Eric Bombardier
March 31st, 2006 by Alexa Seidl; no comments
Another recurrence of “My Acting? Debut” last night. A few more changes though. We were still on Matt’s boat, but the boat was scaled down and on the floor of my bedroom (I just finished painting my bedroom last weekend and this dream was in my newly painted room). And Mr. Hoffman had curly, curly hair. Think Joel when his hair was long.
I’ve never had a recurring dream like this.
“Those vegetables were soaked in turkey sauce!”
March 30th, 2006 by Christina Russell; no comments
My dad takes me to a gas station. I am informed that I have to buy all of the ingredients for my dinner at the gas station store. Inside, I am accosted by large cases of meat. I am particularly offended by a shelf covered in drumsticks. Feeling unsettled, I walk outside, where I find food in a cardboard cake box, on top of a garbage can. I understand it to be vegetarian, so I am immediately drawn to it. I grab the food and run into the parking lot, where I eat it sitting on the pavement. Halfway through my meal, the gas attendant yells “those vegetables were soaked in turkey sauce!” and cackles maliciously.
Jeff, my water polo coach, explains that in order for me to understand my position, I need to experience it on a larger scale. He elaborates that playing two meter offensive is similiar to travelling through a strait. I am instructed to ride a specific ferry, which I have to find, through a specific strait. No one will tell me the name of the strait, but I am reassured I will “discover it eventually”.
Inexplicably, I find myself in the hallway of an old period home. Afternoon light in spilling through the windows. My arms are scathed. I try to explain to Jake Santelli that I got caught in bushes on the run over, but he interrupts me, saying everything will be fine as long as I run my arms under cold water. He takes me to the bathroom. I try to put water on my arms, but spill it all over my clothing. I leave the bathroom frustrated. Later I try to return, but Jake says I can’t go in there because in the evening the bathroom doubles as a piercing parlor.
Suddenly, someone screams. “Tongue piercing,” Jake says.
I am in the passenger seat in a car driving west off the ferry on Bainbridge. Suddenly, I am standing in the middle of the road. A case of keys are handed to me. When I open the case, I realize they aren’t keys at all, but leather keychains that say “J. Crew” on them. Each one is dyed a different color. When I look up from my book of keychains I am shocked to find a parking lot full of indescript mustang-esque cars. Each car matches one of the keychains in my case. I hate them all.
The Race
March 29th, 2006 by Kris Skotheim; one comment
DON’T ASSUME SO FAST THAT THIS IS A BICYCLE RACE, in fact the dream involves zero bicycle references.
Jenny and I are on a lake that is covered in floating wooden paths. There is a large race along these paths involving many people that seem very serious about the whole thing. We are entered in the race but don’t really care that much. The paths wind every which way across the lake and are by no means straight. We are very far from the shore but you can see trees on the horizon in all directions. The race begins.
Jenny and I watch as everybody rushes off down the paths, amused at the whole ordeal. We slowly make our way down the course and cut a few corners by swimming to nearby sections of the race course. Soon, we are far ahead, taking our time, trying to be secretive about our cheating even though it is obvious that we’re not going to get in trouble. Jenny keeps asking me how my boyfriend is and I have to explain to her that I do not have a boyfriend. She does not seem to register this point and continues to question me about my nonexistent homosexual self. We are passed by the runners a few times, each time they seem baffled at how we are able to keep up with them at our pace.
We decide that the race is boring and stop trying to cheat. The water is warm enough to swim in and does not seem to be getting us wet, so we go for a longer swim. We come to a net in the water that appears to be an attempt to prevent cutting the corners of the race, but we are able to swim under it – water pressure or lack of air are not a problem while we swim. We also meet somebody else in the water at the net, who in real life is an eeper whose name I do not know but in the dream was a complete stranger. Eventually we three retire to a particularly comfortable wooden float and communicate with each other in some way that does not involve any sort of conversation.
Hypothetically Speaking…
March 29th, 2006 by Kris Skotheim; no comments
Jenny and I are visiting her childhood and we are crossing an artificial lake colored brightly green. She explains that it used to be bright red, but they fixed that.
She falls in. I am wearing a button-down shirt and pants; I pull her out and deliberate about whether or not to give her my clothes. Eventually, she starts to take off her soaking wet clothing, so I decide to give her my shirt but keep my pants.
This situation is replayed many times, each time I am in a different outfit. One time I am wearing a swimsuit and she is wearing a large gown of sorts. This is not a good situation to be in, I decide. Another time I am wearing a tuxedo with an extra pair of pants on, so I am able to give her pants and a jacket and we both look fashionable in the end. A third time, we are both wearing many layers of polypropeline/spandex. When I pull her out, her clothes wick away all the moisture, but I give her a set of dry clothes just for kicks because I seem to be wearing enough layers myself.
I am in a hotel
March 28th, 2006 by Kris Skotheim; no comments
sleeping in a queen sized bed with Matt with no sexual intentions from either party. He starts to grope me in his sleep. I do not feel comfortable.
The World 30 Years From Now
March 28th, 2006 by Kris Skotheim; no comments
I am sledding down a cross-country ski trail that leads out of our mountain cabin. (I realize now that I have previously dreamt of xc skiing in the mountains out of this same cabin, and even lounging in a hot tub near the cabin. The view from the trail is spectacular. I also remember forgetting my ski boots and having to hike/ski/sled in sandles, but I can’t remember if this was in this dream or another.) I am going quite fast; Sam, from the cycling team, and I and a few other sledders are in a paceline racing our sleds, I am clearly the least experienced sled racer and am holding the group back. When you think about it, there would be no reason to be in a paceline in sleds, but I guess that’s just how my mind works. We get tangled up in a group of hikers and have to take a detour off the trail through the snow. Before long I am playing frisbee in a snow-covered parking lot with my dad and little brother. I haven’t played in a long time and I make some bad throws before being arrested for sledding too fast down the trail.
