Archive | November, 2017

Cities and Boxes

26 Nov

I dreamed I was in a city in Thailand. It looked huge–there was a slope covered with box-like, mostly white buildings. Walking around, I was in a place that looked poor and run-down and reminded me of India.

I dreamed I was visiting a city where I had previously lived. It didn’t look like Portland. It seemed European. I walked down narrow, winding streets lined with tall old buildings, no space between them.

At twilight, I was wandering one such street and a few others were also walking down the street, I think a couple of young guys behind me and talking to each other, if no one else. Someone may have stuck their head out a window and called out to them. I felt like I was out of place, trespassing, and that they or another passerby would know that I’m an intruder. I had a strong sense of not belonging.

800px-Robbafountain

[By Sculptor: Francesco Robba (1698-1757)Photo: User:Kaktus999 – en:File:Robbafountain.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=24179623%5D

I dreamed that I was at a relative’s house, and it was a clean and tidy place, and I was the only one staying there. At least, I think it was a relative’s house; it may have been my parents’ house, although it looked nothing like it. An elderly female relative had died recently, and I either didn’t know her at all, or I barely knew her. She—or more likely some relatives after she died—sent a bunch of capacious white boxes, about the size of banker’s boxes—I think straight to this house where I was.

I opened one of the boxes, and on top of it was a label indicating that they were for my mother, and the year written on the box was 2003. I opened it first, and it was packed with stuff. Seeing my mother’s name on it, I felt grief and cried a little. I had to pause before looking at the contents; it seemed to be a wide variety of items, including a small white box.

I pulled out a lacy and velvety garment and vaguely recognized it; it was burgundy, black, and yellow (and maybe some sunset colors), but predominantly burgundy and black, and after realizing that it was an old bathrobe of mine (only in the reality of the dream), I tried it on. It transformed into a different garment, one of those polycotton dusters my mother made in the eighties, like my painting smock. I walked around the room in this garment.

Unfortunately, I woke up before I continued to go through the boxes. It would have been fun to find out what else was in there.

A Theater, a Staircase, and a Corgi

22 Nov

I dreamed that a theater group was doing a play set in an Eastern European house, and they grabbed me to play an extra. Unfortunately, I wasn’t familiar with the play and nobody told me what I was supposed to do, before I was in costume (a white blouse and a boldly patterned wrap-around skirt that felt like it was going to slide off) and on the set, but which appeared to be in someone’s basement.

The stage was just a section of the grey concrete floor. I stood upstage center and clutched some kitchen tools in my left hand, while I watched the real actors perform. To my right was a stove, and I think beyond that was shelving, storing lots of kitchen stuff. To my left was a counter and more kitchen stuff. I came to wish I was wearing an apron and realized I was acting more like an audience member than an actor, so I turned and looked down at the tools in my hand and paid attention to what a couple of men were doing to my right. They had become curious about a couple of antique iron cornbread forms or sort of muffin tins and were pressing what looked like crumbled daisies into them.

I was strictly an observer even while on stage, and the real actors were ignoring me and not interacting me during my “performance.”

I checked an online dream dictionary that indicated that dreaming of a theater reflects your present social life. Hmmm.

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I dreamed I was walking down many flights of stairs at one end of what I think was a tall abandoned building. When I reached the last, bottom flight, I was in an eerie basement, and all this sand-like dust was flying upward somehow, in slow motion. It created a hazy atmosphere. I felt afraid and wondered if something evil lurked in the basement. I was afraid I was going to be killed and considered turning around and going back up.

Next, I was with a small group of people and telling them about the dream, and they didn’t seem as fascinated as I was.

*

I had a dream in which I got off a plane and drove partway from the airport, but because I had a magic or super hero ability to walk extremely fast, I went by foot, leaving my car in a rural area surrounded by cornfields. I was walking along between 2 fields.

Later, I was with a few people at a motel. They included my mother (who died last year) and brother, in addition to people I don’t know in this reality, some family friends. And there was a corgi.

I thought of this as a temporary living situation but seemed very moved in, or at least someone was, and with lots of stuff, books and figurines, all over the hotel room. It even had a couch, and at some point, I was lounging on it. There was a sense of waiting. Oh, yes: this was after we all ate out for lunch. I took a nap afterward and felt impatient to eat out for dinner with everyone, but then I reflected that it seemed like all I did was eat and sleep, like Garfield the cat. I was appalled at myself and didn’t mention dinner.

