Crust Punk Dream

Tuesday, 3 February 2015

I’m look­ing for my dog on the “cam­pus” of a “col­lege” but every build­ing should ba­si­cally be con­demned. The only peo­ple who use any of them are crust punks, an­ar­chists, and re­ally grumpy old peo­ple. They live in them too. 

I go to a DIY art gallery/​house show and one half of the house is solely com­prised of func­tional but re­ally gross toi­lets. There are no walls, re­ally, just sup­ports where walls used to be. People keep chal­leng­ing me with disin­gen­u­ous ques­tions about my thoughts on very speci­fic is­sues of so­cial jus­tice like: “Why do you sup­port the de­claw­ing of baby seals!?” And I’m all “Where’s the art and/​or bands and have you seen my dog?” And some lady comes by fling­ing some sort of liq­uid on peo­ple and say­ing some­thing about holis­tic earth bless­ing, ex­cept it burns me and turns my flesh pur­ple. Everyone looks at me and the lady says it’s ar­senic wa­ter and that I’m a trai­tor. I pre­tend like I’m al­ler­gic and wig out so I can get the hell out of there and con­tinue look­ing for my dog. Everybody calls me a liar.

I head to an­other house where I had left my pants, be­cause I fig­ure that’s where my dog will be. I’m try­ing to find a bath­room, but there aren’t any. I know my dog is here some­where, but I keep run­ning into ex-girl­friends who tell me what a bad per­son I am. I’m all “What the hell, I’m just try­ing to find my dog!?” I go back out­side and there’s my dog, so I go give her a good scratch.

Then I woke up and went to the bath­room.

I think this dream is about how I am an­noyed by my per­cep­tion that I’m re­quired to take a stand and act upon every in­jus­tice when I’ve got my own prob­lems that I’m try­ing to take care of, along with a dis-ease that I’m the white mod­er­ate that Martin Luther King, Jr. talks about in Letter from a Birmingham Jail.

Horror Comedy Adventure Dream*

Tuesday, 11 December 2012

So I own the House Of Leaves and my movie-generic wife is swal­lowed by an evil crab-walk­ing tod­dler who crawls into a cup­board and morphs into a rolled up bath rug. Wu Tang Iron Fist RZA shows up to take care of the pos­sessed house is­sue and brings U-God with him. U-God tries to saw into the wall but his hand turns against him and he cuts off his mid­dle three fin­gers to pro­tect him­self and every­one else. RZA and I dis­cuss op­tions.

Cut to me trekking in the moun­tains with some­thing like the Ark of the Covenant. Sherpas stum­ble, the lid comes off and a green hand leaps out and face­hugs me, à la The Mask. À la The Tick, my head be­comes a green hand, a bit like Chairface Chippendale. We are cap­tured by Loki and taken to an un­der­ground tem­ple where he uses us and a bunch of Germans for tar­get prac­tice.

My hand­head has given me pow­ers. I try to use it to grab the gun­ners like Mr. Fantastic, but that doesn’t work. Instead I run and grab Loki’s staff and I can use it. Everyone es­capes but Loki who wants his staff back. I use it to cre­ate low fre­quency vi­bra­tions that col­lapse the tem­ple on all 5 of him. 

Outside, it turns out that his hench­men, who all wear tea co­zies as masks are just a bunch of col­lege bros earn­ing some quick beer money.

*This dream was brought to you by cold med­i­cine.

Another Adventure Dream

Sunday, 7 September 2008

Abraham slept from 8:30 to 5:00 last night, so I ac­tu­ally man­aged to have a long, in­volved ad­ven­ture dream of the likes I’ve not had in quite some time.

The ear­li­est part I can re­mem­ber is that a friend of mine needed me to sell her a car. I wasn’t ac­tu­ally a car sales­man, al­though I had an of­fice at a used car deal­er­ship. I was sort of a PI/​answer-​man, so the owner of the deal­er­ship let me have my space be­cause it brought peo­ple to the place to come see me.

