Dream: Captured No More!

I get a new camera as a holiday gift and go on a quest to take a great photo. I bring a piece of art and have at least 3 siblings follow me on the shoot. We are in a very poor area where we keep walking up a dirt road. I lay the art down on the ground and attempt to take a photo. I am never satisfied with the frame in the camera. After walking by encampments, shacks, and piles of debris, my memory goes vague. Suddenly, two siblings are shot and killed from shotgun blasts. I black out.

I wake up in a dark room with 1 or 2 younger siblings. We are taped or tied to chairs. I do not know who has captured us. I eventually meet our new master, a famous author with a huge ego (I name him William Gibson). As he systematically breaks us down, he convinces us that he is our savior and wants to be our father. He lives in a bunker of a building and is crazy enough to probably kill us without question.

In one scene he gets into an argument with another man. He threatens to stick a machete in the man’s head, and the man picks up a box of sharp items to protect himself. He pins the writer’s arm to the wall with a huge staple. I watch this and then run to my back room and wake up my little sibling.

He spends most of his time in shock, sleeping, so I try to put some clothes on him and tell him this is our chance to escape. But the writer has freed himself from the staple. He’s very disappointed that we thought we could leave.

After years of being confined, the writer’s ego and assumptions cause him to become weak. He thinks that we are OK with being his imprisoned “children”. He is performing in a middle eastern music and dance concert and I accompany him.

A large group of friends and relatives are at the concert. I find a joint and smoke it while I talk to a female relative of the writer. I have told myself that this is my chance to free myself and my little brother. So I begin to directly and openly talk about being held captive.

The woman doesn’t really get it. She is in awe of the writer’s success and talent. In a larger circle of people, I boldly confront the writer. He accuses me of being addicted to pot and says he’s kept me for my own good. I disagree and tell him that he hasn’t even let me call my mother in 3 years. I begin to cry and babble that I want to talk to my mother and tell her I love her.

The writer become furious. Some of his friends are obviously becoming concerned about the situation. The writer continues to try to frame me as a junky. He grabs a green compost bin and runs towards me. He dumps it out on the floor in front of me and yells “Do you want to swim in the sutures again like you used to!!!??”

Three years of being held against my will brings me to my own rage. I stand up in the circle, feeling bold and brave, and yell “I don’t know what you’re talking about!!”

I wake up….

DREAM: An Execution

In a not-too-distant future, Mark and I are slated for execution. In this murky dream world, a techno-totalitarian government rules, so we are not quite sure why we have been taken under custody and slated for death. It could possibly be because we have opted to not embrace the technology of the times.

While locked up, we get a final visit with loved ones. I get a bag of money from my mother, and am not sure what I can do with that in my final days of living. Mark gets drawing supplies. Being presented as enemies of the state, our underground popularity soars. Some of our guards are sympathetic. At one point, we are left unguarded near a community convergence center. All the beautiful people there recognize us and so Mark and I try to figure out a way to escape. Our attempt is short lived, but we are not punished.We end up back in custody with guards who treat us kindly.

The government may not know what to do with us. Right before our execution date, Mark and I have a tearful farewell. We hug and cry and say we love each other. He is traumatized by the looming public death. I see it as my end and beginning, telling Mark “maybe we’ll come back as humans again.” But the deadline passes and the government keeps us alive.

My money proves to be invaluable. Inside the bills are smaller $2 bills, which must be a rare treat for this world. The wrappers turn out to be gift cards for many businesses. Mark and I are separated, so I begin to pass out the favors and gain enough grease to reunite with Mark again. He too has become a poplar artist under demand and so has gained traction as well.

We begin to plot our escape in earnest, especially now that we are celebrated outlaws in these dark, heavy times. The will of the people is on our side and we can only hope that there is a path out of this odd stasis we are in.

Dream: The Carriage House

A group of volunteers show up to the community space where I work. Their main project is to tear up an area of grass that is covering the road between the community space and an old, Victorian house. I wonder where DX is, and why he isn’t with these guys who obviously look like his co-workers. They have that rough and ready-to-party, punk DPW appearance. I look around for an iPod to play some music and realize it is out by the area where they are stripping out the grass.

At some point, AG and DH show up. AG has a flying machine made out of a few pieces of wood. He takes us for a spin. I balance in the middle and DH holds on to a vertical piece. When we get back, the grassy area is clean. The Victorian now sits in the middle of the road! I ask one of the gruff guys why they got rid of the park area and they say that it had too many bugs.

