Here are those dreams I was supposed to post 3(ish?) months ago? Part III

Last one in this set. I swear. I will be back with new, more recent (more coherent) recalls in a few days.

The following took place in a dream. There was some discussion about how someone could be so upset (presumably from a break-up), that they would vomit. I remember having a dream discussion with someone about a friend of theirs who was so heartbroken that they immediately started vomiting. We talked about the merits of vomiting as a response to being dumped. This apparently signified true love and devotion.

After we had discussed who was showing their video on which date, everyone decided it was time to throw a party. Everyone got completely sloshed, except for me and him. People were throwing liquor on each other, making mud out of alcohol and dirt on the floor, and flinging it against walls. He convinced me to join the party, and somehow I got caught in the cross-fire. I was dressed really well and hadn’t wanted to get dirty, so this really pissed me off. I tried to start cleaning up after everyone, but of course I couldn’t stay mad at him.

I was still at his place, dressed rather nicely, but now covered in red liquor and vomit. He comes through the loft, putting on a nice coat, and saying that he’s going over to her house to watch a movie. He puts his hands on my shoulders and says I should have fun, but he lingers. The exchange was weird, and we both knew it. There was so much tension there. I just remember thinking “motherfucker just stabbed me in the heart”. My dream self kept thinking over and over again, he always does this to me. He always leaves when I want him to be there the most. He just up and leaves.

I walked into his basement to find everyone passed out next to pools of vomit and/or they were still vomiting. I tip-toed around, trying not to step in anyone’s puke. A few people were taking handfuls of their own puke and chucking it across the room at each other. I tried to avoid that as well. I was just so distraught. I felt deserted. Like he had deserted me.

Later on I was talking to someone who I believe was Andrea Hewitt, and Nika was standing nearby, and I was recounting for Andrea the story of what had happened. Andrea told me that she had actually spoken with him sometime shortly after the incident. He apparently had told her that the movie with Nika was good, but that he felt like things had been weird with me beforehand. I told Andrea that I that was true…..and part of me felt hopeful. If he actually considered the fact that it had been weird, did that mean he was remorseful for leaving?

Here are those dreams I was supposed to post 3(ish?) months ago? Part II

Round 2 (fight!). Actually, these are more snippets of old dream recalls. I’m sorry these don’t have nicer beginnings. They kind of just pick up wherever my memory left off at that point in time.

Almost immediately, I received this really unofficial looking prompt from my computer asking me if I had read about the recent events and precautions against improper use of power cord plugs. It asked me to indicate my agreement to a user license, implying my understanding that if I were to be electrocuted by my own fault, Apple would not be legally liable.
There was apparently some incident that took place in India, where an American visitor was staying at a hotel and was fatally electrocuted when trying to plug in her laptop power cord. Her story appeared on a television screen in the room I was sitting in. There was a diagram of all of the parts of her body that were affected by the electrical shock. Different parts of her body were indicated with different numbers. I didn’t know what those meant.

The next thing I know, I was standing backstage somewhere. I was in a group of people whose names were being called alphabetically. We were walking out onto a stage to receive awards or recognition for something. Some girls from my Modern Art class were there. Now that I think about it, it was pretty much entirely girls. My name was called, but I wasn’t able to walk on stage until moments later. When enough stage space was cleared and members of the previous alphabet letters had returned, I walked out on stage. I couldn’t determine who marked the end of the line and almost tried to walk around it. A faculty member yelled out, signaling that I was going the wrong way. I got back at the end of the line.

The next thing I knew, there was a certificate in my hand. It was an award for excellence in news journalism. I had apparently written a series of articles, some sports-related, some not. I had been chosen to receive something I believe was called the “Marshall award” in journalism. My name and information about my articles were listed on a yellow sheet of paper, as were the names of several other recipients. I read the certificate, which included a few comments that briefly critiqued my work. There was a bit of stipulation about my wording of the title, and it was concluded that my journalistic style offered “the usual smiles”. I remember feeling a sense of pride that I had been awarded something, but had no recollection of writing those articles.
The other award recipient was a young black man named Risdon. Risdon talked about his work as a journalist, as well as his family. His mother was a former athlete who was now disabled, only barely able to use her legs. Risdon had a physical disability of his own. His legs were abnormally short for his body — a congenital problem apparently. Risdon informed me that his mother was a part of what was known as the “Free Love” movement, which apparently sponsored a regularly held black pride rally.

I was sitting in a sea of people with long, dreded hair with blue streaks and blue shirts on (this included Risdon’s mother).
Suddenly I was transported back to what felt like the late 1980s, potentially early 1990s. I was attending a free love rally in the inner city, an indoor pool center somewhere in Brooklyn to be exact. Public Enemy was blasting out of two large speakers on either side of a giant projector screen. Nothing was being projected, however. It actually looked almost exactly like the video for “Fight the Power,” except it was indoors and there was more dancing and less walking. This also strikes me as odd since I haven’t seen that video in quite some time. However, I will note that I had recently watched ‘Do The Right Thing’ (which probably explains away a good portion of this dream). The people here all seemed to be young and middle-aged African-Americans between the ages of 17 and 40. Everyone was dancing and what looked almost like moshing inside of a giant pool. It was literally a pool situated right in front of the screen. I don’t know how deep it was, but people were slinging their hair around, getting each other wet, throwing water and looking really pumped about the rally. There was no violence at this point, just really intense dancing….and some really intense hairstyles.

