fallenpegasus: (Default)
I was on IM with someone, communicating in pure text. I was helping design / negotiate / arrange some sort of scene / performance / experience, that was going to require a Rube Goldberg / Dr Suess level of crazy complexity of ropes and pulleys. I remember making reference to having to arrange things and having discussed things, with other people I know, and pulling them into side IM conversations, people I know who in RL have nothing to do with each other or such crazy stuff.

The main person I was communicating with, I was never quite sure who they were. A me just outside of me kept asking "is this so-and-so? no, its not. oh, then its so-and-so-somebody-else? no, its not."

The back and forth conversations always had 2, 3, 4 levels of meaning, because everyone had other things they wanted to talk about as well or instead, but that nobody wanted to actually say, so every phrase had to be carefully analyzed and deconstructed to figure out all the things being said without being said, and each thing I wrote back to anyone got more and more difficult to write, becoming "heavier and heavier" in my mind, because it had to have many layers of meaning as well, because it had to respond to the surface text of everyone else, plus respond to the deeper meanings of everyone's text, plus include all the stuff i wanted to tell each person that I needed to say without actually saying.

All while this was going on, there was some sort of local multiple community fundraising / auction going on around me, the noise and social swirl of which kept making noise and distraction. Someone was there recording / broadcasting / podcasting the event, and kept wanting to know who I was chatting with and what we were talking about, and I had to keep deflecting him.

At midtime in the fundraiser, refreshments were served, some sort of crazy veggie wrap with a crunchy (!) spinich leaf exterior. I was starving, but got hearded into line for the 2nd set of groups to get to eat. It was chewy, gooey, and bitter.

I was annoyed by the interruption, because in the IM conversation, people were actually starting to say what they meant, but now I couldn't get back to it, and I was losing track of the scenes being negotiated, and all the layers of allusion that everyone was using.

I woke up with my heart pounding.

I wasn't a nightmare, but it's still pounding, and while I'm sleepy, I'm torn hard between fear that I will end up back in the same dream, and fear that I won't.

Meh.
fallenpegasus: (Default)
Another weird dream with somebody real. I was working some gig in a urbanized suburban wasteland, and ran into [livejournal.com profile] cerebrate at a little restaurant between minimalls. We started talking shop, and I learned that he was working for LiveJournal, which seemed really cool, until he started complaining how relationship drama that had caught up the founder was spilling over into the operations.

Here in the waking real world, I don't recall having ever been to the sprawling building landscale I remember from the dream, I don't recall having ever been in the restaurant I remember from the dream, I've never met [livejournal.com profile] cerebrate in the flesh, and I no knowledge of what drama, if any, might be swirling around LJ's founder.
fallenpegasus: (Default)
I was having a technical discussion with Keith F. Lynch, via IM via a shared editor buffer (we kept interleaving text when we tried to talk at the same time), where I was explaining how network dependencies on startup for some appliance didn't have to be a bad thing, if the code sections kept track of their own start and run dependencies and so an emergent "Makefile with parallelism" type thing happened.

After that was done, and I was closing down my computer, I noticed that I was in an old classroom, and that I was one of the last stragglers to leave. But then Armando Stettner came in, but it took me a moment to recognize him because he'd dyed his hair pink. We resumed a technical/economic/pricepoint argument I had made with him before. But I pointed out that the people who buy brand new VW Beetles had a convincing different set of price influences, which invalidated his argument. He stopped, thought for a moment, and then agreed with me.

Soon after, I woke up.


Now, I've had many USENET exchanges and one face to face conversation with Keith Lynch, it was never about anything technical. Our one face to face conversation was in WorldCon in 2004, and was about the gothic appearance of my style of dress. And while I worked with and argued with Armando at my last job, I don't think this argument was one we've ever actually had, and under the light of wakefulness, the argument doesn't make sense. And I somehow doubt that Armando is ever going to dye his hair pink.
fallenpegasus: (Default)
The last dream of the night was that I was having a semi-omniscient 3rd person view of a handful of interleaved threads of some pieces of some goings on and bits of people's lives in the Soviet Union, as of probably about 1980. Work gangs doing slovenly work cleaning up after a big meeting in a grand hall. Poorly made luxury autos pressed into service for making a poorly made propaganda film depicting life in the US. Evil bureaucrats in gray suits threatening lethal political machinations at each other. Poorly focused and reproduced slides and films giving presentations about details of local execution of the five year plan. People who lived a doublethink of really believing that with enough work and if the Capitalist Imperialist abroad and the Wreckers at home would just Go Away, the inevitable success of Marxist-Leninist Communism would, well, inevitably succeed, but at the same time going thru the motions of work while doing just a bit of black market trading on the side. The only people who actually were of integrated view were the actual American spy (who acted like the perfect Soviet worker on the outside), and the aforementioned evil bureaucrats.

