Sunday, December 05, 2004
Stratagem
I had a very strange dream last night. Actually, it was a kaleidascope of many, but I’ll only talk of a few strange bits that I remember.
I remember the three of us were wearing low sitting black baseball caps and hoodies, and our roundish counterpart was wearing a grey wool balaclava. All my friends. A tall one, a slightly shorter one, the toqued token fat-guy, and me, striding through a darkened building with some sort of purpose. One of us had a crowbar, one had a baseball bat. There were stores, restaurants all barricaded off for the night around us. It seems to me we had a purpose for being there, slinking through the shadows, only briefly aware of a time limit before detection became imminent. Token fat-guy is hungry and prys up a metal rollgate on a chinese food venue. I remember jumping over and sliding across the stainless steel serving counter, and watching in disgust as he reaches around the counter and shovels handfuls of old springrolls and ginger beef into his mouth, naming each aloud before throwing them down his maw with cartoonish delight. The two other conspirators have caught up with us by then.
“Stop fucking around.”
I check the cash register, and jump back over the counter. As I pull the metal barrier roll back down with a clatter, I notice the small black bubble eye sitting over the lineup area. A red light beeps and I remember thinking of how we must have looked on camera, faces hidden by low billed hats, walking single file down a white sterile janitor hallway. We walk past the row of restaurants and into a big open room, huge empty and brick floored, strangely reminiscent of the bottom floor of the humanities building, but larger, with that same set of stairs going up. At this moment, our time is up. Floruescent lights flash on and there are five members of security standing in front of us. Caught.
The thing that troubles me about this dream is that I don’t even know what the quarry was. I have a sneaking suspicion though that I can chalk this one off to imprinting, after seeing the most godawful movie about “changing the cycle of happy” yesterday. If I had a cycle of happy to change, maybe I would care more, but this dream is really bunk.
The kiss of two people in love: cool, slightly moist, and soft lips. Ideally. (another fragmented dream- with who or where, I don’t think I know. It was on the floor of a carpeted and sunny living room, and unexpected.
I don’t think I can remember the rest, but I had a dream a few days ago that I was driving around with Bill and some other guy in a big van to go to football games, or some other sporting event. For some reason, I think they were the announcers or something, which is absolutely ridiculous. I would be sitting with them, and look down, and see that I was naked. Run off, find clothing, come back, look down again, and be naked. I hate naked dreams. Helplessness and humiliation. But, I always drive cool cars in my dreams- this time, a white convertible Audi.
I had a good time last night- birthday ambush went off with nary a hitch,despite the late appearances of many. Discovered that straight martinis taste like spruce tree sap, and far better tasting if corrupted by Five Alive berry. I also realized last night that I just wanted to be absolutely stupid out of relief that my aunt was gone, and perhaps used my one gross beverage as an excuse to just let loose and be a retard.
We watched Amelie yesterday, which was absolutely amazing awesome fantastic. It was, of course, heart-churningly romantic, and thus a little bit sad, but overall, what a fucking concept, and just- Wow. Apparently “wow” was once a cool word back in the beat days. Now, “wowie zowie” no longer holds the same contemporary effect. It depicts ideas of old men shuffling through the jitterbug. Anyways the movie- it was comprised essentially, of silly niggling thoughts and dreams carried one step further into actuality, and I dug that- makes me feel less loopy to know that at least one other person is prone to silly romantic thoughts and “stratagems,” however fictional it may have been. Ahh nuts.
Almost ended up showing Fenton my entire portfolio yesterday, not realizing what a grievous error that would have been until the doorbell rang upstairs, and I was saved. I realized later that I don’t really know why it would have been a big deal, but it is a big deal somehow.
¶ 3:16 PM
I remember the three of us were wearing low sitting black baseball caps and hoodies, and our roundish counterpart was wearing a grey wool balaclava. All my friends. A tall one, a slightly shorter one, the toqued token fat-guy, and me, striding through a darkened building with some sort of purpose. One of us had a crowbar, one had a baseball bat. There were stores, restaurants all barricaded off for the night around us. It seems to me we had a purpose for being there, slinking through the shadows, only briefly aware of a time limit before detection became imminent. Token fat-guy is hungry and prys up a metal rollgate on a chinese food venue. I remember jumping over and sliding across the stainless steel serving counter, and watching in disgust as he reaches around the counter and shovels handfuls of old springrolls and ginger beef into his mouth, naming each aloud before throwing them down his maw with cartoonish delight. The two other conspirators have caught up with us by then.
“Stop fucking around.”
I check the cash register, and jump back over the counter. As I pull the metal barrier roll back down with a clatter, I notice the small black bubble eye sitting over the lineup area. A red light beeps and I remember thinking of how we must have looked on camera, faces hidden by low billed hats, walking single file down a white sterile janitor hallway. We walk past the row of restaurants and into a big open room, huge empty and brick floored, strangely reminiscent of the bottom floor of the humanities building, but larger, with that same set of stairs going up. At this moment, our time is up. Floruescent lights flash on and there are five members of security standing in front of us. Caught.
The thing that troubles me about this dream is that I don’t even know what the quarry was. I have a sneaking suspicion though that I can chalk this one off to imprinting, after seeing the most godawful movie about “changing the cycle of happy” yesterday. If I had a cycle of happy to change, maybe I would care more, but this dream is really bunk.
The kiss of two people in love: cool, slightly moist, and soft lips. Ideally. (another fragmented dream- with who or where, I don’t think I know. It was on the floor of a carpeted and sunny living room, and unexpected.
I don’t think I can remember the rest, but I had a dream a few days ago that I was driving around with Bill and some other guy in a big van to go to football games, or some other sporting event. For some reason, I think they were the announcers or something, which is absolutely ridiculous. I would be sitting with them, and look down, and see that I was naked. Run off, find clothing, come back, look down again, and be naked. I hate naked dreams. Helplessness and humiliation. But, I always drive cool cars in my dreams- this time, a white convertible Audi.
I had a good time last night- birthday ambush went off with nary a hitch,despite the late appearances of many. Discovered that straight martinis taste like spruce tree sap, and far better tasting if corrupted by Five Alive berry. I also realized last night that I just wanted to be absolutely stupid out of relief that my aunt was gone, and perhaps used my one gross beverage as an excuse to just let loose and be a retard.
We watched Amelie yesterday, which was absolutely amazing awesome fantastic. It was, of course, heart-churningly romantic, and thus a little bit sad, but overall, what a fucking concept, and just- Wow. Apparently “wow” was once a cool word back in the beat days. Now, “wowie zowie” no longer holds the same contemporary effect. It depicts ideas of old men shuffling through the jitterbug. Anyways the movie- it was comprised essentially, of silly niggling thoughts and dreams carried one step further into actuality, and I dug that- makes me feel less loopy to know that at least one other person is prone to silly romantic thoughts and “stratagems,” however fictional it may have been. Ahh nuts.
Almost ended up showing Fenton my entire portfolio yesterday, not realizing what a grievous error that would have been until the doorbell rang upstairs, and I was saved. I realized later that I don’t really know why it would have been a big deal, but it is a big deal somehow.
¶ 3:16 PM
