To find this page again, search for: abagond dream journal.
Entries listed from newest to oldest:
January 16th 2017:
The brick heist
I was going to buy $900,000 worth of bricks, in cash, but my wife talked me down to getting just $5,000 since I did not know how good the bricks were. But then there was some kind of mix-up and before I knew it I was in a van full of bricks going down the road, telling the driver to turn back since I had not paid for the bricks. The driver and his friends would not listen to me. We stopped at a roadside diner to eat and sure enough the flashing lights of the police appeared outside.
January 12th 2017
The C building
We were in New York, somewhere in Lower Manhattan, in a huge plaza in front of a big black building. It was named after some rich person whose name began with C. The building had a layered look, as if it were made of vertical black rectangles, each with a rounded corner. It seemed to be the future, maybe sometime after 2050 or even 2100.
In the plaza we joined hands, maybe seven of us, and danced clockwise in a circle. Even though it was summer, fallen leaves began to appear. We kept dancing and then there was snow. We danced more and more and could see the building being unbuilt. Instead of getting shorter it got thinner. We were going back in time. We danced more and more. Then the plaza looked like a Greenwich Village neighbourhood. Then it was a poor neighbourhood. Then grass began to appear under our feet and we found ourselves in the middle of a Native village.
Earlier in the dream I was in Harlem near 125th and Broadway. There was what looked like a resort hotel. It seemed to have been built in the same style period as the C building – it had the same love of broad flat surfaces with one corner rounded.
January 3rd 2017
I was at a food court with an old woman who was not my grandmother but who was somehow related to me. I was trying to find a place not run by the biggest food operator “between here and Atlantic City” (a Trump reference?) because he was infamous for food poisoning. Meanwhile the words of a song, like from an ad, kept ringing in my head. The words sounded like:
December 29th 2016
It was the afternoon of New Year’s Eve. My wife and I and some friends went to an early dinner. It was at a food court overlooking an ice skating rink in the centre. The emcee said, “If you’re Chinese, clap”. One man clapped. I had seen him earlier and at that moment he looked at me.
At our table I was trying to write something but the last word kept disappearing. Then I laughed – I was nodding off and when my eyes closed, a friend of mine would erase the last word.
Just before sunset we went to the top of an old stone tower. It stood at the edge of the parking lot of the shopping plaza but was hundreds of years old. It was encased in glass with a stairway going round it up to the top. We went to the top, maybe seven floors up, and sat at the top, overlooking the suburban sprawl between the mountains. It was a thing you did after eating at an expensive restaurant (even though we hadn’t).
At the top my wife and I sat together with an arm around each other’s backs. She was wearing a brown suede winter coat and big black boots – just like Claire, a girl I knew when I was 13, the first girl I knew where just sitting next to her made the world feel right. But in that moment my wife also reminded me of Alfre Woodard in “Crooklyn” – who had a troubled marriage and was dying of cancer. I was happy but my heart was breaking at the same time.
December 23rd 2016
Big neon-pink dildo
I am walking down the street holding a huge, neon-pink plastic penis, circumcised, about my height. I had just been thrown off a bus for “creating a disturbance.” The sky was grey and overcast, like it had been thinking about rain all afternoon. Even though I was walking through a quiet suburban neighbourhood where one would not expect to see a bus, one pulled up. The driver opened the door and offered me a ride. She looked like Shelley Duvall in “The Shining” (1980). I said, “No thanks. I’m fine.” She seemed to find me an amusement, not someone in need of a ride.
It must have been a flashback because the next thing I knew I am telling the story of it to my son. He snickers and says, “Oh, you mean like Barrot Tillotson.” Tillotson was a kiss-up I knew from high school, a character in my life story. I tried to keep a straight face and said deadpan, “Yes, just like Barrot Tillotson.” An inside joke my waking self does not understand.
And then I wake up.
December 4th 2016:
Going to the Supreme Court
I was in one of those hotels with breakfast included. I made my tea (in a soup cup) and was looking for a jelly doughnut and a place to sit. The hotel was in Washington, DC: a friend of mine was just outside looking at the Supreme Court building. She was uneasy. We were headed there on some kind of business. From how she dressed, it was spring or fall.
The friend is not someone I know in real life – yet (some of my dreams come true). She was not a girlfriend. Given the age difference (she was maybe 25) and the circumstances (travel to an extremely important court case), she was most likely a relative. She was light-skinned with what looked to be dreadlocks. She was dressed down like a university student, in an olive jacket and blue jeans. If she was a granddaughter, then it was at least the 2040s.