Dream Log: May 9, 2001

This is another chapter in the ongoing tetrology that is my dreaming:

Overheard is a voice saying 'the authorities will not allowing the police to enter the housing projects because there would then be a riot.'

I am walking through these streets of strange buildings--uniform, but not ordinary looking structures that rise, like twisted taffy, about two stories, towers. Each one has a door, I guess a screen door, leading to a much deeper interior.

Out of these doors come many, many people going to wherever they're going. Two children enter the street where I am, and remain after all the others have left.

We fall in together, and begin playing. They start singing lines from songs I seem to know, and I answer them. They do dance turns from the same musicals; I respond.

All the while they are leading me through some kind of semi-subterranean concrete structure that is either below, or beside the structures I first encountered. I am totally unaware of the leading the children are doing.

We end up in some kind of dead end room-like place with a heavy concrete top that hinges--they escape through it before it lowers. I hear adults. They are talking beyond my hearing, but I see them preparing a harness-rope like thing to place around me.

Pink Floyd and I are cruising in a tour bus through Europe, driving towards Edge City, no doubt. We stop and set up, play a set, and move on. It's always the same: Stop, Play, Move, and we don't know where we are. Occasionally we rock the ghanj. I mention that I have a final at 11:30, and no one is concerned, me least of all. I dose off...

And I wake up in a Winnebago, in Lawrence, on campus, with Terry Gilliam and the remainder of Monty Python. We all know I have a final in three hours, whick gives us just enough time for a road trip through England...
Driving as we are through post-war Europe, and we hear sirens. At this point I'm worried about the driver pulling over, but he obstructs the entire road. Eventually he comes to a stop, and the Nazi-Mobile comes to a stop behind us.

Here come the Germans

What do we do? At that moment Monty Python and I mobilize, and we prepare to fight them (head on) with our searing wit. And of course they are no match, for we confuse them with words and befuddle them with absurd ideas.

Time becomes important

'What time is it?' It is 10:30, with an hour to spare, but I'm worried on how I'm going to get back to...

My bed, where I wake up to my alarm clock blaring the fact that it is now 10:30, and I have a final in an hour (and just enough time for this node).

Surreal

place in a blender

I have been very mixed up over place in my dreams recently.

A few days ago, I had just returned home to Portland on the train, and I was proposing to Kelly that we take a trip in to San Francisco the next day. She thought I was crazy. I then realized that, no, Portland is not across the Bay from SF, and there is no BART line connecting the two cities. I was dejected.

A couple days later, I was in Switzerland sitting at a table at a large outdoor café. It was during my planned trip to Germany, Austria, and the Balkans... but Switzerland has fallen out of my plan. Also, I wasn't travelling alone—a miscellaneous dream character came along. Then, suddenly, I saw the German mother of a friend of mine from high school, and then the friend, Daniel, himself, along with a classmate of his. We chatted briefly in German. I was only mildly surprised by the coincidence.

Last night I dreamt I was in the German House, where I will be living next semester. I was in my room, which I have yet to see. It was a smoking room this year, and in the dream it smelled mildly of smoke, but the house director promised to have it cleaned. There was a very tiny bathroom on the edge of my room, separated by a sliding frosted glass door. I was surprised, but pleased to see that I would have my own bathroom, even though it had ugly 60's fixtures.

I also dreamed that I was walking down Summit Avenue with someone—was it Kelly?—to get to downtown St. Paul. But rather than being a street, it was a walking path. There were hundreds of people walking downtown. Soon we came to a large gravel pit. There were no fences, but when we walked in, machines surrounded us and workers yelled at us. St. Paul's downtown was very big, and there was a ton of construction—probably every third block was a high-rise being built. We had to find another path. It was going to take a long time.