With the work done, the volunteers party. The band Chumbawamba shows up, sets up, and starts playing. They go into their infamous hit “Tubthumping” and a female member of the band gets out a propane torch and goes out to light a pile of debris in the parking lot. She also goes to the Victorian and tries to light that on fire. She fails and then hands the torch over for me to make an attempt. I try and nothing alights.

Walking inside the building, I begin to wonder who lives there. I do not recall anyone that does. I am thinking about how to get the title to this building when a woman in a badge and uniform walks in. She’s here to look at the property and ask about the opening of the street. I hide the torch and then see a SF Sheriffs patrol car speed into the community center’s parking lot. Relieved that the building isn’t burning, I walk through the space with the officer.

Beach Dreams

You find out about a man-made island and show me where it is on a local map. We bike to a ferry and then take the boat the the island. Our bikes end up tied together in the water. As we sit on the small decked “island,” we watch the bikes barely float on the surface. We talk about fishing and look at the large gold fish shimmering deep in the waters around us.

At a sea town JY is cleaning out his van. I have storage in there and become upset about my things. I go to another truck where I have things stored and it is open with the key in the lock. DJ is using this to store sound equipment. I get really upset but become distracted by seeing young men walking around with Clemson Tigers clothing. My lover then appears and I try to tell her about my storage. But I get distracted again by wanting to “scratch a record” on her body. She’s not into it and leaves. I walk by a station wagon that SB is sleeping in (on a bed of dried grass) and he tells me about his horrible night last night. I remember that I need to complain to DJ about my storage and walk by JY’s van to see it washed and empty! Then I realize that I’ve been walking around this whole time in underwear (at least they kind of look like swim trunks). Walking back to my place to change, I see more Clemson kids. “Excuse me, but why are you all wearing Clemson colors?” “We’re a church group, from PC.” “Ah – Presbyterian College in South Carolina.” “Yeah. Say, you don’t know where we can get good beer? All the places around here serve the same three kinds.” “Try North Beach,” I tell him.

Last Week’s Dream

I meet a blonde-haired woman. We walk to the edge of the Pacific and begin to swim. As we swim, a large grey whale joins us. We swim all the way to Borneo, where I walk ashore and get lost in a village. I realize that I do not have my passport since I swam over with a woman and a whale. I run into all of my college friends. They have rented out a bungalow and are partying. I party with them amazed at the conincadence of seeing them in Borneo.

DREAM: TR Pulp Fiction

TG’s mom has died and his sister needs a ride to the mortuary. The mortuary sends a car around to pick her up, while TG drives me to the mortuary. A storm causes a downpour as TG drives by several police cars that have blocked off a street. We stop in the parking lot by the American Cafe, and TG gets out of the auto and approaches a white guy with a gun.

TG pulls out a gun and shoots the other guys’ gun and ruins it. The guy throws his gun at TG and then TG runs to tackle the guy. The guy pulls out a straight razor just as TG opens his arms to grab the guy. The razor cuts TG’s left side open. Panicked, I get out of the auto to help TG, but the guy runs towards me with a raised razor.

::: I end the dream and wake up ::: I fall asleep, fall back into the dream scene, but change the endings like a DVD bonus.

1) I suddenly am a karate master and disarm the guy and kick his ass.

2) I look at the razor and turn it into a flower, making the guy look like a Banksy stencil.

3) I slow the movement down and go over to the guy and disarm him.

……. DREAM ENDS …….. Another dream begins…….

DH is a wanted man so he flees a building to save himself. He runs into a park and hides under a round structure. The structure is a sacred spot for the local Native Americans, so the police cannot go there and apprehend DH. Some guys in a truck try to nab DH but they are tricked about where DH is hiding spot.

DH runs away, clutching a dirty Fozzie the Bear doll (that, like Hobbs in Calvin and Hobbs, will come to life).

….. another transition ……

Fozzie and Samuel L. Jackson in the hood.

Fozzie is hiding in a garage in a rough hood of a big, urban city. There is barbed wire, graffiti, and junk strewn about the garage. A young junkie girl has just OD’d, and a dealer comes to call. When all seems lost, the Muppets save the day in a hilarious ending.

…….. alt ending ……..

The hood is rated PG this time and Samuel L. Jackson does not make a cameo. The young junkie still dies, but, instead of a dealer showing up, six women show up instead. They are dressed as kittens, and Fozzie sniffs the main cat’s butt to see who they are. He recognizes her scent and the other women laugh.

