evil girl / drowning myself

don't know when this was, don't know what i ate. probably after beer bust saturday night with jonsey.

[memories based on scrawlings on paper]

In some sort of historical museum. Victorian housing sort of thing. I'm with a brother & sister, both young, maybe 6 or younger. In a bedroom tableaux. I'm looking for one or both of them. She is hiding in a big crib or bed, I somehow become trapped under the sheets of another bed. She pins me down, far too strong for her tiny self. Through the sheets she is whispering and hissing unholy, frightening, horrible things to me. I am terrified.

another part or another dream

Somehow trapped on a big, hollowed-out, iron-grey, freezing cold boat form, out in the ocean. I can't really even scramble to the edge, it is so steep. I know I am lost to the world, will never be rescued. I manage to get to the top and throw myself into the water. I cross my arms over my chest and allow myself to sink. I purposely inhale as much water as possible, in a giant draught.

(explicit!) porn & money

chicken & dumplings, fruit salad, vanilla wafer banana pudding, water

All up & around my parents' house. Flashing back and forth between:

Me going though my pockets, work apron, and drawers up in my old bedroom, counting my money. I feel like I'm really short of cash, but as I search I find all sorts of money. Sixty bucks hidden in my apron, I remember I put it there for rainy days. A hundred dollar bill stashed on top of a dresser in the closet. I go from nearly no cash to a couple hundred dollars once it's all counted up

and

In my brother's old room, but more like it is now. I have an old stereo sort of thing, but it also has a television screen mounted in it. I'm watching porn-- straight porn-- on this thing, trying to keep the volume quiet so no one hears. It's an old tape that I'd forgotten I had. Did I find it hidden here? Did I bring it with me? I watch some, realize the clip I REALLY want to see is earlier in the tape, I rewind, and again and again. It's all heavy sort of bukkake stuff, but only with one or two guys. One guy in particular has a really giant penis. I'm aware of him as a porn star. It cuts to a close up of him eating a woman out, but her pussy is actually a woman's mouth, with lipstick, it sort of twitches like someone trying to keep from smiling. Next to it or sometimes maybe coming out from between the lips is a bump, like the end of a nose. (The clit?) He very insincerely strokes all of this with his tounge, very dryly and sort of off to the side, so the camera can see. During all of this, I occasionally enter the porn studio, sometimes I am back in my brother's room. I'm masturbating furiously, but none of the clips last long enough, and they're always over right when I'm coming up on getting off. When they end, I always immediately lose my erection & have to start all over.

photographing a hairy nun

sweet & sour tofu, ginger soup, late bowl of frosted flakes.

I'm not working at the museum again, but I am on contract to work on a show. Walking around with Lee and Linda through the spaces. The museum is much larger now [first recurrence, from can't remember when]. Now there is a long, broad hallway behind the lower gallery rear door. It is painted on walls and ceiling with crazy, splashed colors. I remark to Lee that the hallway has really expanded a lot, much more spacious. He agrees, says something about taking room out of one of the bedrooms. I realize that the rest of the musem has also been expanded by moving walls outward into other previous spaces. Still some unfinished construction details along the floors & seams around those expansions.

I'm supposed to be taking photos for this show. I have an appointment to photograph a woman. I head out into the countryside, expensive digital camera & tripod in hand. I come to a very large grass circle, surrounded by dirt. She is there, a tiny little nun. Seems very young. Moonfaced. We greet each other and I send her some distance away for me to get her in the landscape. I decide I don't need my full tripod and it turns into a one-legged apparatus. The ruins of a gothic cathedral spring up around the nun, creating a romantic, dramatic shot. The ruins are highly fluid and bulge forward, encircling her. I get down on the ground, move forward, move back, getting shot after shot, the ruins fisheyeing and retreating depending on my angle. I zoom in for a closer shot, snap, and when I see the image (on the review screen, or in my head?), she is naked to the waist, with the body of a mildly tubby middle aged man, with very long, stringy, excessive body hair all over. Only her round face remains. I find the image reather abhorrent.

a nasty egg

found this scrawled on paper by my bed. it notes that it was the night before we went to ireland back in october, and that we had vegetable soup at maresa & jason's house.

