Monday, November 28, 2005

In one dream I was doing computer copy-paste on a piece of cloth laid out on a table. I was creating something for a woman standing nearby, some sort of craft. Maybe she was S. S. I traced my finger lightly over the fabric to make the copying and pasting commands.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Remarkable dream. I was at a car race with familiar people - maybe C.W., C.K., others, I don't know. It was essentially a stock-car race, but on a road course. A fascinating, sinuous track. And the cars were older muscle cars for the most part. We were perched on a jutting hill at a corner, with views of the cars approaching and the cars going away. For some reason I was aware that Chuck Brown, the Godfather of Go-Go, was in the race. During the warm-up lap, I saw his car approach. For some reason I knew what car to look for, a '70s-era boat, slightly pimpy but modified for speed. When he drove by I cried out, "Go Chuck! Yeah Chuck!" I hoped that he'd see me, even hear me somehow, but I was not confident that he did. I perceived his characteristic sunglassed, grinning face as he drove by.

When the race began I was terrified by the pace and aggression of the driving. It impressed upon me the audacity of the drivers and the arduousness of their task. I gazed up the track and saw an accident start to happen, the terrible inevitability of the chain of events. An official was walking right by the track, in the same direction as the race, unaware of the chaos unfolding behind him. At this moment I noticed that he, and other officials near him, were black. He was brutally clipped by a fishtailing car. Suddenly, as though this awful event were their cue, other officials around the track pulled out guns. They, too, were black. They declared that they were taking all the spectators hostage. It seems they had some kind of radical slavery-reparation agenda. Immediately I was shaken down and fearfully produced all the money in my wallet, about $200. Armed men were posted strategically throughout the crowd, to keep watch over us, make sure we didn't try anything funny. It grew apparent that this group had somehow posed as an independent race organizing outfit and had subcontracted the running of the event from the governing body. I thought we were good and fucked, gonna die. At one point I managed to surreptitiously dial 911 through my pants, on the cell phone in my pocket. I heard the operator's voice answering, inquiring, as though she were on speakerphone. I was terrified that one of these sentries would hear it. Finally, and seemingly against all odds, some sort of settlement had been arranged between the group and authorities somewhere and we were released.

Saturday, November 05, 2005

I was in a subway train on my way to work. J. P. was there too – for some reason we had the same commute, and this seemed normal. I sat facing him and behind his head was a partition leading to where the conductor sat. I could see out the front window of the train. We were traveling through the hilly outskirts of some unknown, vaguely European city. There were many, many yellow houses perched on the hills, overlooking the valley of the train tracks. Yellow houses glowing in the morning sun. J. P. said, "Are you going to be in one of those moods again?" referring to my occasional dark moods in the office. "As a matter of fact, no," I replied sort of brightly. I looked down and noticed I was wearing socks but no shoes. I stood up and did a sort of shtick for J. P. and the conductor and a woman who was now standing there about what a fool I am, I got up and got dressed and everything, left the apartment – no shoes! I envisioned having to buy shoes from a shoe store across Canal Street from the office, a store which only existed in the dream.