I dreamt that Stan and I were traveling, I think it was in the Camry, but it seemed dark green. We had both dogs, Jasper and Lucifer Sam. We stopped somewhere, and Stan let both dogs out of the car, unleashed. I was mad because he didn’t have a leash on them, but he grabbed Jasper’s harness, and I wasn’t too worried about Lucifer Sam wandering off.
It was very strange because usually when I dream about the dead, like Tim or my dad, I don’t have any realization in the dream that they are dead. There’s no “hey, what are you doing here?” moments. But it was different with the Pug. In the dream, I felt like I was awake (even though I was asleep and dreaming it), and having a dream while I was waking, and I realized the pug was dead. As he was wandering around, he walked into a shallow running stream and lay down in the stream. It seemed as if he was hot and was trying to cool himself off. This disturbed me in the dream because it indicated he was uncomfortable. I also made some sort of comment to Stan that it is unusual for me to have a waking dream where I have the dead come back.
There’s so many layers to this I am trying to figure out. And if he was walking around, why did I know he was dead? Very confusing.
I do remember he was extremely black with no grey fur, and with no tumor. Like he was in the prime of his life.
Very weird dream, lots of detail, but hard to remember the sequence of events, so here’s just snippets:
In a motel with people. I can’t remember Stan, but I remember another guy, short, brown hair, much younger than me, no idea who it was. We were at one point sitting very close to each other and I put my arm around him and start petting him, but it wasn’t romantic, more like the way I’d pet my dogs. But I didn’t want it to get romantic for him. I remember being on a bus and traveling through what looked like travel promo pictures of Northern Africa…Morocco…minarets and palm trees, but lots of lakes as well, which was odd. I loved all the water. We had to deliver stuff to some place, some stuff wrapped in pink styrofoam insulation sheets. I have no idea what we were delivering. I was driving the bus and when I pulled into the place we were supposed to drop off our load, I couldn’t stop the bus. I pulled up a driveway and kept applying the break, but the bus kept inching ahead very slowly, so it went up on the curb. Then I had to maneuver it to prevent it from smashing into a building. It was very strange.
I also had a strange wild animal that was very friendly. I don’t know what the animal was. It was maybe cat-size, but definitely not a cat. I was in a building that had this wild animal farm around it. There were sheep and the sheep were being herded by some animal. When I went outside of the building, the sheep were running into us (us being the nameless people I was with) I took the other animal that was friendly and tried to carry it with me, but it got wild and wanted to escape.
Stan and I were in front of a house, looking in. Although it seemed like it was the beginning of some “House Hunters” show, and we were only looking at a house through the the eyes of TV and not part of the physical experience, it changed and it was like we were right there staring inside the house through a large front window. The house seemed like a ranch house that had major remodeling throughout many decades. The kitchen was large and faced the front. All kitchen cabinets were painted brown/light beige in a glossy oil paint, covering all imperfections and many other generations of paint jobs. It was nasty. I don’t think I could ever live in a house with painted kitchen cabinets. I noticed some strange plumbing under the sink, like really old pipes from maybe the 19th century. They too had been painted beige. Nothing in the kitchen was arranged in a normal kitchen layout. The olive green stove was next to the olive green refrigerator on the opposite wall as the sink and other appliances. There were some strange appliances that I didn’t know what they were; I assumed they were trash compactors or some handyman’s desk with drills and widgets. The washer and dryer were also in the kitchen, plus a microwave atop a dishwasher. There were no tables or chairs for sitting down on.
Then people started to appear; older people, not quite aged parents age, maybe more like 65-70 years old or so. But still old enough to have a goofy sense about them. Some older guy seemed to want to offer us some food, and brought out some vegetable dip from the fridge. He said laughingly that it was “Velvet Underground Vegetable Spread.” I thought that was hilarious, and took the plastic tub of spread from him, lifted up the top and spoke into it, “Lou?” Then I said, “Maybe there’s some John Cale in it.” (Get it? Cale? kale? vegetable? Weird how one can make jokes/puns in one’s sleep) But the old people were all being very noisy and didn’t hear my joke. Then Stan tries to say it louder, like “Maybe there’s some John Cale in the vegetable spread” in hopes that would make the old guy laugh. Unfortunately, the guys were old gits and although they were probably the age of the surviving members of the Velvets, there’s a strange sort of age disjointedness that goes on amongst people that they only seem to know about music that preceded them, not music that was created by their generational/chronological peers. Especially music that was as obscure as the VU was at the time they were listening to music in their younger days. These 65-70 year old people in the ugly beige kitchen seemed no different than how I remember 65-70 year old people from 40 years ago.