I feel a little bit like Donald Duck, in that old Disney propaganda piece, after waking up and discovering that he did not, in fact, live in Germany cira 1935.

Dreams

Jan. 10th, 2007 11:10 am
fallenpegasus: (Default)
I was about to graduate from some school. (Which school, it wasn't any that I've actually attended.) I needed to take a shower to get ready, but all the showers were just showerheads sticking out of the walls in the study hall. Courtesy dictated I find one that wasn't going to spray on someone else there. While soaping up, I had a conversation with someone who was selling silly little desk toys. I bought some of them.

I was standing in line for the premiere of a movie, based on a series of books. It wasn't Harry Potter, or Lemony Snicket, but the people in the line knew about those. These series was similar.

I was at a family party, which lots of big gift giving. It was either hosted by or for/about my sister and her husband. I saw on the pile of gifts on the table, a Sybian "toy", just barely concealed by a towel over it. I was concerned, was that all that appropriate to just leave out like that? I was told not to worry, so far I was the only one to have recognized it for what it was.

I had two more dream scenes to transcribe just a few minutes ago, but now they are gone. Trying to write down a dream is like trying to pick up a cobweb. The process of remembering and turning it into words, destroys it.
fallenpegasus: (Default)
I woke up in a psych ward. (I've been in a couple of them as a guest visiting people, so I know what they actually look like, instead of using "A Clockwork Orange" as the model).

I was a bit upset, and saw my dad's old truck parked outside, so I snuck out somehow, used a hidden key, and left in it. I went somewhere, an art's theater, trying to get into a show I wanted to see. But it wasn't playing there, and I began to realize that I really wasn't thinking clearly or correctly, so I went back to the hospital and checked myself back in. My dad had come back in his current bigger truck, Norton. They winched the P'up onto the bed, lashed it down next to the varmit trap, and left.

I woke up again, in the same psych ward bed, to the face of a lead physician, who's "friendly grandfather" act was completely spoiled by the phalenx of note taking med students, bored assistants, and stone faced orderlys arrayed around him. He tried to banter with me, and I snarked back, and scored some hits, because he got enraged, stormed off, and a foursome of orderlys strapped me to the bed and left me there. I fell asleep again.

Sometime later, I was wandering the floor, and I watched a doctor issue some different medication orders on some other patients, and then the actual staff guy who was going to do them (accidentally?) lay out the wrong needles on the wrong trays. I tried to point it out, and he turned on me, jabbing needles at me. I turned and ran, and got lost in the myriad of rooms and corridors.

While running, I discovered that a patients' advocate group, along with a very competent but nice medical inspector was doing an inspection/audit. They actually listened to me.

Then the whole dream happened again, only with them and me in a video room, watching it all on recordings from the security cameras, many of which even the doctors and orderlys didn't know existed.

I saw that I really was messed up, talking incoherently, when my fearful parents initially checked me in. That was disquieting.

I dozed off in the chair in the video room.

And later woke up for real.

Dream

Jan. 9th, 2006 07:58 am
fallenpegasus: (Default)
I was back at the job I had had in the early 90's. It was the end of the year, and I had come in late after the end of the year parties, to get my clothes. Which had accumulated from occasionally changing clothes in my office. But they weren't there, he bagged them up and sold them by the pound. I was mildly pissed off at him, and I left.

The outside of the building was completely different then it actually was IRL, and the road going past it, while paved up to that point, curved away to the left and was a narrow gravel road going thru unimproved rocky grassy fields. Off in the distance I could see a large chemical processing plant. That's where my clothes were.

For some reason, I needed to have my mother make the introductions to get me in. The first person we met was, to my surprise, my cousin's wife, who I had worked with in the late 80s IRL. She had become slightly more heavyset and was going gray, and was looking a lot more like her mother-in-law.

She went in to get the person who had bought up all the bags of clothes, and it was a woman I know IRL, except she was a great deal thinner, older, and more attractive. Before I got to talk to her, my mom spoke with her in a private office. I knew she was making pointed request to protect the virtue of her boy, and the women she was talking to, while calming agreeing on the outside, was amused on the inside.

