Buffy the Vampire Slayer Birthday Premonition

Something completely weird and strange and odd and bizarre happened to me this past weekend.

So yesterday (March 9th, 2013), I was taking a midday nap, and I dreamt that I had sent a text to a friend of mine to let her know that Buffy the Vampire Slayer was turning 16 years old. In the dream, I had also gotten into an argument with someone who was claiming that Sarah Michelle Gellar had won an Oscar for the first season of BTVS in 1996. I said, uhm…that’s impossible. She could not have won an Oscar for a TV show that hadn’t aired yet (Plus, she wouldn’t have won an Oscar for a TV show anyway… it would have been an Emmy had it happened, but that’s beside the point.)

Now, mind you — up until yesterday (AFTER the dream), I had only had a hunch that BTVS had premiered in 1997 (as opposed to ’96 or ’98), but I never knew the exact original air date. After waking up from my nap, I was curious, so I grabbed my phone to look up when BTVS had actually premiered…

March 10th, 1997. In other words, today…exactly 16 years ago.

I dream texted my friend that BTVS was turning 16, ONE DAY before it was actually going to happen in reality — and I swear that prior to this dream, I had no clue that it had originally aired on today’s date, exactly 16 years ago.

What are the odds?! Of all of the random ass things that I could have dreamt about on Saturday, March 9th…the universe told me that BTVS was about to turn 16 and to alert my friend the day before. Which, after the freaky realization that my dream self had actually been correct, I did in fact text that very information to that very friend. Hence, my dream became true on two accounts.

Some might call this a coincidence and leave it at that. I think this is the universe’s way of making sure I am well-informed ahead of time. Or maybe this is my super power…



It must be really bad for you. I just feel really upset and confused when I wake up from oversleeping, as though I’ve committed some crime.

I dream right up until the last minute, and the longer you stay in it, the more weird things become and the less involved you feel in the whole dreaming process. It’s like they are purposely trying to kick you out at that point.

I kind of yelled at my mom when she tried to check up on me just now. I felt weird and rejected by my own subconscious. It just put me in a very bad mood.

Have You Been Tethered Today?


I was just talking to some friends about this, but the whole dream to wake transition can be really jacked up and stressful…especially if you don’t know what you’re doing (which is most of us).

For example, I just woke up, and for a period of about 5 – 10 minutes, during that process of returning to beta waves and a normal, day-to-day awareness of self and personal context, I feel like my mind has to randomly remind me of a few basic truths about being human to get me back on track. The past couple of mornings I go through this thing while I’m coming out of a dream, where I’m reminded of sex, or dirty laundry, or television, or nose-picking. Then it’s like, OH RIGHT, those are human realities that I live with. Sex is how I was begotten in the first place. That’s my context. That is what my species is and does. I can now proceed to being awake. I am now free to roam about in society again.

If you think back to when you were younger, do you remember how upon waking up in the mornings, you might have immediately thought about homework? Now I realize that that wasn’t just your garden variety academic conscientiousness…. it was my mind trying to remind me that I was a human child with pre-determined human child responsibilities, so as to give me a setting and a purpose upon awakening.

I have this theory that there’s a process called tethering that safeguards individuals (i.e. dream travelers) from being incorrectly transferred back to reality upon awakening. When you’re asleep, you’re like a ball floating freely through this other realm of reality, the realm of non-reality. But when you come back to wakefulness, you have to be grounded or connected to something earthly, something mundane and strictly human, otherwise… you will (on a psychic and emotional level) in theory, keep floating during your waking life. Your ball has to be tethered back to something, related back to daily human life.

It’s like you’ve gotta go through this set of checks and balances to make sure you’re still a viable person who is gonna fit into normal, civilized reality…because in the dream world, that shit ain’t normal. That’s not reality. You can’t just jump from that to the waking world and be completely smooth about it. You can’t just free-float in the waking world the way you do in the dream world.

At least I can’t. I guess I know some people who are pretty good at coming out of their dreams and seeming normal about it, but I’ve never been that great at it. I get so jacked up when I’m dreaming, that I’m usually pretty out of it in the mornings when I wake up. It’s like… I was just in the middle of whatever the fuck I was in the middle of… I don’t even know, but now I’m getting booted back to reality to finish whatever the fuck I was doing there 6 – 12 hours ago??? Are you kidding me? I can’t be expected to keep up with this back-and-forth shit on a daily basis. It’s strenuous.