Then I find the cardboard box that the “Velvet Underground Vegetable Spread” came in and take a look at it. No where on the box did it actually say “Velvet Underground,” so I had to wonder where this guy was coming from, the guy who originally said that. But the box did say something weird. It had the name of my street as the brand or style something. It said “W_______o Street Vegetable Spread.” I went to show it to Stan, telling him that the story gets weirder and weirder.
I dreamt Stan and I were with Bill in some art gallery that he was partially in charge of. It was a very colorful dream. I was trying to find more of my art there, but couldn’t. Stan actually had more pieces showing than me, which made me a bit jealous.
Also, and this part is very strange, while I was dreaming this IRL I had the radio on in the background and the Joy Cardin show was discussing “classic candy” like Boston Baked Beans and Good ‘N Plenty, etc…you know, the kind we used to get at movie theatres? I’m not making this up, they really were discussing this. (I don’t know what they currently offer at movie theatres.) Well, this transformed in the dream to a surreal banquet of candy layed out like art opening food, but instead of crackers and cheese and assorted crudities, it was candy. All candy. All sugar. I tried a few things, and they were very artfully done, but it was weird.
I also remember taking some political posters I had designed (like the ones I used for the protests in 2011) home with me. As we were leaving, it was windy, and one of the posters blew away, up into the sky, never to return.
I’m sure this is symbolic for something, considering the High Park Fire, however I haven’t figured that out yet.
I also dreamt that Stan couldn’t find Apollo in the house. I looked under the bed with a flashlight and didn’t see his eyes glowing back. Stan then left the house and went to look outside. It was quite scary.
Very hard to describe dream, but I was walking around at night amongst small/modest-size houses, but it seemed like the houses were enclosed inside a very large structure, like a huge cathedral. I had to take cover in or by one of the homes which was an early 20th century bungalow. There was a woman who lived there who seemed Aspergersy/Autisticky. She said there was no where to sleep, although there was a floor and there were blankets/sleeping bags that we could use to sleep on. Although I’m not sure what was going on, there was some sort of disaster and everyone had to stay where they were, even if they weren’t at their own house. I would have been perfectly happy to sleep on the floor considering the circumstances. Then there are a whole bunch of explosions, and we look down a hallway (which might have been outside her house) and see an incredible display of colorful fireworks and fire and collapsing buildings. It was beautiful and scary at the same time. After it was over, there was asbestos and sawdust and all kinds of particulates falling from the sky. I went to a bathroom to get a wet towel to cover my face with. I know there was more to the dream, but I can’t remember/describe.
The other night I had a dream that I had an art show scheduled. I might have still been in school, either CSU or UW. Either the time had passed to install the art show, or it was the day I should be installing it. Someone called to notify me about it, and I realized I was completely unprepared for it, and didn’t have any new works or anything framed. It’s like an “I didn’t study for that test and haven’t been in class for two weeks” type dream, except with exhibiting. I can’t remember ever forgetting about an art show; usually those things have always been on my front burner calendar.
Last night I dreamt I was back in grad school in the awful studio I had for my first three years there. There was some young male student who was very friendly, but he used that friendliness to take advantage of the other students, including me. He completely took over our spaces and cleared them out and started moving the dividers around so he could have more room for himself. I was really mad at him and demanded he show me where he put all my stuff and give me back my space. I was yelling at him out in the hallway. Stan was with me. We went into a stairwell that didn’t look at all like the stairwells in the InHumanities building IRL. They were more like stairwells in an older building with wooden railing painted white. Somehow he had gotten on the other side of the stairwell balcony that overlooked many floors below. He was just hanging on to the wooden handrail and balusters and we were arguing. Then I somehow undid his grip and he fell. He fell about six stories. I heard him yelling as he fell to either his death or broken neck. Stan and I looked at eachother in a “what do we do now?” way. It was actually rather comedic, except I was hoping he had died so that he wouldn’t live to tell that I had “pushed him.” Do I tell authorities, or hope he doesn’t live to accuse me?
This is one sick dream. I dreamt that Bill’s cat was sick and it needed to be breastfed, as that was the only way to save it. I said I’d help, but I wasn’t lactating. So I went to the doctor and got some injections to make me lactate (like that’s possible, especially for someone through menopause!). So Bill and I went out to some place in the country that seemed like a cross between the cemetary in Fort Collins and some place near Cherokee Marsh in Madison. We get out of the car with his cat and settle on a spot by some water, but on the other side of the water there were houses, so I was afraid people would see. Bill said it was ok, so I pull up my shirt, present a boob to his cat, and it takes to it right away. Then my nipples start mutating into long nipples that look like non-human mammal nipples.
