That boy is all about rabbits
December 7th, 2006 by Adrian Sampson; no comments
I am at a discussion in the middle of the night on the floor of a very bare room in the basement of a very bare building. There are about six people at the discussion including Patrick Foley; we sit in a circle. A topic is announced, but I focus on the people speaking instead of the issue so, when it’s my turn to speak, I have nothing to say.
We take a break after everyone else has said something insightful and pithy. We walk over to a table where literature is stacked; I begin to notice that the creators of this event have used images from _Another Rabbit Every Day_ on all of their brochures. The required reading for today contains, on its front page, the “Schematic” rabbit I drew a few weeks ago. People who spoke in the most recent session have the privilege of affixing a “Precious” sticker to their name tags.
(Later:) While asleep, I accidentally call Yael. This turns out to be good because I have something urgent to say to her but sort of awkward because I nearly wake up Mindy, who is sleeping nearby to Yael’s telephone. (As it turns out, my cell phone alarm was just going off.)
Formerly known as
November 16th, 2006 by Adrian Sampson; no comments
I am in West 407 examining a small, metal box. It plugs into the wall and seems very important.
Outside, I hear a commotion. In a panic, I pick up the machine (it’s a machine) and dash into 405, locking the bathroom behind me. I lie under Tobo’s bed, quickly realizing that I have only brought the machine’s power cord and left the box itself with Eric. I hear muffled voices asking for the machine and discover that its purpose is to rename Prince. Some very evil people want to use the machine to rename him, but Eric will have none of it. He claims not to know where the power cord is.
I hope that the strange people will not think to knock down the bathroom door; they will certainly kill me if they find me. Additionally, it would sure be nice to rename Prince myself.
RSA
November 12th, 2006 by Adrian Sampson; 2 comments
I am in a small, echoing classroom with a class of about twelve. The professor is discussing an algorithm that involves capsules of data — represented as rectangles consisting of two component squares — each of which is individually meaningless but of which combinations — represented as overlaps on the chalkboard — can be created that have more meaningful properties. The arrangement of the data capsules becomes very complex when one of the students invites us outside, down the concrete stairs, into his boat, and onto the lake.
There, he enacts a series of ingeniously but nefariously entertaining stunts. His progress is represented by a bright yellow polygon overlaid on the full moon. As the polygon loses shape and the demonstration comes to an end, five military jets fly over the moon. Projectiles fly from the moon and the jets vanish.
We applaud and return to class exhilarated. Soon, however, administrators draw one student at a time away for questioning about the incidents. I realize that the morality of the stunts was certainly questionable and I will need — if no one else does — to divulge the trickster’s identity.
Rabbex
November 10th, 2006 by Adrian Sampson; no comments
I am in a giant, Victorian mansion at an organized conference. I look at the clock to find I only have a few more minutes to post today’s rabbit; I immediately run westward through rooms looking for something rabbitlike to photograph. In an expensively-decorated dining room, I find Alex, who is doing something inexplicable. I decide that this is much like a rabbit, so I begin to return eastward for my camera.
Five or six minutes later, I arrive at my tiny house, which is itself inside a giant ballroom. As I pick up my camera, I realize that Alex wasn’t being all that rabbitlike and it would be a long way back to find and photograph him anyway. Fortunately, as I am beginning to give up, Alex enters with a five-dollar bill and lies on a bed or a couch. Inspiration: I will put money in his hair and let it droop to the sides like ears. He will be a fantastic rabbit.
I have trouble parting his hair in such a way that the five-dollar bills will stay in place.
A good idea
November 2nd, 2006 by Adrian Sampson; no comments
I am at a party in a room in West. At this party, we all hold hands. Most guests hold hands with two people; if a guest is holding hands with only one person, he or she must hold both the hands of that person. If a guest needs to leave, the people holding his or her hands must immediately find other guests with whom to hold hands.
As I arrive, I see someone strongly resembling Leslie. I approach to be sure; while I’m still not certain, she is almost positively Leslie. I try say hello, to apologize for my distance, but she can’t hear me or ignores me.
Old now
November 1st, 2006 by Adrian Sampson; no comments
Katie, Abra, and Ryan (all fellow counselors from 4-H camp) return after being out of touch for a few years. They attend a barbecue on Winslow Way. Although they are my age or a year or so older, they appear at least sixty. This is startling but not wholly unexpected.
I feel a familiar isolation when I speak to Katie and Abra; they shuffle off quickly. Ryan invites me back to his pickup truck, where we speak half-meaningfully for about half an hour. He seems lonely.