Strange Days in the Glial Maze

I overslept this morning by quite a few hours and ended up in a very strange place doing a number of strange activities that included all of the following (in no particular order):

  • Searching for illicit drugs in an abandoned movie theatre with the intention of ‘sniffing’ out my friends
  • Wearing a large corset/back brace made of ceramic (for menstrual/medical reasons)
  • Attempting to go on a date with someone who may or may not be your cousin while wearing the aforementioned appliance, and expecting him to understand
  • Crusading against cereal box crusaders (Lady Gaga, Adele, Carrie Underwood, you know who you are)
  • Turning paper hangers into conduits of orange soda
  • Working on a train full of Jehova’s Witnesses
  • Finding a TV channel whose programming only deals with the affects of chronic anxiety on people riding the aforementioned trains, and also roller-coasters. How they eventually end up dying…
  • Being trapped in a screen door
  • Gossiping about a young neighborhood girl’s best friend’s father while she’s in your house. Offering her pizza and advising her to stay away from adults who are not her own parents
  • Whining about the fact that I haven’t gone swimming lately, but then being unable to locate deep enough water when given the opportunity

Make of any of that what you will. I just woke up, and I’m still really disoriented. This is probably the best time now to jump back into the McLuhan text that I started into last week. If there’s any time to understand the works of a philosopher who views media as the extensions of man, then it’s in the wake of dreaming (the ultimate mind-extension).

“Brain tissue in its natural state is too soft to work with, but it can be hardened by immersion in alcohol or other fixatives.” That’s really telling isn’t it, Wikipedia? Thank you for that brief interjection.

I’m off to go make French toast.

I Just Had The Dream From Hell

It was just fucked up.

The first thing I remember is being introduced to this strange girl, who apparently was unwell and had a variety of issues. I don’t remember where I was at that point, or who introduced me to her, but she seemed very disgruntled and agitated, and had this whole spiel she was giving me about injustice and her curiosities. She kept talking and talking, and her voice became increasingly louder but from farther and farther away. Eventually, she asked me if I had ever wondered about things. Then she just started stating the same questions over and over again. What is the universe? Why am I here? Why are you a thing? I understood that they were rhetorical questions.

I was planted into this really bizarre, darkened model of a city. All of the colors were wrong. The buildings were the most hideous blue, solid and with no proper windows, and the sky was dark grey with intermittent red lightning. It looked as though something nuclear had taken place. Where were all the people?? On a large, circular marquee above me, the words of the girl’s disembodied voice began to scroll across: What is the universe? Why are you here? Why are you a thing? What is the future? Obviously, I couldn’t answer any of those questions, and I was starting to become really scared. There was something inherently sinister about the environment that I was in. I could sense danger, and the questions she was asking me were not intended for my own benefit or to spark my personal curiosity, but rather to suggest how soon I would meet my demise.

Every time she would get to that last question, these little joker-faced icons would scroll across, and red letters would form a series of keywords like “Greed. McDonald’s Corporation. Absolute Power. Phony Politicians.” I don’t think those were the exact words, but those were the exact ideas expressed. It was either a warning…this girl was trying to warn me. Or it was just her own personal commentary, a recounting of what had already transpired; of what had led to the downfall of this particular civilization; of what had essentially turned all of the buildings blue and the sky dark grey.

I walked further down this spiral ramp and at the very center of the city was this massive, larger-than-life woman, towering above all of the buildings. She seemed to be writhing in terrible pain, and her torso was wrapped in black cords. In the background, I could hear two men discussing her in a way that sounded like she was a patient of theirs, under close observation. I sensed that I too was under surveillance. They referred to her with a nickname that I can’t recall now, but it was something like, “the titling woman.” They warned me to steer clear of her, and not to be influenced or deterred by her very obvious, very public suffering at the city’s center. I spun around a few times, and kept walking.

The next thing I know, I had walked onto an open field somewhere. I don’t think I was in the creepy blue city anymore. I saw a person and impulsively tackled them. I think I was looking for answers, but neither of us was actually speaking. There were people lined up red-rover style on either side of us. One of my co-workers kept kicking water at us from yards away. I didn’t understand how the water could reach us from so far away, but it did each time. I got up and kept running. I came up onto a loading dock for a large naval vessel. There was a group of men, all dressed in white uniforms, who were trying to board up a large doorway with random objects. They were taking apples, oranges, tennis shoes, anything to help obstruct this doorway. The head officer was shouting to a crowd, soliciting more objects. He kept saying something about the purpose of blocking the door. It had something to do with finances, but I don’t remember what it was that he was saying. There was one female officer present in the group, and she turned to acknowledge me.

