Thursday, November 30, 2006

i'm a lonely skin who just wants to hang out

brickyard pizza with green chile and tomato, water, cup of cocoa & (literally) one ginger cookie

I'm going to the Pixies concert. But I need to get tickets, and I'm going to the punk rock store to buy them. They'll be on sale soon and I want to avoid the lines. I go early and just as they open I'm in. It's in a sort of downtown area, but the building is much like a Nob Hill shopfront, probably like the old InCrowd place, but in later days, run down, decaying. I go in, the lady is very nice, I think she feels some pity for me, like I'm some sort of oddity or freak or defective. The tickets are a lot more than I thought, though, and I have to scratch the money out of my wallet. And then she writes my name on a whiteboard calendar, apparently the tickets they're selling are for any events for the next week, not just this one. But what else is playing? Nothing, that I know of. It seems a rip off to me, but I won't complain, this store is important to the scene.

I go back home. Stephine is on the way over and some of the guys are around. The inside of my house seems unfinished, some walls just frames with loose plastic stapled up. Steph arrives, we hang for a moment, but then she goes back outside. We wonder where she's gone. She's out by her new car, feeding Cairan on the tit. The guys seem mesmerized. I tell them that she's pregnant again. They want to go see her boob. Jeez. But I go out to see the new car. It is a green and gold mom-van of a sort, but bubble-shaped, like a giant cough drop. The swelling sides make the interior HUGE, there are benches along the back and the sides and you could almost walk around in there. I congratulate her. Niiiiiiiiiice.

I want to go do something, I want to go back to the punk rock store and see who's around. But I know there will be a giant line now; will I have to wait in it, since I already bought a ticket to the show? I call and ask, but I'm not certain they understand what I'm asking, and obviously they have better things to do. I'm really frustrated. Everybody's gone and I just want to hang out with humans. Fuck.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

man busts his face (disturbing)

thanksgiving dinner redux ("turkey," cranberries, stuffing), water

I don't remember all of this, but it was one of my giant trek dreams. Are we a people driven from their homes, maybe? (I have been reading about Mormon history.)

missing potion.

We are herded through a ruined, wet, skeletal building of concrete slabs and exposed wires, little light. We are taken up several flights of stairs and up onto a deteriorating metal roof, rusty color. The view is of a wide valley ringed with mountains. I'm with my mother. We have to get down and across the roof to some sort of transportation. I being picking my way down the slope, keeping in mind mom & not letting her fall. But a big guy near us-- a cop, but he's not in uniform, just jeans & a t-shirt and heavy hiking boots-- he starts bounding down the side of the roof. He doesn't see the heavy metal railing he's headed right into, one bar at waist height, one at face height. He ploughs full speed into it. Blood and bone fly, his body is suspended by his destroyed face wrapped around the railing, his jaw falls, his body schlocks off and crumples to the roof. Hysteria.

missing portion.

It's now Josh and I (maybe? is Jonesy there, in his big green coat?) and a few guys our age, we're out in a forest, still on the move. We come to a ravine with a very steep rock face. There is a tire at the bottom where we were expecting to jump down to, but now it has been shifted and can't help break our fall. Can we get down without getting hurt? There are more guys across the ravine, they say they got down and across okay. The only other option is to go way around, several miles out of the way, and we're sure to be caught trying that.

Thursday, November 23, 2006

josh won't stop undressing me

brickyard pizza with bells & mushrooms, water, some PBR, some Skyy

First part is forgotten.

Austen and I get off a bus "downtown," but it is an ailing post-industrial wasteland of decaying buildings and empty lots full of trash. But there is new activity starting, new building. Right where we step off the bus is a construction site, there is a funky, hand-painted sign in stripes of jarring colors, so that it reverbs and is hard to make out. I finally realize it says "PRADO." I tell Austen that our friend Miguel will be so excited to know that there's going to be a Prado right downtown. She laughs and we start off, I guess we're walking home. She and I split at some point and Josh and I meet up. We're walking out of the downtown area and across some sports fields and onto a high school campus. Josh is being mischevious and keeps tackling me and taking my pants off. But there are people around, some distance off, but still...

