We're standing in a line to get on a bus. When Merri speaks, I know she is speaking about Britany Spears; she says, "I wonder where Miss Bitch goes for the week and a half." The guy in line ahead of us turns and says, "Oh, she's a writer." His expression says, 'yeah, I'll bet'. I say to him, "How do you know she doesn't get a job at McDonald's or Subway?" -- thinking this might contribute to her song writing.
We are at the wide double doors leading to the bus. A woman is coming the other way, leaving the bus. It's Jennifer Elfman (formerly TV's Dharma). At the foot of the steps, she stops. Her face is scruntched up in sitcom tears. "Uh, Happy Holidays, if I dare say so," I dare to say. She reaches past me to hug Merri, giving me a look. She pulls back and says to us both: "Ugly!" "What?," we ask. "Ugly -- that's how a woman feels when she is alone for the holidays." I say, "Not you. You should be so ugly." She looks puzzled and says, "Thank you" with some uncertainty.
[When I told Merri this dream she said, "Three blondes -- what does it mean?" I hadn't noticed.]
I'm at UNMCE talking in the hallway with Tim Johnson. We are talking about a task he has -- I will not recount all the tedious details that I actually recall. As we talk, I am eating salted pecans. They are so salty my hands are covered with big crystals and I am dropping salt everywhere. Passers-by stare. We finish talking and separate.
On my way out of the building, I put an almost empty bag of salted pecans on a wall, thinking someone else might enjoy some. A moment later, I pass a desk on which sits a gallon can of potato sticks. I grab the can, thinking no one will know. Then I think: security cameras! It isn't worth my reputation to take a can of potato sticks. I put them down and leave the building to get in line for the bus. [This dream led seamlessly into the other, but I broke them apart for retelling.]
I was looking at an island covered with snow and ice. This was a peak that rose abruptly from a harbor, more like an iceberg than an island. Someone had bulldozed, carved and sculpted flat areas among mounds of snow and ice. I thought this might be an interesting place for my group to camp, but then I imagined everyone huddling in tents in the dark.
I walked around. There were fantastic crystals jutting up here and there. Many were huge; most were clear, with smooth facets, like crystals from caves. I stopped near the edge of this hilltop to look at two almost perfectly clear ice crystals shaped like the Washington monument -- two different sizes, perhaps 1 foot and 18 inches tall. I got out my digital camera and laid on the ground. "Not so cold," I thought, as I noticed many yellow flowers along the road that climbed up this ice-hill. I composed a shot where the 2 crystals framed something out in the water -- something tall, rising from the harbor. There may have been an urban skyline beyond, along the water's edge.
I took a picture, wondering if the light from the waves in the harbor would ruin the exposure. I looked at the little preview screen on the back of the camera. The picture was OK.
As I snapped another picture, a small tour shuttle bus drove up the hill onto the top, not far from where I way lying. I was startled and jostled the camera. On the preview screen, I saw myself and the bus -- more from a distance than was possible, like an out-of-body perspective.
The bus drove out of sight but I knew it would circle back to descend by the same road, so I shifted over to get more safely off the road.
I looked at the back of the camera. There were many more controls & mysterious things than my real camera has. I noticed it said "BC." Somehow, I knew this meant "Basic Copy" and that this was not the best format for storing photos. How could I change the setting? I pushed, pulled, turned various controls.
A crash outside, in the real world, awoke me (Lucky Dog jumping onto a table). For the last 20 minutes, I've been sitting half naked on the couch scribbling this dream, shooing off the cat & Merri, wondering what happened next.
I was in some wild land. At first I was traveling along a dirt road – maybe walking, I’m not sure. Dirt roads intersected and twisted in weird ways from some upheaval. I saw Tom Christiansen and Pedro McCurdy (who?) at different points along the road.
I passed two small groups of soldiers. Between them, a man lay on the road with a box strapped to his chest – a bomb. The soldiers were reaching towards the bomb with rifles or sticks – it exploded.
I was traveling down another road past cliffs with bizarre carvings. The carvings looked like the walls of ruins only coming out of the cliff not up from the ground (more upheaval?); the driver explained they were sacred.
At the end of the road, I was in a factory. I can’t remember a smooth transition – things jump from one grim image to another. My friend (I don’t know who) disappeared. Suddenly, he emerged from under some great weight on the floor – he had been crushed flat and next he was dragged up toward the ceiling on a chain; blood ran up (!) the chain. I asked someone (the driver?) “What happened to my friend?” I turned around and my friend was a pile of ground meat on the floor, with a heap of what must have been green chile on top. The driver said: “oh, because he died in the kitchen, he’s not ____ [food for animals], he’s _____ [food for us].”
I’ve got to stop eating while I watch CSI.
I dreamed I was lying on a bed with 3 or 4 other people laid out in different directions to share this one bed. I turned over a few times. Suddenly, Martin Sheen sat up in bed and said, with presidential power, "how much can one person fidget?" I protested, telling him none of us was asleep and still and there was noise from outside -- how could I be to blame?
Same night, different dream. I'm walking through a store when a cute saleswoman puts her arm around my shoulders. I start to say I'm not buying anything when she holds in front of me a new Dell PDA; it displays an impossibly good image. "Your timing is great," I say, "how much memory does it have?" "Oh, I'm just selling it; I don't know anything about it," she replies, smiling winningly. [no, I did not buy it.]
I was standing on the edge of a small group of people celebrating something. I turned to see Steve O'Neill (who?) standing next to me. "How drunk am I?" I asked, because I hadn't noticed him arrive. He pulled me aside to tell me something, but I don't think anything more transpired.
I dreamed that John Stewart (who?) and I were wandering an unidentified city. Something suddenly occurred to me and I asked John, "Have your really been here a year already?" "Very nearly," he replied. We wandered from store to store, looking at postcards & such stuff. We stopped in a coffee shop. "What surprises me," I said, "is how much I know about this place, not that there aren't areas I haven't seen yet." And then I was sad that John would soon be leaving.
Friday, 19 December, 2003 11:56 AM