Then I’m back in the open field and these two men are commanding me to begin self-stimulation. In fact, one of them had taken it upon himself to try to masturbate me, but that wasn’t working. But as I was viewing this from outside of my body, I noticed that it wasn’t even my real body. It was a male’s body. I was young teenage male (probably between 15 and 17 years old), and for whatever reason, these two middle-aged men were insisting that I quickly jack off. I agreed to give it a go and took over what the one man had tried to start. I was this young guy, who was vigorously masturbating in front of two men. My thoughts at this point were completely weird. Since I don’t have my own penis to reference from waking life, I think my subconscious kind of fucked up on the whole male sexual response pattern thing. (I could feel that I was developing an erection, but every time I looked down, the damn thing kept getting smaller!) I also noticed that I was missing a urethra. A lot of things about this didn’t make any sense, but I continued on anyway. It seemed like the right thing to do.

I don’t know if I ever finished though, because all of a sudden I was running again. But I had run into a trap. When I backed up, it turned out that the trap was actually a goalies’ net. Two goalies grabbed each of my arms. I was smack in the middle of a sprawling game of women’s soccer. I had a simultaneous aerial view and ground view of the game, as I tried to run for the sidelines. I briefly found myself pushing a cart of water bottles and Gatorade. I think I had tried to get by under the guise of a team assistant, but if I came too near any of the players, they would turn their offense onto me. I could hear another disembodied female voice overhead instructing someone at the far end of the field to harm any girls who tried to run away. I assessed that none of these people had my best interests in mind, but I couldn’t seem to devise a clear way off of the playing field. I don’t remember exactly what happened after that.

I woke up with my eyes burning, as though I had opened them right in the middle of a sandstorm, or onion-chopping.

Analysis: I want to take a moment now to quick analyze this dream before I lose proximity to it, and before I lose perspective. I’m going to go ahead and guess that this was a castration narrative (surprise surprise), but told in reverse. I suspect that those recurring two men were kidnapping teenage boys and forcing them to experience the last natural climax of their lives before castrating them and casting them off into this weird blue city/soccer field universe as tortured and confused ‘females’. But for some reason, I met the damaged females first, and then became the castration-bound boy later (only to revert back to female, and try to escape). The obstructing of the naval vessel port with random objects was likely the closure of a bodily orifice. Maybe that’s where my urethra went…

Over the past year, I have been developing increasingly worse pre-menstrual symptoms. I never used to have this problem, but I think that my underlying emotional turmoil has made it so. I’ve talked to my doctors about it, and am working to get that resolved, but it does make me afraid to begin the descent into madness cycle over and over again each month. In addition to this, I’m currently battling some fierce work-related anxiety and a mild fear of success, the latter of which is frequently linked to women in the workplace.

Those things coupled with the fact that I watched an episode of Skins UK earlier, and had fallen asleep this evening to the shrieking and moaning sounds of Sherlock Holmes Mysteries wafting through the house, and voila! — a freaky post-apocalyptic castration narrative is born.

Adventures at Kum N’ Go with a Robot Doll Sex Slave

I realize that I used to actually post my dreams on this blog, but now I’ve just sort of fallen into the habit of writing about the overall experience of dreaming as opposed to documenting specific dreams. What a tease, right? It’s like someone just selling you the book jacket with the summary and all the review quotes…but not the actual book.

I took a nap with my cat earlier today, and woke up right in the middle of a very strange dream. What I recall now are only just a few scenes. In one of the scenes, I had returned to Kirksville, MO, where I was driving up Franklin Street. I decided to stop at the Kum N’ Go gas station for a hotdog or a slurpee or something. It looked completely different from how I remembered it. They had added on a pharmacy pick-up window to the front. In addition to that, there was this new policy that if you purchased anything inside the Kum N’ Go, you had to strip your car down to just it’s body frame, and then the girl working inside had to stand against a wall while your car’s frame was smacked into her. I swear on my life this is what I dreamt.