We go into the high school building, we walk through one set of doors, there's a small intermediate room, then the doors into the building. (cf the doors into the CFA that lead to the Dept of Dance offices area) Josh is still being a card, but in the building there are security guards, and we don't want to get nicked. There's a guard coming down the hall off to our left. The light is low, grey-green. The environment is grimy, grey, lockers and industrial tiles. The guard is coming, we can't see him yet, and we're nervous. But then he takes off running. He and another guard are playing games with each other, they consider it "training" together. They race around & play hide and go seek. I'm glad they're off our back, but I'm chagrined that they are "training" rather than doing their job. (Is there some sort of zombie or mob threat? I'm not sure.) I think that if they want to "train," they should do it separate from their guard time at the school.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

goat cheese & spanish novels

stuffed peppers, broccoli, donuts

Lane and I decide that I will prep more goat cheese for the red pepper tomato bisque. I'll chop up hunks of whole goat cheese, we'll keep it in a small insert like the fresh mozzarella. I go and look but find it, Lane shows me the egg-shaped lumps in dark foil. He give me a switchblade to cut it with. Working at the big wooden table in the kitchen. I cut one lengthwise, then try to slice it down. The knife is sharp but is the wrong tool, the wrong shape. It has a knob just above the tang that keeps me from drawing all the way down. I try different knives in the kitchen, but the paring knife (looks like my Global paring knife) isn't very sharp; I try a wierd axe that looks like a Tibetan ritual item in stainless, but it's too unwieldy. The foil on the cheese has become a hard, thick plastic or wax shell.

The cheese pieces turn into Spanish novels and religious books, all with cheap, small-press-looking covers. I throw them one at a time into a big box or trunk lined with a black plastic bag. (Looks like a big version of the roasted chile box i peeled this fall.) I weep for each that I drop into the box. There are other people around, participating, and there is a reference in this action to something historical, but we're enacting it in reverse, putting books in rather than lifting them out.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

back to highschool in a red suit

day of death, 24 hours of stomach bug, had some applesauce and a little mac & cheese for dinner, water.

a fragment.

Need to get dressed and get to (high) school. I'm at my parents' house, and I take time to put together all the pieces of this suit, fabric almost like upholstery, metallic maroon over black in a florid (not floral) pattern. Takes me some time to find all the pieces. Finally dressed, I ask my mom if she will drive me cuz I'm already late. She takes me, a friend of hers rides shotgun & I'm in back. On the way, it occurs to me that I've been on fall break & I've forgotten what my first class is, and no idea how to get around the place. Mom is sure I'll figure it out once I get there. I'm upbeat but dubious. They drop me off and La Cueva is, literally, a giant shopping mall with some airport aspects, too. I have no idea at all. At least I've missed first period entirely and I think that 2nd is German, if I can only find it...

Monday, November 13, 2006

adventure with the clown head superweapon

"Chicken" pot pie, cream puffs, water.

(Could this dream be any more Freudian-ly obvious?)
We're teeneagers. Our little clan is on a quest through the suburban landscape, skirting neighborhoods across playing fields and up and over dams & such. One of our group has a new, powerful weapon that glows blue when the light goes down, looks a lot like a trident but rounded at the corners. Another gang, to whom the weapon belongs, begins to hunt us down. We have a lead on them, but they'll be upon us soon enough.

And then the showdown. Their best heaves a javelin at me, but I duck and roll and evade. We have them and they submit. We proceed to intimidate them. There's a faint sexual element to it, some inference that I'll make this kid my bitch if he doesn't watch his step.

I examine the great trident weapon. It morphs in my hands to the size of a dolphin. The interior opens to reveal the Fun Fountain clown head as the power source. Reality/realism declines at this point in the dream and I begin to think that I might be able to get a new head/had for our fountain by ordering another of these weapons off of the internet.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

i'm a sorcerer

see dream below, dreamed this after the crash dream

I'm at work. But instead of a dining room, the restaurant is an auditorium-shaped room that reminds me of the old UNM SUB Ballroom. Gray carpet, gray walls, shoulder-high stage in the point of the pie-shaped room with black drapes behind. People are showing up, all dressed for halloween. Ms. Sullivan is among them, dressed as a witch with a green face and pointy hat. She doesn't see me, I feel bad for not getting a hold of her for years. It's getting crowded up on stage, where they're setting up in circles, working on some papers. Including a big black dragqueen. I ask her if she's LaFawnduh [I think that's the giant woman on _Napoleon Dynamite_?], she says, "Huh?" Guess she's not who I think she is. I need to take some more chairs up there. I fight my way through and around with a chair, the same green metal chairs we have at the restaurant, and I try to get Sully's attention but fail. And I'm cornered and stuck up on the stage. I guess I'll just do my teleportation thing. Haven't practiced in a while, might be rusty. Of course, all it requires is squeezing my left thumb and middle fingertip together. My finger buckles and twists a bit, but I feel the old familiar electric buzz in my finger bones and I warp back over across the room. Some people notice and are duly impressed. What can I say, I'm a very powerful individual. Some of the college age people from the group, including not-LaFawnduh, have moved into a circle back in the back to work. They are very studious.

pee wee makes the plane wreck less horrible

Election night. Jaegermeister shots. Pasta & bread sticks. Late night quesadilla.

Travelling with my parents, Eric, Gentry, and my wife, played by a sort of Gentry/Flo hybrid. Flying in a giant airplane, bigger inside than a 747. The environment is gritty, golden, murky, hung with asian carpets. An overhead rack that spans much of the center of the plane is suspended by ropes & is made of wood planks & netted rope. [similar environment to the apartment in a recent dream]

Take off is a little janky. But when landing, the plane tilts back almost to a total vertical. Obviously we're in giant trouble. My wife is hunkered way way down in her seat, her feet up on the seat in front of me. I lean over her, kiss her gently, we say we love each other. At least we're together. A giant, squared, industrial arch reaches over the runway and we smash into it, the front 2/3 of the plane is ripped off and obliterated. We're at the back and it about 15 rows ahead of us that rips off. People go flying out, we cen see the sepia sky. But our section lays down and skids to a stop and we are alive. We get out, suprisingly untraumatized. Our bags are in the overhead rack, and we start to sort them out. I can't find my plain brown leather duffel. I think it will turn up.

My parents still intend to catch a connecting flight and are getting antsy. We're in and out of a small terminial building. And up trots Pee Wee. I don't register at first, I'm very very confused. But then I realize that she's come to find me, and my heart melts, a pick her up. I have no leash so I'll just have to hold her to keep her safe. My parents are still itching to get on another plane. But I can't leave Pee Wee, I insist on taking her home. The only way to get her there is to walk, and we start off. I have to get there and back in an hour. I set out, and we're in the center of the Albuquerque Academy campus-- easy, it's only a few minutes to our place. It's night suddenly. I carry Pee Wee some, she just follows me the rest. We go up the side of a big hill. At the top there is a river and waterfall we have to cross. I carry her across the hexagonal sculptural cement elements that step-stone across the horizon of the waterfall. From there we're home free. We get home, to a place much like our old house at 406 1/2. I get some stuff together-- my bag is gone, with my clothes, my books, and my travellers' checks. I thank Pee Wee for coming for me. I have to go.

Josh is there-- oh! can I get a ride back? I'm running late and my plane leaves in 10 minutes. He agrees, I drive. But we're in New York but kind of still in Albuquerque. I'm lost, though. The shock is setting in. I'm disoriented, I find myself on 2nd street, have to double back to Yale. But how do you do that? I'l never make it. The plane leaves in 5 minutes. Too bad.

(I woke up, let Pee Wee out, convinced her to come back to bed with me instead, kissed on her and told her what a good dog she is until I could get back to sleep.)