I walked around, trying to figure out what I was supposed to be doing or where I fit in exactly. I noticed a cloaked figure in a hallway outside the rally. The figure had a scythe, and looked precisely like the grim reaper. I watched this person lurk around the rally, pacing back and forth repeatedly while the people inside danced and provoked each other into enthusiasm. Then suddenly I realized that in my staring, I had caught the attention of the cloaked individual, who began running at me with his scythe. They ran right into the rally. I screamed. He chased me around the perimeter of the rally. I ran behind the projector and around the other side. I considered jumping into the pool, which I noticed was quickly being cleared. I heard a booming male voice shout “DREAD” .

I quickly discovered that this cloaked figure incident was not an uncommon one at these black pride rallies. The cloaked man was in fact a white supremacist who had come to wreak havoc on the participants in the rally. I learned from another Free Love member that “dreading,” which I assume was a play on their preferred hairstyle, referred to the act of responding to a white supremacist intrusion during a rally. The protocol was apparently to grab any of the free-floating spears in the pool and repeatedly stab anyone who was wearing a black cloak and had a scythe. The next thing I knew, I had picked up a pole and was running full-force at a white man who was already slumped in a cloak against a back wall. I jabbed him repeatedly in the abdomen with the pole. I ran away violently, running across walls and leaping over obstacles, eventually returning to him to stab him some more. I impaled the man until he showed no further signs of life. At this point, I woke up.

Here are those dreams I was supposed to post 3(ish?) months ago? Part I

So the following are the brief snippets of recollections of dreams that took place a few months ago. I apologize that these are somewhat incoherent, but I can no longer fill in the details that I originally left out. It has been too long since these dreams occurred. Anyway, I’ll break these up into more palatable chunks…

I dreamt that I had awoken and was shaving my legs on my cousin Vincent’s couch.  Soon I discovered that the house had been turned into a homeless shelter/church service/youth center. One clearly mentally disabled woman came up to me and asked me whether or not she could have a pancake if she paid the homeowners 35 cents. I said I didn’t know. Another woman, who appeared to be somewhat in charge of the whole operation, told the woman that she could have a pancake if she came back the next day. I called Vincent and told him what was going on at the house. I also asked him if I should give the woman a pancake, and he promptly told me ‘No, do not give. Mrs. Brown a pancake.’.

At this point, I got into a heated argument with my mother. She accused me of leaving wrapped tampons lying around the living room. I was outraged. I remember throwing tampons at her, one after another. I feel like this is highly symbolic of something, but I’m not certain what (becoming pregnant against her wishes?). I wonder this because the previous night, I had a dream where at a family get-together, I tried to draw attention to the fact that my dream self had put on a considerable amount of weight — an effect I soon discovered was due to pregnancy.

I am also reminded of one dream that I had during high school, in which I found myself in a bathroom stall. On the walls of the stall were inscribed words that I have long forgotten. But the one image I do remember is of myself wearing a lacey white dress that had some very noticeable blood stains on it. Freud & co. would certainly have a field day with the stuff my subconscious serves me.

Another snippet of something I documented(?)

“I didn’t want the student teacher to know that A) I hadn’t quite finished my test, and B) I had cheated a little on the test questions I *had* finished.

I got in the car with Allison. We were being followed. I was afraid we were going to be mugged, shot at, or hit by another car. But Allison lost our pursuers.”

I dreamt that I was observing a couple who were writing some sort of report for a government agency. They started off writing it together, but decided to each write their own versions when the husband decided that he wanted to use bogus data. The wife, who was the more morally just of the two, stuck to the real facts. When government officials came to their apartment to review the reports, they first wanted to offer the husband a large sum of money for his report, as it incorporated the more compelling evidence. However, the wife later pulled the government officials aside and told them not to accept her husband’s report because it had been largely fabricated. Instead, she had them read her version of the report — the real report. When the husband returned home, he learned that his fraudulent practices had been exposed by his wife.

Is this me posting a blog entry?


I just slept for 16 hours. Much-needed after last week’s traumatic academic show down. Had a potentially inappropriate dream…depending on how you define “inappropriate”. Also, this semester is threatening to start kicking my rear if I don’t start…as Prof. Pauls would call it….”working smarter”, not harder. >_>.

Spring break plans? As follows:

Take a shower.

Get a haircut.

Work on capstone?

Disconnect from the world.

Figure out how to nicely frame my drawing assignment.

Write a paper?

Attend all of the doctor’s appointments that I have scheduled.

Eat as much greasy food as I can possibly stand (except not).

Sulk, and then immediately stop feeling sorry for myself.

Resolve to meet new people in Kirksville and try to feel like I’m close to these people before I leave.

Who knows? Maybe I will post last night’s dream. All I remember is that at one point I was the pink power ranger…and then at a later point, I was playing match-maker to two people I barely know (acquaintances), and who would probably hardly work well together anyway. But I have the lurking suspicion that my dream self had a secretly vested interest in one of the parties involved? Strange.

What else has happened lately? I have been continuously buying things I don’t need off of eBay. I need to find a b&w dress when I go home? Maybe also some shoes? I dunno. I need to find a lot of things. I have been listening to a lot of the Editors, Los Campesinos!, and the Lost in Translation soundtrack. I have also been seriously fighting off urges to play Second Life.