So I magically stripped my car down to its frame, and I apologized to the girl that she would have to be pummeled by my car’s frame over the $2 hot dog that I wanted. She sort of shrugged it off, but I could tell that she was worn out and exhausted from all of the car frames that had knocked her over that evening. She claimed that her boss had decided this. What a barbaric policy. As I pulled into my parking spot, I could hear and see her being bowled over by someone else’s car through the window. I have no idea how this worked. Anyway, she noted that my car’s frame wouldn’t be too bad because it was relatively light…whatever that meant.

The next part of the dream that I remember was maybe even more weird. I had purchased some sort of robot doll. I’m not certain what I had originally gotten the doll for, but it quickly turned into a sexual thing. I remember letting some friends check out the doll, and I kept having to arrange its limbs so as not to get broken. The doll started off as a miniature, but then eventually became life-sized. At one point I was like trying to finger the doll, but I like couldn’t really get that to work. So I disassembled it to try to figure out how its private parts worked. As far as I could tell it was a female doll. At one point I was also like on top of the doll.

I have no idea, but the next thing I know, I am at home and I am getting into an argument with my dad. He and my mom were sitting at the dining table eating, and I was hanging out in an adjacent room, but I could hear him badmouthing me about how I was supposedly lazy (this actually happens in waking life). So I got angry and started yelling at him about how my laziness ought to be the least of his worries. I went into the dining room and said something along the lines of, “You should be more concerned about the fact that my boyfriend is a robot.” This was confusing in retrospect because the robo-doll from earlier was definitely female, but I referred to it as my boyfriend. I was almost upset that he knew nothing about my robot doll lover. He was oblivious to what was important to me at the time (this is actual true of waking life).

After that, I only recall being at some sort of knick-knack dollar store looking at a bunch of random crap like playing cards, and string lights, etc. Some nerds nearby were talking about how they wanted to buy some of the stuff while it was on sale. >_>

More Talking

I spent most of today asleep. I accidentally miss another day’s dose, and my psyche is like origami folded into the tiniest structure. You then spend the next 8 to 10 hours supplanted onto one of its sides, traversing your way across seascapes, canyons and canopies, through the weirdest repetitions and anecdotal assemblies, as it slowly unfolds. You can literally feel your mind cramping and relaxing, undulating via raging migraine headaches that last for hours in the morning.

The universe is pretty clever in having created individuals for the purpose of curtailing and tying up all of this shit into neat little walking cages of information. Everything that happens that we are aware of, needs to be processed. Information should be recorded and filed away, not for safe-keeping (which implies a certain sentimentality) but just for the sake of documentation — that this event happened. That Annie or Anthony happened. Information is sustained and made real through its presence and persistence in objects, in individuals, and in dreams. That this emotion occurred. That the universe was capable of this experience, in this person, at this point in time. File it away in your mind file. We are living proof of complexity, although who needs this proof still remains to be seen.

When people die, their psyches must be unfolded into the cosmos. People who have had near death experiences often talk of a shining, bright light. But it isn’t a voyage or passage through any tunnel. It’s an unfolding of crevice upon crevice after crevice inside crevice. Every abstraction in every byzantine corner of the mind that has been processed and reprocessed, folded and refolded through the years is finally laid flat. Death is exposure. Lifetimes worth of emotion and observation held captive in the mind are set free, spewed forth into the ultimate open-source environment — the universe. I don’t yet know my thoughts on whether or not there is a higher power, but I do believe in a more homogenous, less fragmented consciousness from which all human beings are extruded. The greater universe begets the minor universe, of which we are all co-owners and co-creators. It is the only way that empathy is possible.

Some hold the belief that we all know everything that has been known by anyone at any given point in time ever. All of the information that has been experienced and processed by other human beings is available to all of us. We are made of it, but only through civilization are we groomed to make sense of it in any meaningful way. Dreaming is this process at its most transparent. Dreaming is what’s left when the opacity of waking reality is scaled back to zero. We are allowed to peak beneath the hood of our own incredible machines every night, and get brief glimpses of the type of exposure that could only await us at death. Everything is crystalline accessible, yet completely arcane at once. Death may be years off, but we are visited by visions of our own mortality at night. In dreams, give us a puzzle whose pieces we have all created, and each of us one by one will solve it in our own context. How clever to let us all work on the project together through eons of cycles of wakefulness and sleep. I vividly do my part each night.

