I realized she'd been wanting me to pay attention to her and play around with her a lttle. I didn't know if I wanted to. I couldn't quite remember if she was a woman or a man. But I started feeling really attracted to her, anyway.


Dream #2

I was out in what looked like a driveway made out of smooth river pebbles. It may have been on the right side of a house. I stood by a car with a couple of my family members, whom I don't recognize now.

We were in some town that people usually think of as a tourist destination. We had taken care of some task, and now we had some time left over. I hadn't anticipated this. So I told my family members they could go spend a couple hours doing the fun things this town had to offer. I figured I'd have some fun, too.

I went into the house. I went down into the basement. I was now sitting at a very cramped, dirty bar with an old, very overweight man.

The man was talking to me about how, if you went into the military, you didn't always have to carry a gun. He said, "I knew people who, they went into the Army, and the only thing they ever touched the whole time was a gib!"

I couldn't quite figure out what a gib was. I just smiled and nodded. But I somehow gathered that the man meant that his friend had worked on some kind of maintenance crew. I started talking about (and making hand motions indicating) a table saw. The man waved me off, almost as if saying I was too young or naïve to understand.

We were walking back up the stairs now. I figured I still had a couple hours to hike in the mountains of this area before meeting up with my family members. Maybe I'd even hike to our meeting point, which was now, somehow, deep in the woods.

But the old man invited me to have dinner with him. The first floor of this house was actually a fine Italian restaurant (even though it basically looked like a living room full of tables). The guy sat at a table right next to the side door.

I figured that since this old guy had taken such a liking to me, I'd go ahead and eat with him and have some more conversation. But I knew this would basically take away all the time I had left for doing anything fun.

I got a huge plate of spaghetti and meatballs with thick noodles and a lot of sauce. I saw a long table full of family members. I went and sat down with them, on the opposite side of the room from the man.

It now seemed to be night, from what I could see through the windows. At some point the room became windowless and dim, with sea-green walls.

I had forgotten about the man. I looked over my left shoulder. I saw another table, a round table, about half full of more of my family members. The man was just now sitting down at that table. One of my family members had invited him over.

I looked way back in the dim room, to where the man's table had been. The room was mostly empty, bare. But by the door, a lot of older, tough-looking men (who I thought of as Croatians) sat along a big, dark bench. They all seemed to be heavily dressed up in winter clothes. They were talking in a different language, moderately but happily.

I looked forward again as a young, female family member to my right began saying a prayer in a different language. I was about to tell her to stop praying that way -- the old men would think she was making fun of them. But she said something like, "This is a very sacred prayer in their language. They appreciate the fact that I know it."

Everybody was talking and joking and eating. I looked across the table and to my left. A few seats down, I saw my great-grandmother. She was alive! She was as small as a child, and she wore a gauzy, crepe-like, pink dress and a broad-brimmed, pink hat.

I looked away for a moment. I now remembered part of the task we had been here for. I also remembered that we were actually in Washington, DC. My great-grandma had apparently died. We took her to DC for the funeral, because she'd wanted to go there and we had planned a vacation there.

When we'd gotten there, I remembered, my great-grandma had been so touched by how much we loved her that her body had come back to life. I remembered seeing her in the casket, her eyes blinking open.

I now looked at her sitting at the dinner table. She was talking with everybody and helping herself to some food. Her hands looked stubby, and she seemed to be wearing a yellow dress. I knew that she could only keep her body alive for a little while longer. I was thankful for the time she had given us.

Good morning everybody. I remember two dreams from last night. I wrote them down late, so my day memory might be clouding them up a little.

Two side notes: the bowling alley in the first dream comes from an msn.com photo article I read about huge mansions. Almost every mansion had a movie theatre and a bowling alley.

Also, the cops coming to my house is from my waking life. My upstairs neighbors always slam and slam on the floor. I feel like it's done to hurt me, like they don't want me around. It's been going on for a long time. I've finally called the police, because it's gotten so constant, loud, and violent that I'm afraid to come home. I feel terrible for calling, because I've never wanted to be the kind of person who calls the police on people. But I also have a fear of the police.

Dream #1

I was in a car with my old friends D and Y, riding through the parking lot of a bowling alley. It was probably night time. D was probably driving the car.

We let Y out, probably to run in and get a lane. For some reason, the car now seemed to be gone. D and I were walking away from the bowling alley, as if we had finished the game and were walking to the car.

I really wasn't happy to have to hang around with D, and I think I was making that known to him. At some point it became dark, like at night. D was wearing a shiny, black leather jacket. I asked him how his life was. He broke down and started crying about how his mother had died.

It was daytime again. I felt really bad for D, and I tried to comfort him. He kind of brushed me off and told me it was fine. Apparently his mother had had a terminal disease which acted very quickly on her. D told me something his mother had told him before she died, which made him feel better about the whole thing. It made me think of toothpaste for some reason.

We had been wandering through the first few rows of the parking lot, more like we were waiting for Y to arrive with the car again, although it was also like we were trying to find the car. But now we were walking back toward the bowling alley.

The parking lot had been asphalt. But now it was dirt. The dust was floating up into the blue sky, as if there were a lot of traffic or wind in the parking lot, even though I couldn't see any activity.

Some old friends of ours came up to me and D. They started saying a lot of teasing things to D. But I got really angry and threatening with them, telling them to leave D alone, he'd had to deal with enough already. Everybody said sorry and left D alone.

We were all walking back toward the bowling alley. We were close to the building, but the actual entrance now felt so far away. I somehow got separated from the rest of the group. I walked all by myself, in a stretch of dirt road between the building-front's sidewalk and a long strip of concrete island.

The ruts in the ground looked like horse carriages ran through it. I thought to myself, Of course they do. That's how things worked in the Old West. And that's where I am.

I wondered where the heck the car was. I couldn't remember if I was going into the bowling alley or going home. But if I was going home, I wanted to get in the car and go. And if I was going into the bowling alley, I wanted to take the car to get there quicker.

But I thought to myself, No car is ever going to come pick you up, dummy. This is the Old West. We didn't have cars back then.

Dream #2

I had called the police because the people upstairs from me were slamming and slamming on the floor again. It was morning, and the light in my bedroom was grey and slightly dim. The police knocked on my door.

I opened the door. There was just one officer: a short, slightly overweight, black woman in her late 40s or early 50s. She told me that I had called the police so many times that I was now under investigation myself. She would have to search my house.

I said fine. I let her in. I just let her go wherever she wanted in my house. I went back to my bed and lay down. I figured that I wouldn't follow the officer around. That would look suspicious, like I had something to hide, which I didn't.

But I slowly realized that my apartment was actually very large (which it is definitely not in waking life). I realized I had a lot of rooms, and that as soon as the officer saw how many rooms I had, she'd get jealous of me and try to find some reason to arrest me.

So I started running through the house, trying to find the officer. I figured that I'd explain how much room I had in this house by telling the officer that my mother also lived here with me.

I was actually surprised by how many rooms I had in the house. I hadn't realized this place was so big. But a lot of the rooms were done up in such a hyper-girly way, with pink and purple colors, stuffed animals, and fluffy, lacy bed covers, that I felt like someone other than I had to have been living here. I gradually became convinced that my mother was in fact living here with me.

Now, confident that my story was the truth, I felt like I could confront the officer with my story, preventing her from getting jealous and throwing me in jail for some made up reason.

I found the officer in a hyper-girly room, sitting on the bed. She started talking to me about something, but I can't remember what. All I remember is that she seemed to be very sad.

Good morning everybody. It's Saturday, so I have some time for side notes. Usually I post my dreams via phone, on my subway ride in to the city.

I remember five dreams from last night. But I can't remember any of them very well. I've been pounding NyQuil every night, and that really affects my recall -- though it doesn't seem to affect the weirdness of my dreams too much.

Looking back on these dreams, it seems pretty obvious a lot of the imagery comes from a photo article msn.com had yesterday about huge mansions. A lot of the mansions had movie theatres. And one of the mansions had the "organic shape" of the science lab in the first dream.

I was lucid for about half a second in the fourth dream. I seldom get a solid lucid dream. Maybe once a year. I don't try. Lucidity, like meditation and OBEs, seems to be bad for my nerves rather than good. I don't know why. I usually let my dream life just take its course.