She lead us thru a warren of old office space, with ugly 70s wood paneled walls. In a conference room was a table piled with the bags of clothes she had bought with plans to sort and resell. I sorted thru them, picking out my own stuff. Several other women I knew wandered in and out, striking up conversations with each other. One of them wasn't someone I actually knew, she was instead a former lover of a friend of mine, who had parted on friendly terms, she was the inspiration for a female character in stories he writes (I have no idea if this is the actual case, IRL).

After I had picked out my stuff, I offered to reimburse her, since she had paid for them in good faith. All she asked was ten bucks. But something had literally eaten most of my wallet, with big bites, so I had to hit up my parents for the money. As we were walking out, I was idly chatting with my youngest sister. I suddenly could tell I was in a dreamstate, because I wasn't actually walking, but was just occasionally putting my toes down to the carpet to change the direction I was moving.

I woke up soon after.

Dreams

Aug. 20th, 2005 09:47 am
fallenpegasus: (Default)
Another housing dream.

It was a very cute little basement apartment, except that they wanted eighteen hundred a month for it, the ceiling was so low that I had to stoop, it was a 3/4 basement, such that the one window's base, eye level from the inside, was flush with dirt on the outside. And it was a tiny little town, with dried out grass, all the water sucked out by the high dry air. I decided to move on.


Later.

I was laying on my back, next to my tent, looking up into the blue sky. I saw a stain of black spread out in one spot, spreading out into black mist and smoke and dust. It feel out of the sky, rattling on the ground like hail. Bits of coal, from dust to grit to pebbles to a few fist-sized lumps. "Those morons," I think calmly, "this is such an immature way to throw a tantrum." I watch several more thin black clouds bloom out of nothing in the sky, and rain to the earth. A few of the lumps are large enough to be painful if they hit. I see one bloom directly above me. I idly reach out, and pull in an awning tent over me, to block the falling grit. With a earth shaking BOOM, an irregular solid piece a good 3 meters wide slammed down, burying itself almost halfway into the sod at my feet. That was the end of the storm. I get up and start searching my box, my tent, my other tent, and the main tent for my camera to get a picture of it. I make a note to remind everone to clean up all the used condoms and gloves that are all over the grass from the night before.
fallenpegasus: (Default)
I've just rented a big old oddly remodeled-over-the-decades semi-run-down house, packed up next to other similar big old run down places. As I explore out the back door, buts up against them, and the small weedy unmaintained lawns twist and merge together. I'm not sure where "my" building ends, and the others begin, looking at them from the outside. Some of them look abandoned, or at least nobody is ever home.

It does have a big garage/shopspace tho, but it's a couple of building fronts down the pedestrian friendly urban street. I know it's my garage, because there are several such together, each with the number for the house they go to over their main door.

Inside my garage, I've had built and helped set up a parachute landing approach practice tower/cable rig. Pushing the struts into place was heavy work, but I could feel strength in my arms and back as I pushed them into place, while more expert people ratchet the bolts shut.

One of the empty house neighbors has several families living in tents and old run-down RVs in his back yard. It looks like they've been there for at least all summer.



Why have been my last few memorable dreams been about acquiring and exploring housing?

A Dream

Aug. 15th, 2005 09:48 am
fallenpegasus: (Default)
I start exploring the building my apt is in. I walk over to the manager's office, and look down into an open atrium. Funny, I had never really noticed that before. As I walk back, I decide that instead of going back into my apt, I explore the rest of the building. I go upstairs a level, and discover upstairs a huge high vaulted room full of pianos, and tables covered with white linen. It would be just the place for hosting formal affairs, but all the pianos are odd. As I explore more, the features get more and more luxorious, and before too long, I'm basically in a high-end mall. Outside the huge windows of a corner enterance is a clean active city, which now in my waking retrospect is a combination of Seattle and Boston. The floors are linked with esculators, but strange ones. Instead of "steps" with horizontal tops, they are more like 45o conveyer belts, but they work just fine. I take the esculators and walk the wide immaculate corridors back to my own door, and can tell that the moving people around me are impressed that I live in such a grand building.


(This is nothing like any place I've ever actually lived, but I do have the habit of living in a multi-unit complex, and NEVER so much as exploring the other strutures, corridors and floors.)
fallenpegasus: (Default)
A lot of people on my friends list have dreamblogged this morning.

I woke up in the middle of the night from a really weird dream, and I recall thinking "I need to dreamblog this one".

However, by the time I sat down in front of my computer late this morning, it was all gone, like dew blasted away by the bright sun.

Profile

fallenpegasus: (Default)
Mark Atwood

April 2017

S M T W T F S
      1
2345678
910 1112131415
16 171819202122
23242526272829
30      

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Apr. 24th, 2017 07:08 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios