Thursday, September 04, 2014

I dreamed my brother and I had been enslaved and were working in a dingy office behind filthy glass somewhere in an old decrepit building in Jersey City. The slavemasters were a large, talking lizard and its lackey, a giant who constantly wore football gear. We'd been there for years, slaving away, doing mundane office tasks. There was never an opportunity to break free. My wife and family must miss me, I thought. Then one day the football guy left, and, by chance, I tripped the lizard and rammed its head against two pegs that were protruding from a nearby desk. Black blood rolled down its sad face as its eyes rolled, expressionless, in their sockets. I felt victorious at that moment--freedom was within our grasp. With its dying breaths, the lizard told my brother and I just why we'd been enslaved and what the meaning of our work was, but I can't remember a thing about it.

Friday, August 15, 2014

A couple miserable dreams last night:

- I dreamed I went to Rome, a surprise trip, to visit my relatives. Took the whole family. I was sneaking up on my Italian relatives, who worked at a kind of deli counter in an old stone building. Twas then I realized I had somehow managed the trip across without my passport, and that there was no way for me to get back home. Not good.

- I dreamed the entire office stayed over the one boss's house, like a work slumber party. He had some random client over, as well, some dude from England. We all filed in for breakfast, and the English guy was clearly hungover. Then out of nowhere appears my former colleague Josh and his fiancee, and they're regaling this pained English guy with stories of how, when they went to England with me, I was a drunken mess, vomiting in the streets.

Then me and my coworker Derek leave the breakfast party, and it turns out we're in downtown Baghdad--again the theme of trying to flee a country. Derek and I wander past some weird bondage-like store, which is right next to a Krauzer's-like convenience store. The rest of our party is maybe 20 feet behind us. We pass through the convenience store, which, wouldn't you know it, is manned by cops.

"Hello ladies," one of them says. We both ignore the dude, but his partner keeps going.

"What are you girls up to tonight?" the other one says, at which point I give him the universal signal for I'm gonna cut your throat. Then I say, "I wish this was America, bro. I would kick your ass."

The guy just stares me down as I exit the other side of the convenience store.

I'm standing there outside the storefront waiting for everybody when two more cops come up to me, along with a pasty white-looking guy.

"No smoking," says one cop. I'm not smoking. I don't say anything, but I get what's going on--they're trying to pin some minor infraction on me, throw me in jail, prevent me from going home. It's a trap, and I fell into it. I felt absolutely helpless. I wanted to kick these fuckers in the nuts.

"He's not listening," says the other one, fondling a baton.

Then the white pasty guy, who I'm guessing is like my court-appointed lawyer, so as to give the pretense of legitimacy, rubs the side of his face. "You don't have to answer them," he advises me, like he's some old friend doing me a favor.

I kick both of the cops in the nuts and slug the lawyer. By then the whole Baghdad police force is coming after me.

I wake up.

Thursday, August 07, 2014

I dreamed Jenofur and I and the kids had moved to Passaic. We lived approximately where my grandparents used to live, in an old three-story Victorian home near the park, except we lived on the top floor with see-through walls; you could see out, and everybody else could see in. It was evening, and the orange glow of the streetlights lit the scene.

Jenofur had conceived some kind of scheme whereby she would convince people parking on or near the property to give us money. So we went downstairs and shook down a couple of kids who parked a Jeep on our lawn or some such. They gave us a few dollars and walked away, except when we looked through the bills, one of them was worth $50, and another was worth, amazingly, $157,727 (who knew they even made such a bill?). I said to Jenofur, "Shit, we've got to get this in the bank," knowing those dastardly kids would realize their mistake (maybe they were drug dealers?) and come back and try and get the loot.

So we went back upstairs with our brood, and, sure enough, those dastardly kids came back. And when they couldn't see us anywhere on ground level, they (smartly) looked up, and because of our see-through walls, they could see us easily. I saw them pointing and gesticulating. They were gonna come after us. I grabbed Jenofur and the kids (and the dough) and we amscrayed.


I dreamed I was doing capoeira at a roda above some jewelry shop downtown, and I was kicking people's asses.


I dreamed I was performing at a jazz concert in a lush, velvet room. I was playing piano, except that I can't play piano, and I was backed by some legitimate musicians (lots of strings). I just banged randomly on the keys--improvisation! Somehow people tolerate it, at least for five minutes. I had pulled it off! My kids came up and hugged me. Then I thought, "I better learn how to play some piano."

I dreamed I was towing Katy Perry down a pitch black sewer tunnel beneath New York City. We were looking for the ocean.


I dreamed I went, all by my lonesome, on a boat ride around Manhattan. I took strange pictures of ferries almost crashing into wharves, and sent them to Jenofur. I ate clam chowder in crowded bars by the waterfront.