This is disturbing.
It’s like Romulus and Remus in reverse with a cat.
Last night I dreamt I was with Tim. We were looking over a rack of used clothes (he used to work at Savers before he got hired as a teacher and during the summers). I think we were laughing at the clothes. Tim said he needed a drink, and he started drinking some rum from a bottle that looked more like an amber beer bottle. I told him I wanted a little, so I started to take a swig from the bottle but only drank a very small bit. Tim seemed a bit angry about something. Maybe because drinking isn’t as much fun when you’re dead.
And Stan, I’m sorry, I forgot to say hi to him for you.
Those were the days when we used to go out drinking with Tim.
Stan and I were looking at homes to rent. We had decided on a small rental that might have been a section of a larger house. We knew it was going to be smaller than what we were used to, so I’m not sure if we were going to take it or not. We walked into the living room and it had a strange familiarity to it, like we’d been there before, but I can’t remember if it is from reality or not. Continue reading
Darn, I wish I could remember this dream better. I know I remembered it when I woke up and thought, “that’s pretty funny, I’ll have to write it down” and then went on to forget the funny part about it. All I can recall is that it had Mitt Romney in it. Why do I have this guy in my dreams? (Here’s the other dream I had with Mittens…caution…opens to the previous old version of this blog) It’s absolutely ridiculous. It’s not like I’m a supporter…hardly! Have I had Pres. Obama in dreams? I don’t think so. Oh wait…I did. But why Romney? No explanation at all.
In the dream he was an instructor, maybe even an art professor. Well, that makes sense. Although I’m sure Mittens lacks any creative talents (robotic mannequins aren’t known for genuine creativity), I’m sure he’d be up there in the compassion zone along with most of the art professors I’ve known. That’s sarcasm. Yeah. Good Times, as Leon would say.
Maybe it will come to me later.
Now on to the next dream. It is very hard to explain, and I tried my best to tell Stan about it after I had it on Monday. I was going to some function where Tim would be there. It was a combination of a hospital and a funeral home, a church and a restaurant. I was not with Stan. I was traveling in a cab along with some young women. We were bringing chairs with us. When we got where we were going, we were told that we wouldn’t need the chairs because they had enough. We were all standing around a long table that was a cross between a restaurant table and an operating table. Tim was across the table from me and I waved at him. He waved back and said hi. He looked the way he did in the mid-90s with longer hair. I didn’t get a chance to talk to him because there were so many other people taking up his time.
I miss Tim so much.
I haven’t had a dream this detailed, memorable, and enjoyable for quite a while.
I dreamt I walked into the basement of an old two-story house which was a hybrid of the house I live in now (1904), the first story flat we rented on Main Street (1883), and Bohler’s Hole (1909). Continue reading
I dreamt that the whole city was shut down due to a bad blizzard but Stan and I had permission to travel from some authorities. We were driving somewhere near the Beltline and John Nolen, or maybe it was near the Beltline and Fish Hatch/Park…maybe even Midvale. I don’t know, but we were on some ramp but I don’t know if we were exiting or entering. The street was not plowed, and there was no one else on the road. Continue reading
I dreamt something about kittens and puppies. I can’t remember exactly what it was, but I think I had a couple kittens and our neighbors (Connors) had a couple puppies, and I was thinking we could introduce them together and it would be awfully cute.
I also dreamt that I went upstairs into my computer room and Stan was sitting at the table where my old Mac (7200) used to be before we recycled it (five?) years ago. Except in the dream, he was working on that very computer. And the weird thing was that it wasn’t a reaction like “Wow, my computer’s back! how did that happen?”, it was more like “huh, I wonder what Stan’s doing working on my computer?” It’s like dreaming about dead people…you don’t think twice about them being alive in your dream.
Poor computer. I miss it and feel awful about recycling it, but couldn’t give it away and didn’t have room to keep it.
I actually had this dream the night before last.
I was in a room with other people. We were gathered around a high table, standing, and looking at various information/books, etc. on the table. Paul Soglin was there too, and he starts kissing me on the neck. I tell him that I’m married.
It wasn’t sexy, and it wasn’t gross. It was sort of sweet.
Ya vote for a guy and this happens.