I am taken to jail and told that I have to wait thirty years before I can come out. I am very sad and I try to explain to the police officer that if he takes me to jail I will never be able to go to medical school and I will never be a doctor; I start to cry because I know that the next time I ride my bicycle I will be an old man.
I wait in jail for thirty years. Yes, that’s right, I wait. A really long time. I don’t know what else to say but that it took a really long time for thirty years to pass.
Joel comes to get me out of jail finally. He is no older and neither am I. We are in New York City outside of Grand Central Station, and I start to wonder what bikes look like thirty years later, which is actually today. Joel takes me to a bike shop to show me his new bike. All of the bikes are really thick tubed, and look like branches, there’s no triangle geometry. He explains that it’s alright that they have really wide tubes because they are hollow and full of carbon gel, which is composed of carbon particles but mostly anticarbon particles, so technically the bicycle doesn’t really exist in this universe, which means it has no weight or wind resistance. I am impressed. He also saved my aegis, which is just as shiny and beautiful as it was thirty years ago, even though all this time has passed, it’s still an amazing racing bike.
Yes, you are seeing double…
March 28th, 2006 by Alexa Seidl; no comments
I had “My Acting? Debut” again last night. Exactly the same, except I think Mr. Hoffman’s hair was a bit longer. Do we have any idea what recurring dreams mean?
Contoured bathtub trainseats and eyeballs that try to dig underground.
March 26th, 2006 by Tim Geaghan; no comments
Two very different dreams:
1. I am inside the bathroom of Matt’s apartment (Matt is a friend from high school i haven’t seen in at least five years but now live close to and plan to see. I’ve never been to his apartment. I crawl into the bathtub (not to take a bath) and notice it is contoured kind of like a craftmatic adjustable bed but seemingly with jacuzzi jets–whatever they were there were these notched plastic barnacle things running along the sides of the curves. I lay down in it and get cozy. This was from a point of view that looked at the bathtub, without really being in it; my body was moving stretched from my sensory apparatus so I could move into something while also surveying its entirety from outside.
Suddenly the point of view shifts to me in the bathtub looking toward the back of it and up at my arm, which reaches up and pulls a plastic handle in the now low low ceiling of the bathtub. The handle goes “click,” then there is a transition, like a pontiac aztek being used for a camper instead of a vehicle, and suddenly i am on the back of a train car with seats in front of me with people on them talking casually as i (now) bathe with soapy water, halfway ashamed but not really because everyone else isn’t paying much attention to my naked bubbly self. The landscape that passes by I know to be Amherst, Massachusetts (where Matt lives) but looked much more like the rockscapes of Idaho, more western with huge waving amber hills that the rocks jut big out of and mosses creeping out of the cracks in bright green.
2. I’m outside in the dark in the woods and have just given birth to two children in rapid succession by letting them tumble out of me as fleshballs (if you’ve ever seen Gremlins think of Gizmo after he gets water poured on him). The first ball opens up and reveals, not a newborn infant, but a boy full grown at about four years old. He’s dreamy and wavers, and the crowd that materializes in light around me has a member voice in it that says something like, “Yep, looks like he’s doing it.” And as the next ball stumbles out of me to reveal another unravelled four year old boy, the first boy’s eye (don’t know if right or left) pops out onto the ground and begins pulsating itself, sort of flexing, in order to burrow into the dirt. I immediately grab the eyeball, which is still rigorously flexing in and out, flattening then rounding, and push it back into the boy’s socket.
I hear the same voice in the crowd. “Uhp. Now the other one is doing it.” Repeat earlier scene with burrowing eyeball with the second child, this time with the floaty disoriented boy having fallen flat on his back by the time I retrieve his eye and pop it back into his socket.
My Acting? Debut
March 26th, 2006 by Alexa Seidl; 2 comments
I’m sitting on the deck of Matt’s boat in some sort of movie studio (there is a white backdrop behind us) with Robbie Spenser. We are playing a card game where Robbie keeps shouting “And the rat says…” and then laying down a card or two. I’m overwhelmed with happiness, not because I’m winning and not because (presumably) I’m an actress, but because I’m with Robbie. A man wearing a purple shirt and headphones brings us a white porcelain tray with cheese and crackers on it. Robbie asks me if I would like some red wine, and pours me two glasses. Mr. Hoffman shows up, hugs me, shakes Robbie’s hand, and tells us he’s happy to finally see us together and that he’s excited about the upcoming project. I reach over to touch Robbie’s face and one of his dreadlocks comes off into my hand. I’m sad. End.
Lord George Gordon Byron
March 24th, 2006 by Timothy Spenser; no comments
The first part of this dream was a very vivid sex dream. I won’t go into any more detail than to say that most of it took place on the hood of a car speeding down an interstate highway.
Then I am in a seaside house owned by one of my Greek relatives. My brother and I are staying there, at least for the night. It is late afternoon and golden sunlight fills the front room. Our relation says that he’s going to go take a nap, and gives us the responsibility of making sure the Turks (our poor nextdoor neighbors) don’t get into the house. Sometime later a man comes up to the front door. It’s not a Turk as I originally feared, but a Rastafarian selling sandals. My brother buys a pair, but I, as I have recently got a new pair of shoes, decline to purchase. My new shoes are made completely of soft leather, inculding the soles; I consider how quickly they will wear out, but I know I will enjoy my time with them while they last.
It is now night in the same house. I can’t get to sleep and decide to get on the computer. The computer is making a racket so I have to turn it off. End.