2014

29-12-14 In a very densely vertical city, having walked over a sky bridge, I came to the back of a gridded line of people waiting to resolve issues with their Fred Meyer rewards cards at a counter in the wall. The time it took J M to say “Welcome back, Xander: good to have you with us.” was all the time it took for the line to completely disappear, and I had my issue, whatever it was, resolved within a minute. I then headed into the brown-tiled store proper, with its oddly hilly floor, and ran into C E in the produce section. We commiserated about Fred Meyer’s lack of sympathy for our offers to compost their food waste as she pulled a flat of sage starter-plants from a refrigerator shelf.

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28-12-14 Something is enticing me to believe this is a recurring dream. I sat on a low seat on a dark old rug in an otherwise featureless white area while a headless white boy and his rolling head, escorted by an older woman, walked briskly past me. I believe it was the boy and not in his head that were making disquieting gurgling/creaking noises, but I think the head rolled of its own accord, and was not kicked.

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23-12-14 I crawl-snuck into a very large log cabin on stilts, with a ramped entrance. It certainly gave the impression of not being a log cabin, once on the inside. My assignment d’espionage was, for some reason, to turn all the lights in the house on without being discovered. It was a rather sadly dingy place, with hugely energy-inefficient fixtures drawing attention away from its general state of disrepair, and I believe an old hetero couple ended up noticing me. There was some confusion as to what they would do with me thereafter, but the issue was apparently resolved when the interiors morphed into a cheaply but neatly furnished entry hall to a large indistinct performance center. I flickered in and out of third person view as I bumbled around absentmindedly, apparently waiting for visitors. I think I was part of the jazz band performance I was ushering for, but no one came. Ha ha.

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12-12-14 So the day after i remember a dream fragment featuring myself pointing a well-muscled finger, i dreamt that i was running and making complicated finger gestures. The sad.

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9-11-14 Loosely-connected fragments.

I think I checked into a somehow-sketchy but clean room for the night in a very small duplex In the middle of the woods on a hillside. I had a traveling companion whom I cannot remember, and it was cloudy when we left on our "mission" through the autumnal woods. Despite the overarching themes of the sinister, it was only ever psychological. We walked along a path, spinning slowly on occasion to look through the slightly misty birch/aspen trees, and finally realizing that the path was bordered by meter-diameter metal rings, I intentionally and clumsily knocked one over. I appealed to my mysterious companion as to what the blue runes on the back were, and they seemed not to know, adding to our unease. Following several further details forgotten by this point, we/I made it back to our room and looked out the south-facing window to see the early-morning sun spotlighting a large shaggy kangaroo and joey eating from a prosperously green garden.

Further exposition: clever of my dream, to make me finally re-learn what a baby kangaroo is called.

3-11-14 I was caught up in what seemed to be the plot of a very poorly directed action film. There were empty dimly-lit interior spaces filled with people, and possibly a few stabbings. There were long dim corridors with swift-flowing water. Not much else.

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x-x-14 Somewhere in a very Mars-looking desert, D handed me a sniper rifle and told me to have fun. So I lay right down in the dirt in my underwear, peered through the scope, and killed someone. I did not resist arrest in my skivvies.

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x-x-14 Anachronism theorizing is a good way to avoid being awkward in such a real-life situation, as the modern but horribly retro-looking airport hereafter inhabited seemed. I had been waiting around until almost too late at the wrong terminal, and having learned of my mistake, I ran, in a very starchily unattractive brown suit and red tie, through the sunset-lit airport. I will say simply that I am biased against the general architectural modus of the 70s, and nothing further, except, perhaps, that I felt there was not enough light in the building. The floors were painted to look like streets, and in at least one place, the corridors looked more like the inside of an ant hill, or a very small parking garage underground. I at last reached the plane, and sat down quite naturally, somehow, in the cockpit.

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24-3-14 Molto fancy architexture. A colossal building's exterior I never saw, and with interiors similarly massive: crisscrossing and intricate staircases, vacuous promenades, and black and gilded bathrooms that seemed to go on forever.

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x-2-14 A raven chick the size of a badger had imprinted on me. We croaked and whistled affectionately as we sat together on a table outside the Office of Sustainability, and it rubbed its face and beak against my side as it shuffled into my black ibex coat. A-dorbs. I hope I was a good parent.

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