All of this takes place in a Children of Men/​Half-​Life sort of near fu­ture. Eventually I wind up un­der gov­ern­ment in­ves­ti­ga­tion and they’ve cap­tured some of my “busi­ness as­soc­iates” so a game of cat and mouse en­sues where I have to fig­ure out how to free them with­out be­ing caught my­self. There is a mole among all of the peo­ple I’m around, which makes it dou­bly hard. We’re the good guys, of course, fight­ing against a cor­rupt gov­ern­ment. The di­vi­sion be­tween rich and poor is ex­tremely po­lar­ized. The rich are in­do­lent, ba­si­cally spend­ing all of their time schmooz­ing, buy­ing ex­pen­sive stuff from flashy places and slum­ming. There was an in­teresing dy­namic be­tween the shiny store­fronts and their dark back al­leys. Restaurants where peo­ple are served plates of pre­cious gems in high-rise tow­ers are steps away from guys play­ing Rube Goldberg-like re­lays races with kegs and cases of beer.

I’m weav­ing my way through all of this, keep­ing one step ahead of the pur­suit, and also try­ing to track down my love in­ter­est, who is avoid­ing me for some rea­son. I even­tu­ally run into her in a dingy out­skirt at sun­set, we fi­nally ad­mit that we love each other and then I fig­ure out she’s the mole, but too late. I try to es­cape back into the flashy places, but they’ve been arranged so that I can’t es­cape.

I wanted to dream to con­tinue, but the baby cried.

Dreamland Transportation

Wednesday, 2 April 2008

Lately I’ve been hav­ing many dreams in­volv­ing var­i­ous forms of trans­porta­tion and how they fail me. A fre­quent one has me in a tiny boat that keeps get­ting swamped from rough wa­ter, leav­ing me stranded in the mid­dle of a lake; an­other has me try­ing to get my un­wieldy bike down a steep and nar­row stair­case, with no rail­ing or walls, a fall would mean cer­tain in­jury.

I’m guess­ing these dreams are sub­con­scious at­tempts to deal with my fears of main­tain­ing a strong fam­ily and be­ing a good fa­ther. It isn’t an easy task, and I’m not con­fi­dent that I have a com­plete grasp on what it en­tails. Thus, the lack of con­trol over my var­i­ous forms of trans­porta­tion.

The dreams could also re­flect a sim­i­lar stres­sor at work, with my cur­rent work­load. I like be­ing busy, but two de­sign­ers and nearly 70 sites to maintain/​convert is a pretty hairy recipe. Thankfully we’re get­ting the de­signer I re­placed back in mid-May.

I sup­pose the dreams don’t need to have speci­fic causes pinned to them; al­though it seems fairly clear to me that I’m feel­ing a dis­tinct lack of con­trol over my life; and for those who know me, they know I like to be in con­trol.

Dreams, Lately

Tuesday, 29 January 2008

A cou­ple of nights ago I dreamed I was at a Guns ‘N Roses con­cert; they were play­ing Bön Jovi cov­ers. In the dream, I kept try­ing to fall asleep, but kept my­self awake be­cause I didn’t want to miss the mu­sic. I ended up wak­ing up fully be­cause I tried so hard not to fall asleep, while I was al­ready asleep. I’m as­sum­ing that I was try­ing to switch be­tween sleep stages but not let­ting my­self do so.

Last night I dreamed that some im­por­tant guy had cre­ated a new, puz­zling, ad­ven­tur­ous world to ex­plore; one of the puz­zles was fig­ur­ing out how to get into the world in the first place. I fig­ured this out be­fore any­one else; it was as sim­ple as ask­ing the man for the key. Once in­side the world was Escher-like, labyrinthine and full of junk. You had to sort through all of the junk to find the use­ful items for the jour­ney. I fig­ured out fairly soon that al­though the world was so large, none of the paths you fol­lowed got you any­where. I re­al­ized that this was also an in­her­ent puz­zle to the world. Upon fig­ur­ing it out, I could leave and get a true ad­ven­ture from the man. Having proved my­self, I did so.