Also -- sorry to MoSh for appropriating his avatar into the fifth dream. I think I have found the dream-sharing interactions on this site so interesting here that I made up a DC to dream-share with.

Dream #1

I was in a restaurant with my female friend T. The restaurant was nice, dim, with tall tables and chairs, all widely spaced. There were very few people in the restaurant. However, I ended up talking with some guy sitting a few tables away from us.

The guy and I ended up talking about spiders. I was trying to make some point about how spiders are actually nicer than a lot of people think. I was trying to use some weird etymological (not entomological) argument.

Eventually I turned to T and asked, "How do you say 'phobia of spiders?'"

T asked, "In Japanese or French?"

I said, "In French, of course!" as if the argument had all been based on French etymology.

T gave me the phrase. But as she did, it was also like I was trying to work through the phrase in my own mind, trying to recall it for myself. As I did so, it was like T was explaining a whole series of things regarding phobias.

T expanded over my whole field of view. Darkness surrounded her. She was eating some kind of tofu soup. I now focused deeply on one of the cubes of tofu. It seemed to break in the broth. The fragments dissolved and became something like stars in the darkness.

As this happened, T was explaining the optical, neurological, and muscular processes of a phobia. As she finished her discussion, the stars became directed toward moving out of some kind of wall. I seemed to be moving with the stars. They pushed out through and past the wall. I went with the.

Outside the wall, I looked back to see that this "wall" had been some kind of half sphere of organic material, like a microscopic picture of a spore. The view of this was in black and white, with all the outlines and ridges of the "spore" in white and all the smooth parts of the spore and the spore's surroundings in black.

As this was occurring, I heard T say, "You see, we can take any sort of psychological process, such as the phobia of spiders, determine its physical characteristics, even down to the temperature change of the body, and re-engineer an organism through these phenomena. And that is how we've created our first mouse."

I was now floating deep in the blue waters of a sea. I saw, down at the sea's floor, an organically curved building, which I recognized as a research lab, covered in sand.

I thought to myself, Why would they have created a mouse? Wouldn't they have created a human from all that human data? But I then realized that you would first have to create small animals, then work your way up to larger animals. I also realized that all of this would have to take place in the depths of the sea, because you'd need the pressure.

I now saw inside the research lab. I saw inside an office that was unlit. The only light coming into the office was from another room, and from the wall-sized window which showed the blue sea outside.

A man sat in the office. He was young, tall, strong, tan-skinned, with slightly curly hair that went just below his shoulders and gentle blue-green eyes. He wore a slightly loosed blue-green t-shirt and blue jeans.

The man was on an old-style, big cell phone with his girlfriend. He was talking about how hard this work was. He sometimes wondered if it was even worth it for him to continue. He also wondered something like whether it was ethical for him to be doing this kind of work.

But he then told his girlfriend, "But, hey, they're paying me 30 a month! That's right! I mean 30 Gs!"

I quickly did the calculation and realized this was a lot of money.

Dream #2

I was in a stadium-style movie theatre. The movie was playing. The movie theatre was relatively empty. In fact, the only people who were there, I think, were friends of mine. The movie theatre may have been part of something like a hotel or resort, and we all may have been at this resort for some specific lesson or project.

I saw my friend T down a few rows from me. I went down to her row and started flirting with her. We ended up cuddling, and getting to the point where I had her long skirt pushed up pretty far on her legs. I thought we might even be getting ready to go back to her room.

But T got up and went somewhere else. I sat watching the movie for a little while. Then I saw an extremely attractive, blonde woman in her mid-20s down a couple of rows from me. I didn't know her, but I went to talk to her. She was very well-groomed, and she wore a pale purple, fuzzy sweater and a long skirt.

We were talking for a little while. Then she started leaning and nuzzling against me. I thought I probably shouldn't respond so much to her, after I had been messing with T and getting her so excited. But I eventually got so aroused by the woman's advances that I began responding.

We started getting pretty involved. I thought to myself, All my friends are in the rows behind and above me. They can all see what I'm doing, right after I'd been doing it with T. What will they think? And what if T is still back there?