(It doesn’t come through in this transcription, but this was one of the creepier dreams I’ve had in some time.)
Science!
October 28th, 2006 by Adrian Sampson; no comments
My family and I are at a picnic on a ridge formed mostly out of earth but partially out of a large, concrete wall, atop which is a railing. A young girl approaches us and asks me if I purchased my sandals in a giant bundle at a discount. She is right, so we laugh. She is embarrassed and leaves quickly; as she does, I realize that, with all their electronic components, it’s odd that I could obtain so many sandals so cheaply.
For fun and on an impulse, I go swinging on the railing over the concrete wall. The group of five or so scientists about a hundred feet below me begin to sing me a silly song. I assume they are ridiculing me and return silently to sit with my family. On my way there, though, it is explained to me that the song is the scientists’ way of inducting me into their secret society. I am the only student ever to have been so inducted. Good; at last I have succeeded at something.
I walk down to the water’s edge (exactly like Coleman Dock) to speak with the scientists, who include Prof Saeta. The main activity of their secret society is solving nifty mysteries. They show me two brown bottles filled with ice. One is cast into Puget Sound. It sinks quickly; a voice immediately bubbles up commanding us to locate the hidden lair of “Abraham T. Lincoln”.
After hours of swimming and many wrong turns, we do so. It’s a small, fenced-off area at the edge of the Sound. Lincoln has left an important message for us. I ask the scientists whether I should let the world know of our discovery; they tell me that this mystery was a relatively uninteresting and unimportant one compared to their everyday work. We cast the second bottle into the Sound.
Matte, gray light
October 16th, 2006 by Adrian Sampson; 2 comments
I am dealing with a problem that is simultaneously a written symbol or diagram (like a very complex Chinese character), a mechanical apparatus, and the configuration of my feet and legs. I attempt to assemble the ideal symbol/machine/configuration out of gross constituent units: pre-assembled machine parts, collections of lines, and something more abstract symbolizing components of body configurations.
Because I am lazy or stupid, I cannot see the problem as a whole and analyze the situation fully. Instead, I see the constituent units and attempt, via trial and error, to assemble them. I make some progress but always feel that there’s something critical missing. Every time things become too complicated to continue, I realize that I am making some basic, flawed assumption.
(This dream felt very different from most: I was not a character in the dream as I usually am; I was myself attempting to solve the problem.)
Invasian
October 8th, 2006 by Adrian Sampson; no comments
The sneakiness pulled at room draw to ensure fantastic rooming situations in Suite Deals only lasted a semester and now, in January, I have been moved to a shitty, out-of-the-way dorm between Atwood and Case. I sense that, no longer living in West, I will now be much less social.
I spend a frustrating afternoon doing extremely worrying Discrete homework and at least an hour trying to print it on one of the shitty dorm’s shitty inkjets. When I finally turn in my homework, a gruff, Asian-looking professor tells me that I’m too late. The wall clock indicates that I am three and a half minutes past the due date — but only because of printing difficulties. The professor, who is inexplicably not Prof Benjamin, tells me to take it up with the authorities and leaves.
I walk back to the shitty dorm sadly. My telephone downloads a software update; now its camera is on _all the time_. I find that my roommate has moved in. She is a short Asian woman with very short hair. It is odd that rooms on campus are suddenly mixed-gender, but I reason that it’s progressive enough and nothing to worry about.
Panic and emptiness
September 14th, 2006 by Adrian Sampson; one comment
My telephone’s screen is quickly filled with millions of tiny, colorful blocks. I press the power button and a message asks, “WANT TURN OFF? Y/N”. I turn the phone off and restart it. The phone software has vanished, however, to be replaced by a bizarre, poorly translated Japanese video game. I can’t seem to grasp the rules. Eventually, I discover that this is a problem afflicting many insufficiently protected telephones; if played long enough, the game will take over the mind of the phone’s owner. I need to entirely reset my telephone, which will be a pain.
Walking downstairs in backhall at West, I see Serena, Yael, and Kayla walking clumsily toward the lounge. They have clearly been drinking but this is okay because I also have. Yael and Kayla leave; Serena and I have a silly conversation.
I am at a school in Mexico. Today is the first day of classes, so none of them are very serious. Computer Science 135 consists of painting designs on plastic cups. The second class I go to is just a party; I am not too embarrassed that a heavyset woman of Indian descent kisses me three times.