Thur., Jan. 12, 2012 (Marin County)

Dream: Underground Greenville

I go to a hotel room with TG and William Shatner. Shatner is talking about the date he has that night as I decided to wander away. I see my family in the dining room of the hotel and my mother ignores me. I look over to one side of where I stand and see a tour group full of masked Asians. Someone in the group mentions the “Lord of the Rings” film, and then another person in the group pukes on the ground. I see AM amble through the pile of vomit, and then a group of ROTC cadets run through it.

I wander away and find a dark area covered in graffiti. A guy shows up with a cut out stencil and asks me if he can paint it on the wall. I say “of course.” The guy sets it up on the wall and gets ready to spray the stencil. A black man in a suit comes out of a nearby doorway and yells at the sprayer. The sprayer yells back, gesturing to all the other graffiti and art that has been painted on the walls.

I wander off.

Wed., Jan. 11, Marin County

Dream: Burningman Los Angeles

While trying to get a ticket for the Burningman festival, I get caught up in a phone scam. I meet a couple who walk in with me at the gate and the ticket they sold me is fake. Security throws me out, and a man sympathizes, handing me money which includes English pound coins.

I decide to wander to the 6pm side of the city. I see R and J at a poorly secured border. I walk over the shabby fencing and walk to an area that looks like a Middle Eastern souk (market). I see dark-skinned soldiers with long clubs and machine guns. I look over a wall and see an art installation that is a flock of huge, edible pink flamingos. I walk by New Orleans style bars and Munich style beer halls. A strange steam punk contraption appears over another wall. I go closer and look for Bishop Joey.

Wandering more alleys, the path narrows and crowds with revelers. I come out to another Burningman entrance! Outside the festival (again), I watch busloads of uniformed American soldiers exit with fanfare and enter the event for free with crowds cheering and applauding.

I wander to the 9pm side of the city. Over there, I see the LA skyline looming over crisscrossing freeway overpasses. This side of Burningman is empty. Several citizens walk by talking about the rumor that nasty winds blew down Larry Harvey’s statue of the man.

I walk back to 6pm and step over the shoddy fencing again. My phone rings. Answering, I have an elderly woman plead with me to stop calling her. I tell he I am not calling her, but we both discover that someone from the ticket scam is using my number.

Jan. 10, 2012 (Marin Co.)

Dream: Broken Down in Athens, GA

My car breaks down in a poor section joust outside the loop of Southwest Athens, GA. I look at a map to try to figure out where I am going. I see my destination in the Northwest part of the loop. The map calls it “Gay District.” As I stand by my car in the slush, seeing my breath from the cold, local folks ask if they can help. As I begin to ask if they can figure out how to get me a tow truck, I think of AK and wonder if my friends in the NW of the loop are worried about me.

Jan. 9, 2012 (Marin Co.)

Dream: Simian Hands (pt. 1)

MG and I are in a house with other people. There are dirty dishes in the downstairs sink that need to be put in the dishwasher. After a meal, I wander off, realizing that I should have stayed to help MG. I go back to the kitchen. She cannot find detergent, so I look among bottles of poisons and chemicals. MG finds out where the detergent is, so we load up the dishwasher.


A female character from the Walking Dead goes to a back bungalow to relax and clean. Several men stand in the woods that surround the front of the bungalow. One man mumbles something and another man with long hair and glasses grumbles “You’d know better if you read more Anarchist texts!” The other guy leaves. As the long-haired man walks away, he hears a scream coming from the woman in the bungalow.

The long-haired guy pulls a gun out from the back of his pants and heads to the bungalow. Up in the trees, a simian hand holds a basketball and then drops it. Dozens more monkey hands drop basketballs on the long-haired man.

Inside the bungalow the woman continues to sweep while two other people have an intense conversation in another room.


Dream: Animals and a Radio

(Simian Hands pt. 2)

A woman hears voices in the woods behind her and turns around to see a seething mass of monkeys and animals. Horrified she clutches her broom and backs through a large sliding door into a room. She tries to find protection against the wall. The animals are not paying attention to her. They look at the radio where sounds from a serial drama play out. A small ox and a chimpanzee break out of the crows and run towards the radio.


Dream: Fabric Drinking Bottles

Envisioned amazing images of rocks and chunks of metal cubes dropping into deep, beautiful canyons.


I go camping with a friends, so I cut out a bottle-pieced shape of fabric. Another group of people are coming to camp with us and their tent sites are easily marked in a neat line down a patch of land. I put a zoot suit on just before they arrive. They see the suit and love it. I feel embarrassed for not knowing how to speak Spanish. A large woman in the group smiles at me. An Asian woman in the group has a small dog. “I must shit rat-sized poop!” Without saying goodbye, I take a bike home to cut out another fabric vial.