We all agreed it was time to go out, and I explained I needed to go get my car, because I left it not far from the airport. I felt like being sociable–that seems like a big part of my dream. So as we went out of the hotel room and were walking along the concrete walkway just outside it, I had a grocery cart and the corgi on a leash. I noticed a tiny wagon with some of my stuff in it, particularly a bunch of clothes (including a red plaid flannel shirt), so while everyone was still walking, I quickly scooped up the clothing and put it in the grocery cart I was pushing.

I was planning on going and getting the car and perhaps not bringing anyone except the corgi. At the moment, or before I scooped up the clothing, I considered putting the corgi in the cart.

Dreams of Highways, Detectives, and Criminals

21 Nov

I dreamed that one other person and I were fighting with a violent criminal who looked just like a Bollywood star, Akshay Kumar (who played the psychiatrist in Bhul Bhulaiyaah). It was dark out and at the edge of a highway, and there may have been a wrecked car nearby, or a parked vehicle of some sort. I managed to finally be on top of him with my knee in his back as I held his wrists together. I was impatient for police to arrive and take over, but when they did, they let him go. I felt very disappointed, diminished, invalidated, and betrayed.

It’s reminiscent of the overtly misogynistic attitude of not believing women but only men; if a male steps up and objects to sexual harassment or something, then people finally take it seriously; when men got PTSD during WWI, suddenly it was taken seriously instead of diminished as “hysteria.”

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I had a dream about a father-daughter detective duo. The father was a very tall guy who looked like Robert Thurman, I think. The daughter was pretty and maybe 20 years old with a round face and long, straight, strawberry blond hair. The creepy thing was people often assumed they were a couple, despite the age gap. At some point, they were in what looked like a lab or hospital and standing beside each other between a counter and a slab. He said something about her mother, maybe wanting her to help in the investigation.

*

Oh, yeah: I had a dream involving a highway but it was weird–like a highway where people walk, or where sometimes people are driving and then suddenly they’re walking instead. I was behind a huge crowd of vehicles/people. A cop was chasing a couple of male criminals (or alleged criminals) right ahead of me. At a turnoff, I caught up with them, and we were people on foot at this point. They weren’t allowed to turn off or were waiting for something and blocking my path, so I had to step around them and felt awkward about it.

Kafkaesque Dumplandia

11 Nov

Here’s something I wrote to my representative and senators, about some of the latest insanity:

Penny Nance, Dump’s nominee for the Ambassador of—more like AGAINST—Women’s Issues is anti-feminist, anti-LGBTQA, and even leads a hate group, Concerned “Women” for “America.” She’s supported Dump’s so-called “religious freedom” order (to discriminate) and is extremely against legal abortion. The fact that misogynists like her were not aborted is a great misfortune. “She” is a Stupid White Male Trapped in a Woman’s Body, the extreme polar opposite of someone who should be ambassador of women’s issues. This misogynist, homophobe, and transphobe would be the Ambassador of Misogyny. The Ambassador of Bigotry. The Ambassador of Oppression. The Ambassador of Patriarchy.

We need to dismantle white male supremacy, not perpetuate or strengthen it.

See the Southern Poverty Law Center’s online article: “Trump Administration Taps Long-Time Anti-Feminist and Anti-Choice Activist for Global Women’s Issues Position.”

 

And here’s another letter I wrote to my rep and senators–two letters handwritten each in one day:

 

If Australia was inspired to make strict gun laws because of a shooting, then this backwards, barbaric, willfully ignorant, and white male supremacist country can follow suit. We must at the bare minimum ban assault weapons.

When I get around to writing a Utopian novel, it will be about a world in which there is no such thing as guns.

Furthermore, Whiteboyworld media needs to stop calling white male terrorists mentally ill individuals and call them terrorists. This is an extreme and deadly form of white male privilege. That’s another thing my Utopia won’t contain. I’m so fed up with these white male supremacists and their self-entitlement.

Oh, yeah, and that white male supremacist, Mike Pence, enjoys financial support from the NRA. So his hypocritical prayers for victims are beyond absurd.