I am also amazed by the number of dream characters who have asked me over the past few weeks, whether or not I have seen The Muppets movie.

The answer is always yes. You know this. You were there when I saw it. Please stop asking me about it.

I’m Awake Now

It’s almost 1:30. I just woke up feeling extremely dizzy and disoriented. I had to wake up.

I was stuck talking to some girl who wanted me to help her voice this children’s book about who knows what… the only line I remember reading was printed diagonally on a wooden plank drawn on the page: “The most interesting thing was how they all believed that Jesus Christ was their savior.” I kid you not.

And this book had the same page printed like 8 times in a row. And the girl wouldn’t stop watching me use the restroom every time I got up in frustration. And she wouldn’t tell me about what I really wanted to know which was whether Catherine Dutchess of Cambridge (a.ka. Princess Kate Middleton, a.k.a P.K.-Middy) was really having an affair with John Cusack. That was the rumor du jour. Oddly enough, I think I started it…

But either way, I was tired of talking to that bitch, so I had to wake up.

I’m sick of the people I keep meeting in my dreams. They are either completely inept and oblivious to what’s relevant, and/or they directly obstruct what ever my goal is in the dream. And I realize they are obstructing it. And I think they realize they are obstructing it. And I think my subconscious is just some asshole chick with nothing better to do than give me the run-around once she realizes I’ve been asleep for too long.

For the Love of John, Make It Stop?

babby Cusack

John Cusack’s 1982 sophomore yearbook photo. Don’t judge me. You don’t know what it’s like.

Of his 56 film career (not including upcoming projects in pre-/post-production or principal photography), I have seen 46 films. No signs of stopping, although I am becoming a bit concerned…

Lately I have been having these weird and raunchy dreams after watching John Cusack movies. Essentially, I’m John Cusack and I’m having really intense sex with his female lead. Last night it was Kate Beckinsale. A few nights ago it was Ione Skye. Dear subconscious, I think you’ve got it all backwards.

Shouldn’t I be dreaming that I’m the girl he’s banging, and not the other way around?? Is it that deep down I don’t really want to be with John Cusack… but that I just want to be John Cusack?? Am I that engaged by his masculinity that I secretly desire to adopt it? I don’t think I’m ready for that level of creepiness. I mean, why would I want to be a 45 year-old dude? Is it penis envy? (gross) Should I be legit considering a sex change? What does it all mean?!?

Maybe I’m subconsciously entering a portal into someone else’s mind… Except, instead of John Malkovich… it’s John Cusack?? *headscratch*

Although that would beg the obvious question… what the fuck is he doing banging Kate Beckinsale 10 years after the fact?

Light Therapy

light therapy

Today might be dreary, but for the first time in 7 months, I am opening my curtains.

This winter might be okay. I feel a little bit better already.

I have had a few interesting dreams this week. Towards the beginning of the week, I dreamt that I was an up-and-coming guitarist. The only hitch was that for some reason every song I played sounded an awful lot like Stairway to Heaven. Later in the week I dreamt that I was meeting up with a number of college friends and acquaintances, one of which I attempted to have lesbian sex with. She freaked out and claimed she was a virgin, but she was lying.

This morning I dreamt that I returned to Truman. I met up with Joyce and she took me to the art gallery. Dr. Shoaff was the new gallery director, and had decided to move the main gallery entrance to the opposite side of the gallery and add a corridor next to it to display additional artwork. I couldn’t decide whether or not I liked the changes to the space. Then a few male students I didn’t recognize threatened to physically assault Joyce and I. I don’t remember whether or not they actually did.

I told Chris Drew the other day that I really want to see Ariel Pink perform again. I feel compelled to see him in L.A. specifically someday. If I ever make it out there, I hope to meet him. No wait, I take that back. I don’t ever want to meet him. Then he would know I exist and the fantasy of it all would be ruined.

Oh, brother….another weird dream.

Last night’s dream was a little weird.

I dreamt that I had 3 or 4 brothers, and that I moved into a house with just them. I was younger in this dream — I felt to be a 12 year old girl. Only one of my brothers actually looked like me…although, I suspect I looked differently in this dream as well. One of my brothers I actually recognized as a co-worker of mine…the other brother was my real life brother, and the last brother I recognized as the bully Owen from Degrassi..>_>

Anyway, all I remember is waiting for one of my guy friends to show up for a movie marathon. He showed up with a friend of his (a girl), and they were wearing these identical, ugly, skimpy snakeskin dresses with fishnet stockings and boots. He said they had been out shopping. I remember feeling disgusted by their purchase, and I wanted to kick them out of the house.