The blonde woman and I were now in some store that looked like a dollar store full of Christmas decorations. We were embracing each other fondly and calmly, as if comfortable with the thought of soon being in bed with each other. We stood near a wall-height window in the store. The sunlight was bright and golden-white.

Suddenly I could sense T coming from some part of the store behind us. I thought, I can't let T see me like this! She'll be so upset! She likes me so much!

So I took the blonde woman, folded her up (like she was now only three feet tall), and shoved her into a clear-plastic shelf. The shelf was also holding metallic red and gold letter-shaped Christmas streamers wrapped in flat cellophane packaging with cardboard tops.

I turned back and looked along the aisles. It was a little bit dimmer farther back in the store. I could see T walking up toward me. She was smiling somewhat innocently. When she finally got up to me, I could see that her hair had gotten long and kind of messy.

Dream #3

I floated down from the ceiling of a basketball auditorium. I descended over a wide staircase, at the top of which was a wide entranceway. At the bottom of the staircase was the basketball court.

A group of people walked out from the entranceway as I descended the final slow feet to the stairs. The group was led by a white man. He didn't look real at all. He looked like a cartoon. He was amazingly wide, with unnaturally tanned skin, a plasticky wave of hair, and a frozen grin. He wore a sea-green polo shirt and khaki slacks.

Behind this white man were five black men, dressed up like the Harlem Globetrotters. They all looked like terribly exaggerated cartoons! One of them even looked like the bottom half of a bowling ball in red and white striped shorts -- with no top half for his body!

I told myself, This is unreal. I'm dreaming.

As soon as I realized I was dreaming, everything took on such a tactile clarity that I felt like I was awake. I said to myself, Oh. I guess I just woke up from my dream. No wonder I thought I was dreaming. I told myself, Well, hopefully next time I'll realize I'm dreaming while I'm actually dreaming.

The basketball players all ran out to the court. I ran out as well. It was like I was supposed to play against all of them. They all ran around me with the ball. I kept almost getting the ball from them. But they would pass it around and keep it away from me.

At one point, all five basketball players were in a line, tossing the ball back to the next person as I approached the person who had the ball. I was especially frustrated not being able to get the ball from the player who didn't even have a top half to his body!

The players were now all around me, near the hoop. The were surrounding me. I felt like if I didn't get the ball now, I would lose for sure! Suddenly, a white woman dressed up as Super Mario got the ball from one of the players. She bent over to look into my face (as if I were waist-high -- only a child?) and nodded at me, letting me know she was on my side.

The Super Mario girl soared up into the air. It looked like she was going to make a slam dunk! The hooped seemed to be 20 feet high. But the girl looked like she was going to make it. But as she approached the hoop, she just threw the ball straight at the net. The ball flew off and rolled away somewhere off the court.

The Super Mario girl landed. Some of my other teammates gathered around me. (I only came up to their waists, as if I were a child, although this didn't occur to me in the dream.) The Super Mario girl may now have been wearing spring-green overalls and a pink shirt with tiny, little flower designs on it, though she still had the Mario nose and mustache.

The teammates all explained to me that the Super Mario girl could have made the dunk. But that wasn't the point of this game. I looked at the ground. I didn't want to hear that. I thought, If she could have made the dunk she should have just made it. The basketball players had all frustrated me so much. Somebody should just have dunked on them!

Dream #4

I was in a basement of some really fancy hotel or house. The basement was like a nice, den-like room, with warm, orange walls. There were a lot of people here. We were all having some kind of multi-day party or retreat. We were all somewhat rich, and most of us had been friends for a while.

There were a few groups of us standing in a few different lines to get night-time desserts from a number of different small bars before heading to some late-evening recreation like playing an easy sport or watching a movie.

I was (or was seeing from the viewpoint of) a white man in his 50s or 60s. I was somewhat tall, strong, with tanned skin. I had grey-white hair, short, and well-combed. I had steel-blue eyes. I wore a blue shirt, possibly navy blue, and pale-khaki or white khaki shorts.

In front of me was a little boy. He was blonde, very pretty. He seemed to be wearing only a pale blue, long-sleeved, Gap shirt (which is what I wear as a shirt to go to bed) and nothing else. The shirt went down almost to the young boy's knees.

