A neon sign sparks and falls apart
March 25th, 2008 by Adrian Sampson; no comments
I am in Jay’s Place, which looks like Chipotle. I stand in the back, observing the counter. A woman about my age with blonde hair and green clothes enters. She must wait because of a line or something; she does so for about half an hour.
When she gets a chance to talk to Brian, she asks, “Is Dirk Diggler here?”
Brian knows that Dirk Diggler is a character from Boogie Nights. “No; he left.”
The woman is disappointed that her practical joke did not pan out. She tries again, this time asking for Dirk’s real name (I don’t remember.)
Brian kind of knows what she’s trying to pull, but is either slightly duped or decides to indulge her. He asks for the character using his microphone. Satisfied, the woman leaves to join her annoying friends; they are going to laugh about this joke a lot.
matt is gross
March 25th, 2008 by Kris Skotheim; no comments
I joined the Marines.
I am walking through north carolina during the time of the civil war. I decide to stop in to see Matt as I’m not that often in north carolina. I find him standing on a large, steep, artificial hill arguing with some other boys about politics. Other than the four of them and a fast-thai-food stall at the bottom of the hill, the place is deserted. I call out to him, but it takes a while to get his attention.
When he recognizes me he seems nervous. “I’m busy” he yells. I tell him I only want to say hello. “Ok, but I can only talk for a second”. He leaves the other boys, who were obviously ganging up on him in the argument, standing impatiently and silently. As he runs down the hill he slips a few times, staining his dirty, worn-out suit jacket on the piles of half-eaten fast-thai-food plates covering the hill. He has in his hand a paper plate with some rice and soy sauce. He looks worried.
“I joined the marines.” I tell him. He doesn’t seem to be listening. “What’re you doing?” I ask.
“Oh, I’m a troop broker.” He explains that he trades food which he grows on plantations that he owns for troops to fuel the war effort. It’s for the government, he tells me, but he’s also made some personal investments on the side. I can tell that he’s lying and that the only thing he owns is a dirty suit and the plate of rice and soy sauce. His eyes are wild and desperate like a man in the process f being torn apart by wolves. I can’t tell if it’s a real war he’s working for or if it’s something fake, like boy’s state. He has to go.
I get on a plane and fly to europe to fight in a different war.
There is a water gun fight
March 14th, 2008 by Alex Walton; 2 comments
Miles long hallway at a highschool. Various people from my past; swim team. The hall changes as I pass through doors; lockers and widths of different sizes and shapes and colors. In the distance, you can’t see the vanishing point, because another set of doors obscure it. I seem to be passing through my own past as well as other pasts. I have a cup of crackling ice. There is a water gun fight. People are strange and bug eyed. There is an evacuation by biplane; there are broken windows and a right turn and a dock down to the ferry. On the ferry, which is huge, Kris is with me. We seem to be escaping the madder and madder scene on the island.
edit: After posting this and then reading the past few dreams on dreambox, I see that I have unknowingly (without reading Kris’ account) dreamed a return trip to Kris’ and my ferry trip to Bainbridge. Very strange!
wheel
March 13th, 2008 by Kris Skotheim; no comments
My wheel is true but the rim is torqued along its radial axis. It requires a very special tool to fix, which I don’t have and have never seen. Jeff fixes it with his hands, then leaves his career as a bicycle mechanic to sing. He opens a singing store in New Orleans.
I have a crush on barack obama’s daughter (so does alex)
March 6th, 2008 by Kris Skotheim; no comments
Alex and I are sitting on top of my grandfather’s garage in Queen Anne with our legs dangling down into the street. Barack Obama walks by. Alex yells, “I support Barack Obama!” when he sees him, which only makes the senator walk faster away from us. I call out, “I hope your cold gets better soon!” which makes him stop, turn around, walk up to us, and authorize us to hang out with his daughter. His daughter is pretty cool, our age, into hip music and bicycles, and super pretty. We run around in circles trying to make lunch, but accomplish nothing. Alex and I decide to go to Bainbridge, Barack’s daughter has to stay in Seattle. She gets into a limousine surrounded by CIA vans. We have to run really fast to make the ferry.