I went back to my room, where I encountered my third brother (Owen from Degrassi). Apparently he and I were supposed to share a bedroom. He threatened to rape me, and kept talking about how if I tried to tell anyone, he hurt me. I was very scared. I ran out and called my mom. She showed up, and in another room I told her about what my “brother” had threatened. She was very upset by this and declared that I move out of that bedroom. I told my other brothers as well. The brother who happens to also be a co-worker of mine in real life, began dancing with me. Owen showed up and made an overtly sexual, raunchy comment towards me…and the brother who was dancing with me turned around and defended me.

That is the last I remember.

And the list dwindles…

If you’ll inspect the post below a bit more closely, you will notice that I have in fact, been making progress on the Cillian Murphy movie marathon. Last night I watched Peacock, and was reminded of Breakfast on Pluto for the obvious reasons.

I love his flexibility when it comes to male voices and accents, but I think he might only have one ‘female’ voice — for a large portion of the film, I kept suspecting that “Emma” was really “Kitten”. >_> Although, this isn’t really something he can be faulted for … he is, afterall, not really a woman. He sure does make a pretty one though..

Anywho, I have been such a deadbeat when it comes to dream logging this summer. I haven’t stopped having dreams, although lately I have been having some sleeping problems. But, I just haven’t had time to really sit down and record them. I will fill you in on my last two dream forays, however…

SO this morning: I dreamt that I was an installation artist (of sorts – too much Cillian Murphy, most likely), and that I was setting up my latest project in our garage. It was very Judy Chicago. I had set up this long table, well…it was a table on one end and a shallow wash basin on the other. Then I had apparently invited people of varying ages to volunteer to sit at the table and socialize. At the end of the table farthest from the garage door were all of the elderly people, men on one side, women on the other. At the end that was still inside the garage were all of the younger people, young women, girls, and little children at that point

I noticed that I myself was a much more sociable, fun-loving person while I was orchestrating this whole thing. I was really making connections with the middle-aged women and the elderly. At one point, I even recall a really cliche instance on my part — clutching the eldest gentleman by the shoulders and stating ‘He’s really only as old as he feels, and he feels pretty young.’ Wtf?

Anyway, that wasn’t the weird part of this dream…The part that was weird was that all of the middle-aged to elderly people were actually seemingly real people with believable life stories, who were sitting there conversating, eating finger foods, and laughing — being alive. (lol that alone isn’t weird, I know – I needed a paragraph break, keep reading)

The volunteers at the opposite end however, were different. There were only portions of their bodies — namely busts — and I was repositioning them at will. I literally picked up the head and shoulder of a 30-year old woman, and moved her into the basin end, and she didn’t even respond to that. I nudged torsos around, and laid the young people on top of each other in aesthetically pleasing fashions, and they didn’t even seem to acknowledge that they didn’t have full bodies. I don’t even think they knew. I think they were just puppets. The older people didn’t seem to notice this either, as they carried on merrily talking, eating and laughing. They thought everything was going as planned and were thrilled to be a part of something ‘hip’ and ‘cool’.

So my question is: what the hell? Does my subconscious support the idea that people don’t fully develop until they become old? Deep down, do I really think that young people are at the mercy of whatever arbiter of taste (in this case, myself) they happen to be working for? Probably. That’s the only viable explanation I could come up with for that dream, and you know I am in the business of viable explanations >_>

Moving on to the previous night’s events – I can make this real short and sweet, because I don’t remember much of it anymore anyway. Essentially, I dreamt that my boyfriend and I were planning this massive wedding, and we had asked all of our potential guests to submit hi-res, full-length photos of themselves to us so that we could create life-size cardboard cut-outs of everyone.

Now, I didn’t catch what exactly it was we were planning to use them for before I woke up, but I have this theory that we held an outdoor, summer reception under a giant white canopy, where all of our guests arrive to find that their tables have been seated with their cardboard counterparts — and then Chris and I assure them that they can go home because they are “already here”. Whether or not that’s what actually would have happened…I will never know.

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.