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

dream 2: pablo calls me

see other dream from last night

I'm hanging out in my back yard. I call Pablo, leave a message on his phone, my Spanish is okay. Pablo calls back, I can't hear him very well, his phone must be a piece of shit. I finally make out what he's saying. "What do you want to do?"

dream 1: maresa's crazy life & landlord

curried butternut squash soup, cranberries, toast, water, a brownie; late night bowl of frosted mini wheats

Going to see Maresa at her new place. (Jason doesn't seem to exist in this world.) She and Sheryl, I think, just got this new place in some apartments up in the hills. Apartments hardly, more like a hillside warren of post-apocalyptic hovels that grow like a spreading fungus. Once I find the place, which isn't easy, it's a ramshackle mountain of clapboard, peeling paint, third rate structural supports, grime. I climb all over, I can't remember how to get to her door, I end up going all the way over the top and down the other side. Literally the whole hill is overgrown with this accreted architecture. I circle back, try again, never leaving the maze that is this place. Sheryl, I think comes and finds me, leads me through, shows me the hairpin turn I missed, up into their apartment. It is yellowed, moth-eaten, the floors are exposed, creaky boards. But they have it lit up like a party and there's colorful junk everywhere. I'm naked and smoking, there's a commotion at the door, they produce hushed shouts that it's the landlord. If he catches anyone smoking in there, they may lose their place. I palm my cigarette and gingerly step around the man, a huge, greasy, hairy thing. I take off, he's after me. Seems like it would be easy to hide here, but he knows the place, and I obviouslty don't.

We all meet back up at a big dance lesson. We are all supposed to be out on the floor-- stlll in this rats nets architectural growth-- dancing. I'm reticent, but for Maresa & Sheryl I give in. The dance instructor, a short, wiry guy hippie with chest hair that is 8 inches long and straight, has everyone sit but me. I'm to be made example of. It's like a gym class nightmare from midschool. He's naked now, and I scan his very uncofmortable body. He wants me to simply "dance," so he can see and point things out. He's inching closer to me, 'till he's right up against me, taunting, and he says "You know what--" his tounge flicks out and disgustingly licks the tip of my nose "--to do." And one across the forehead. Hot, wet, pasty. My arm jams forward and I have a steel grip around his throat. He looks alarmed, his arms waving, scrabbling to get a hold on me, which he ineffectually does. I shove him away. I'm not going to kill a guy at Sheryl's dance lesson, fucking hippie or not.

I dance, he watches, I stop. He gives me a mixed review. But points out that if I was in a room full of dancing people, my performance wouldn't be as noticeable and therefore more acceptable, but he urges me to practice. I remain silent, glad not to be totally trashed by him, but genuinly uninterested in the whole thing.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

for the sake of constancy (really, dude, you don't work there anymore)

bean burritos from frontier, some beer later

I don't remember it all, and it was far too irritating and obvious to record anyhow. Suffice it to say, I had a dream I was trying to advise my old boss on hiring a replacement for me and he was being absolutely obtuse and refusing to listen to a thing I said, as was always the situation. I was genuinely trying to give some important points which they might consider and I was scoffed at and ignored. When will my brain let this shit go? Of course, earlier in the day I had had a conversation with _____ about this very situation, only with different details, and I'm sure that's where this is coming from.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

anna's alive and i choke on gum

brickyard mushroom & peppers pizza (flat crust this time, wierd), water, some halloween candy, a bowl of honey o's (yes, i was binging)

We're back at Aunt Anna's house on Osage in Bartlesville. A family reunion, and she's still alive. The interior is much more like the western half of my parents' house, though. In attendance are some Poppuirts, including little Andrew. Anna is far more elderly than I remember her ever being, but still trucking. She has two nurses that take care of her, always one around. But with all of us there, they have some days off. They get paid $100 a day, and my father thinks this is a rip off. But I think about it and figure that after taxes they take home money equal to a successful waitress. And they spend all day every day keeping our family member alive-- I think it's an acceptable price.