I and the boy still had a few more people to go before we would get served. The bar we were at looked like it had some kind of tropical theme: it had bamboo shoots for the bar front, and had a roof over it that looked liked thatched palm leaves.

I seemed to be hugging the boy from behind. The boy finally told me he didn't feel like he wanted to do this, and that he really didn't want to do the late night activity. I understood that the boy just wanted to go to bed.

I got out of line with the boy and began walking out of the room. As I did so, I said goodbye to a few people, explaining that I was heading out for the night, because the little boy figured it was time to go to bed.

I noticed how all the other older men were with older women, like they were with their wives. I couldn't figure out why I was with a little boy.

Dream #5

I walked into an apartment that was a maybe three or four floors up in its building. The apartment had brick walls, and it looked out over some kind of city scene, like in a slightly busy area of Brooklyn or Manhattan.

It was late afternoon. The light outside was dim blue. But inside the apartment it was warm and well-lit. The apartment felt cluttered, but nice and comfortable.

There were other people in the apartment, all friends. It was like we were having a party. Everybody was happy and cheerful. But I also had a sense that we were really here to strategize about something. It was like we were making plans to defend ourselves against some really bad thing that was about to happen or that had already begun happening and was in its early, relatively mild stages.

The apartment may have been a very large studio, so that the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, and the bedroom, were all really "one room," even though the place was large enough and the space was varied enough so that each diferent place felt like a "different room."

I walked over to the dining table, near the front windows. The kitchen was just to my right. I looked at a sheet of paper. It was in a different language. I began talking about what was written on the paper.

One of my friends, a young man all dressed up in fancy garb and a powdered wig, like the picture of Vivaldi in MoSh's avatar on this site, came up to me and asked me if I spoke the language on the sheet of paper.

"Oh, no," I replied. "I don't speak Latin. I don't speak any language other than English. I mean, I think people are fooled, because I learn songs in other languages, and I sing those songs pretty well. But that's mostly j-pop, and I definitely don't speak Japanese."

I felt stupid, having to admit that I didn't speak Latin, after I had spoken, apparently with a tone of authority, regarding the language on the sheet. I thought I had acted in a misleading way. So now I tried to make up for it by thinking of a song that I knew in Latin. But all I could think of was Leporello's aria from Mozart's Don Giovanni. And I knew that "wasn't quite" Latin.

I began to see the words of Leporello's aria handwritten in pencil on a sheet of paper, very watery and blurry.

(This dream was actually from two nights ago. I don't remember any dreams from last night.)

I was in the belltower of a building like a mission-style church, with adobe or stucco walls. I saw a crowd of people below. Some were milling around. Some may have been looking up at me. I told myself at some point that I was in Korea.

While in the tower, I may actually have been conversing (mentally? non-verbally?) with a man down on the ground. The man was shortish, mediun-build, slightly balding Korean man wearing eyeglasses, a pale polo shirt and pale jeans. The man may have been a family member of mine.

In the middle of our "conversation," I looked up to the sky and pointed. There was a sudden atmosphere of panic. Then a huge, white jet flew into our view.

The jet was so long, narrow, and white, that I at first thought it was a nuclear missle. It had two fin-like objects prtruding from its nose. But then, as the object sped over me, I could see that it was just an enormous, very thin, white jet with thin, squarish wings.

The jet made a lot of noise and then passed out of view of the church. I may have feared the jet was going to crash once it was out of view. I'm not sure whether the jet crashed.

I was now writing a review of this whole thing, as if writing about an air show for an online newspaper.

I was now a little girl. I was writing (actually, more like thinking out my article or "remembering" the article "I had written) about the man with whom I had been conversing as if he were the organizer of this show.

I was giving the man a bad review. In the middle of the review, however, the man stopped me. He was now my (the little girl's) father. He was white, tall, strong, with tan skin and blonde hair. He sat on steps (leading up to the bell?) and grabbed my arms gently.

He shook me a little and asked me to tell him why I had said those things about him. I don't know why I wasn't answering -- maybe I felt like being rude. He then started asking me about the big jet, and what kind of jet I thought it was.