A narrative history of an anarchist leader who got typhus. Laid over my own converns for my own health. This person was a teacher and came down with typhus but didn't die, but was the only one to contract the disease. In my dream, I'm headed for Flipside. I have an egg from there, raw, which I crack and carry in my hand for a while, then gobble down. It is foul, chewy, and nauseating. I'm still chewing it as I get to Flipside, which is downstairs in an office building with very 80's decor, lots of heavy wire grids and neon and overstuffed couches. I pass Todd, who has hade a sign that says the store will be focusing on other areas of town. I know I have typhus by this point, and I hope that Todd helps me quickly so I can leave before I give it to him. I sneeze as I go down the stairs and realize that I didn't cover my mouth. I want to buy a t-shirt and complain about the awful egg.

one year of my dream log here

6.jan.06
been keeping this for one year now. a year that has seen a huge amount of change in my life (as well as affirmation that a lot of the important stuff ain't going anywhere.) i haven't dreamed about hurting anyone in a long time, which is good. also haven't had any epic nightmares in a long time, which i frankly kind of miss. a long time ago, i went through a period of several months dreaming almost every night of being hunted and almost always trying to protect children from the same. turns out you brain knows when you're fucking up your life and *will* tell you so, if you take notice. are my dreams from the past couple of days some sort of inversion from that old pattern re-emerging?

crazy kid at the tanoan gate

quesadilla, chips & salsa, & lots of PBR

Walking up to my parents' house from somewhere in their neighborhood. Car got left but we will go back for it or something. At the Tanoan gate, there's this kid, probably 10 years old, but a tough little shit, black jeans, white undershirt, boots. A little greaser skinhead. His little sister is there, too. Long hair with a dolly. He randomly goes apeshit on me and starts hitting and kicking me. My Ponderosa Child Care training kicks in and I start restraining him, but he's suprisingly strong and fast and slippery. It takes forever, but I finally get his arms crossed and lock his legs. After a couple of minutes he relaxes and I start talking to him. It's very hot and uncomfortable hanging onto this kid and I want to get us both up off the ground. I ask him if his boots are steelies, cuz "they sure felt like it when [he] was kicking me." He says they're just reinforced somehow. I let him go, not entirely sure if he's going to attack me again but not concerend. I start pushing on the toes of my boots and I realize that instead of a solid steel cap, they're actually just floating or flexing metal plates. I'm kind of pissed to realize this. I take the kids back to my parents' house, because they have nowhere to go.

lost in bozeman while visiting nazis

spagetti, a couple cookies, a couple pbr's

Fragments that I'm not sure how they fit together, but I know it was all interlaced as a story.

In a car, my mom is driving, I think Gentry is with us. In Bozeman, trying to get to the mall. Roads are all torn up so my mom takes a different route through town. Once we're at the mall, we do our shopping, but when it's time to go and I start towards the car, my mom objects that "that's not the way" and insists that we go the very long way around, like we came, instead of what I know is a much quicker way out the nearest door. I'm very anxious to get out of the mall and get the show on the road but I try to be patient and agree to go the long way around.

In another story line, I'm visiting some guy at his parents' house. He's a younger skinhead but very large. [probably the fat blonde kid that wanted to jump me at smiths in october, but mixed with the fat drug addict that comes into the restaurant.] They're a wierd hill-billy-ish family, mom is rather old and worn and downtrodden, hair pulled back, dark dress with little flowers all over it. Po' country folk. After I'm there, I realize that this guy has swazi tattoos on either temple and on his forehead. But the swazis are squared (rather than upturned) and the bottom joins with a line all the way across. I don't think that his parents realize that their son is fronting as a nazi, and I'm not certain they would understand or really care. We're sitting around talking (seems like I've got someone there with me at this point), and I start to realize he has wierd tattoos all over, running like veins all over his body, black outline filled with colors that fade one to another. I start a narrative in my head, that I'm convinced this kid isn't really a nazi, that he's always been cool to me, that he's just confused. I'm not certain if maybe I'm rehearsing this to talk to him, or to his parents, or what. I'm not certain that he won't freak out and try to kill me if I say what I really think.

i'm no art history teacher

Chicken & rice followed by cookies & late night frosted flakes.

In a classroom, crappy industrial carpet & bad lighting, feels like a lame community college. Flora's class. I don't know if I'm really supposed to, but I feel I should be teaching the others about identifying and interpreting narrative in friezes. There are teaching aides, somewhat like large plastic slide-sheets for collectors cards, but with images from artworks. I try to explain that Flora won't expect them to know everything that is going on in a frieze, but that they can get a long way by recognizing characters and perhaps some of their actions, and thus constructing possible narratives. It is going nowhere.

I think that class is adjourned, so take off down the hallway. I come back a few minutes later to find that class came back into session and I missed a test. Flora seems disappointed in me, but I'm not certain if she's really going to knock me or let me take the test.