Monday, April 21, 2008

I was lying in bed in the morning and I had the idea to write a science fiction novel in which a severe disorder has infected certain people: they are incapable of discerning whether others are male or female. Somehow this throws the entire society in turmoil. All of gender and sexuality is put into question. Additionally, inanimate objects have gained not only consciousness but gender themselves. Toasters, cars, chairs, shoes, everything. It's all slowly gravitating toward full consciousness and sexuality. The people who suffer from the disorder are called Aniamata if they are male and Annamiata if they are female - those aren't clinical terms, those are their actual names once they are diagnosed.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Sara and I were driving into the wooded country to go to some sort of event, though it wasn't clear what it was. When we were near it, we saw a young man directing traffic, maybe directing cars to park in a field by the road. His head was shaved and bore a tattoo of a Swastika. I pointed this out to Sara with some concern, and she said something like, "At least it's not a red Swastika," as though authentic Swastikas were always red. I told her Swastikas were "always black" and she became annoyed that I was compelled to correct her. At some point we got out of the car and walked among crowds of people towards this event, or party, or whatever it was. When we arrived, there were rows and rows of booths set up, with people behind them, and the crowd just flowing in between them, and it was still unclear exactly what this was, except there were more and more skinheads and I realized we were at some kind of backwoods white supremacist convention. We were disgusted and decided to leave. On our way out, I noticed that Amy Winehouse was there, standing behind a booth. I figured she couldn't possibly know this was a racist event; she wouldn't be here if she did. She loves black music. And yet, was this some real aspect of her mysterious persona? On the path back out, we stopped and hung out with some people and I pointed back to the event and warned that it was racist, full of skinheads, and everyone listened with due concern.

In part of a later dream, my old schoolmate Chris L. told me he was in the NBA. I asked him how many minutes he played and he said about five.

"Five per game?" I asked.

"No, no. Five total. All time."

"Have you scored any points?"

"Yes, of course!" he said.

"Good. So at least you popped your cherry."

He laughed and said yes, he'd popped his cherry. This is particularly funny because Chris L. was one of the shortest kids in school.

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

I was in some fancy hotel with a swimming pool at the top. There was an enclosed pool that looked like any old pool in a gym and a pool that was in a loungy setting with a bar nearby, all potted palms and chrome appointments. I took the elevator up with a Hasidic Jew. Some disembodied narrator declared that the view of the ocean, which was visible from the glass elevator and through picture windows in each direction in the swimming lounge, as though the hotel were a tower in the water, had been "adjusted" to show what would be concealed by the curvature of the earth. I took a look and saw rough waters around us and an expanse of smooth, blue water beyond what should have been the horizon.