I’ve been play­ing both Portal and Half-Life 2 lately, so I think that gam­ing fired off that par­tic­u­lar dream.

New Recurring Nightmare

Friday, 5 October 2007

My new re­cur­ring night­mare places me in some­thing like an Egyptian tomb, at least in terms of dec­o­ra­tion and dan­ger, and the low ceil­ings, dim light, and def­i­nite sense of tons of weight over­head. I’m part of a team ex­plor­ing this place for its trea­sures and dan­gers. There are many rooms, each with its own par­tic­u­lar trap and the doors to the room are of the se­cret pas­sage­way re­volv­ing sort. In the first room each team mem­ber be­comes fas­ci­nated with one triv­ial as­pect to the ex­clu­sion of all oth­ers. This is bad as the chances of sur­vival for one per­son alone [me] are vir­tu­ally nil. I try to res­cue them but the door to each room closes af­ter a cer­tain time so I have to leave or be caught. I go to an­other room, in­tend­ing to res­cue the other folks even­tu­ally, where some sort of de­mon crit­ter tries to over­whelm me, I es­cape from here as well. Now all the rooms are open­ing and re­leas­ing their crit­ters who are af­ter me. I run back to the orig­i­nal room where I’m cor­nered. I’m try­ing to keep all these dudes at bay and man­age to creak open the orig­i­nal door and yell for my team­mates. Right be­fore I’m over­whelmed they show up to be slaugh­tered but al­low me time to at­tempt es­cape. I don’t make it, but al­ways wake up be­fore get­ting sacked.

I’m pretty sure this is just the 2.0 ver­sion of my old night­mare [men­tioned in pass­ing here] which is pretty ob­vi­ously about aban­don­ment, trust and be­ing fright­ened about in­de­pen­dence and my abil­ity to cope with things. I know when I have the dream that I’ve had it be­fore, but in­stead of lu­cid dream­ing my way out of it, I just try to beat my sub­con­scious at its own game.

Sequel

Sunday, 9 September 2007

Weird dream last night. I’m in a space­ship with some ran­dom ac­quain­tances who are my crew­mates and we’re trav­el­ing through space and/​or time for some rea­son. The trip re­moves or re­tards all of our pri­mary sex­ual char­ac­ter­is­tics but no one seems to care about that or any­thing much, ex­cept me, even when some folks die un­der mys­te­ri­ous cir­cum­stances. Eventually some­one fig­ures out that we’ve lost all am­bi­tion and will to power as well as the naughty bits. I still have some, but this is ex­plained be­cause I am Chief Engineer, and there­fore have more in the first place. We’ve still got in­tel­li­gence, but noth­ing to drive it.

We land on this planet and start a col­lec­tive farm that looks like my Aunt’s in Noblesville, only not sur­rounded by de­vel­op­ment. There are lots of strange crit­ters and more crew die, but no one is in­ter­ested in help­ing out, or even mourn­ing re­ally. Then it turns out that one of the crew has be­come ob­sessed with a lo­cal de­vour­ing mon­ster with spi­der-like as­so­ci­a­tions, and has been feed­ing other crew to it. This girl gets a cut on her fin­ger try­ing to pro­tect the evil thing when we burn the barn it is in, and an egg is se­cretly laid in the cut so an­other mon­ster will be born and the crazy girl is sort of erot­i­cally and se­cretly pleased by this and doesn’t tell any­one. Somehow I just know it is go­ing to hatch and de­vour her from the in­side. I hate when my dreams set them­selves up for ob­vi­ous se­quels. This one was es­pe­cially weird due to the as­so­ci­a­tions of gen­der iden­ti­fi­caiton, sex drive, and am­bi­tion.