I'm walking past Anna's bedroom (now it's completely our old bedrooms at mom & dad's), she's asleep by the window (in what would be Eric's room), in a bed, propped up at a strange 45 degree angle. I start chewing a huge plug of gum. I look back and the two nurses are standing, looking at mom's computer. I take in a breath to talk to them, but instead inhale my gum, and in a panic try to swallow it, but only part goes down, then I try to gag it back up but can't. I resort to trying to grab the gum with my fingers and drag it back out of my throat. I tear off hunks, but am unsuccessful. The nurses think I am a doofy guy who swallowed his gum because I'm not any good at talking to women. This aggravates me. I still can't get it back out of my throat, and they (and I) are getting concerned. WIth hand gestures I assure them that I'm okay, continue to try to drag the goo out of my throat. Unsuccessful. Now I'm panicking. I can see in a mirror the gum just behind my tonsils. It's blue with red and white contentric circle center. I indicate that one of them should bang me on the back. She complies, the wad of gum jiggles, nothing more. I try to just swallow it. Swallow swallow swallow. It's working.

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

face it, you don't work here anymore

pot pie & grandma anderson's fried squash, water, some (but not much) halloween candy

I ride my bike from 2nd St, some ways south, into town and onto campus. But it's out in the middle of nowhere, very hilly, indutrial, fringe. I'm headed for the Art Museum, I get there, it's the Museum I've dreamed of, not the real one, and even bigger this time.

I head downstairs. I think Michele meets me and we walk around some exhibits, all in rather vast galleries with very very high ceilings. Much of the art incorporates electronics, many with flat screens. Somewhere along the way, Michele disappears and/or becomes my mother, somewhat alternately. And there are these two young women, one in a wheelchair. They are obnoxious and inarticulate, I largely ignore them, though I wish I could tour the museum without being on the same track as them. I try to change directions or pace, get some privacy & let them go their own way. No luck.

Eventually I go into a gallery that would correspond to the Print Room, but is yet again a giant warehouse of a room, this time with exposed concrete floors and coarse, exposed masonry walls. At this point in my dream I remember an integrated back-story: [in dream world] the staff had told me about a guy working on "giant signs" in an area under construction there in CFA adjacent to the museum, and these are his works. They had befriended him and offered him a show and now here it is. The works are billboard size, heavily neon, offset rectangular elements, many with text [my impression is that the content of the text is probably of a political bent that would cause a sycophantic, sanctimonious Democrat like LS to jump at the chance to hang them, but even so, the works are very impressive].

The dorky girls are in there, too. The one in the chair occasionally stands & wobbl for a moment, as if to prove that she can. They being touching things, and I flip out. I stalk over and tell them that they need to stop touching the artworks. They laugh in my face, who am I and what am I going to do about it? I step up on them a bit, stupid of me, and the wheel chair girl pulls out a can of mace. Aims it at me. Looks at me with loathing rather than alarm. She's just itching to see what I'm gonna do. Well, I'll tell ya-- and I walk over to the desk [print room!] and pick up the phone, dial the private line at the front desk, 7-7313 [don't recall if this is right or just close]. I tell the front desk guy what is going, on, and he should have us on his monitors, too. I don't try to pull the old "I'm a friend of so and so" or anything. The bugger has the temerity to tell me that he's not sure what I want him to do. I tell him to call the police and have these bitches ejected. He refuses and hangs up. I am shocked and a little humiliated.

I'm riding back to my car. This time it's all downhill. I am totally flying. I don't know what the speed limit is, but I bet I'm close to it, just cruising. Pretty scary but also exhililrating. I see a 65mph sign, and I know that I'm going 50. I decide I'd better use the bike lane, though, and it's cobblestone rather than pavement. I get going pretty fast again, but then suddenly the bike path curves off to the right, up over the top of a circular driveway, and empties back going the opposite direction. End of bike path. I stop and consider my options.