I told him (it was now like I was looking out from the belltower or some balcony) that it wasn't a --, because I had actually seen stealth bombers flying over New York City on a number of occasions. I corrected myself, thought slowly, and said, "No. I mean Blackbirds."

I don't know whether the man/"my daddy(which is what I called him -- daddy)" believed me, but he took me to a big area full of jets. I figured that now I'd be able to point the Blackbird out to him.

We drove through what looked like a vast parking lot full of jets. The place seemed to be completely void of people. There might have been some huge structures around, the walls or building-top bridges of which occasionally shaded the parked jets.

We curved counter-clockwise into another aisle of parked jets. I saw a jet that looked a little like a Blackbird. So I pointed it out to the man as a Blackbird.

But it wasn't quite right. It looked too small. It looked plasticky. And it also looked flat, as if the jet had been flipped upside-down or had its top shaved off. It seemed to have three rectangular holes in it, too, like it was a jet-sized light switch.

We were driving down the parking lot. I may have seen more jets that almost looked like Blackbirds. The man and I were driving toward some area that seemed to have a small, rickety, metal staircase going up the side of it. I could feel the warmth of the sun.

(Something happened in the dream before this "beginning," but I can't remember it.)

I was sitting in the living room of "my mom's house." My mom may just have moved into this house. There were packed boxes all over. I'm pretty sure that I had come from out of town to visit my mom.

The house had a yellowy light in it, like afternoon or morning light. The house was pretty big. It had at least two stories, the ground floor connected to the second floor by a long, narrow stairwell.

My mom may have sat on a couch while I sat on the floor, surrounded by boxes. My mom and I were talking about something, some kind of abstract discussion that eventually wound around to a book of mine.

The book, I saw in my mind's eye, was a tall, wide, thin, hardcover picture book. The cover was all black except for the title and a photo of some brightly colored life-form, either an exotic plant or a deep-sea creature.

My mom may have implied somehow that she would like to see the book. But I felt like the book was in one of the boxes, and that it would be pretty hard for me to find.

My mom was gone. I "went out to the truck" (I'm pretty sure I didn't actually do this, but kind of "told myself" I had done it), where the book had been somewhere like the floor of the front seat. I was now in the living room with the book in my arms.

I put the book into a slot in a series of vertical steel-rod separators in a drawer of a short filing cabinet, which may have been part of something like an entertainment center.

I thought, My mom wanted the book. I didn't think I could give it to her. But now she'll have it. But I won't make a big deal about it, because I don't want her to feel like she needs to thank me for having gone out of my way to find it.

I walked out of the living room. I went into a couple different rooms on the ground floor and on the second floor. All the rooms were full of stuff, but they didn't feel moved-into. It was like everything still needed to be unpacked.

The rooms were all bathed in warm light and had a summery, breezy feel. But there was also a really eerie feeling. I noticed after a while that some of the windows seemed to have been opened, and that bedsheet-like curtains were billowing in the breeze.

I was certain someone had illicitly entered the house. I got panicked. I ran down the stairs and found my mom. My mindset was now like I was living in the house with my mom, possibly like I had been living there with her for a while.

I may have scolded my mom for something or other, like not being vigilant enough about keeping the house safe.

I was pretty sure the person was still inside the house. So I decided to explore the rooms and try to find the person. But as I started searching, I got really afraid.

(I can't say whether I got so afraid that I woke up or whether I woke up because my alarm went off. I had unintentionally set my alarm last night, and I woke as soon as it went off. But I am also very certain that I was so afraid, in my dream, as I went searching through the house, that I might have woken up out of fear pretty soon anyway.)

I had a number of dreams, but they're mostly so fragmented I can't remember them. This is the only dream I remember.

I was in my great-grandmother's house, probably with my mom and my sister. My great-grandmother had passed away a while back (like in waking life), and the house was empty. But I think my mom, my sister, and I were going to throw a party for our whole family in the house, like my great-grandmother used to do.

I walked into the kitchen. I may have had the feeling that I didn't belong in the house for some reason.

Now my great-grandma appeared. She may have risen up through the floor, or she may just have suddenly appeared before me. She stood really close, between me and the kitchen counter. She was even shorter than she had been while she was alive.

She may have told me something. But I can't remember what it was. She may have seemed a little agitated or annoyed.