dream chronicles

Entry 89

Written 23 May 2020 at 11:07am, Saturday:

Was walking along a narrow boardwalk set up high along a rocky cliff-side ridge by the sea. There were people behind me. It’s daytime. I keep walking and I see people, order folks down on the beach looking up at us, climbing up to the boardwalk. I think they saw ours looked like a fun walk with a view and so they’re joining us. Ahead of me I run into a dead end, the boardwalk chopped off abruptly. I see people ahead of me somehow on the other side, the continuation of the boardwalk some ways away. They must have climbed along the cliff-face to reach that other segment of the boardwalk. If I’m to continue, I’d also have to climb the overhang, with my legs and lower body hanging without any footholds. I decide not to continue and the people behind me seemed to agree this is a good idea. The side-ridge cliff-face had large windows because it’s no longer a cliff-face but the side of a building. I climb into a window. There’s a small group of young people hanging around with snacks on the table. One of them welcomes me to join and have a snack. They had a huge variety of pastries, different kinds but also multiple ones of the same kind. Except for one. A pastry crafted to look like the face of a dryad, like that character in Guardians of the Galaxy, Groot. I knew in the dream it was a representation of a benevolent tree spirit, though I’m not familiar with the movie in or out of the dream. This pastry was the only one of its kind left; it was a cake with a sort of gummy bear on its head, except it’s not a bear but like a flower. So the cake was the face of Groot with a gummy flower bloom on its head. I say to the guy that invited me, yeah, this looks very good, or that this looks very cool just as the guy said. . . I do remember saying it looks too good to eat and wanted to take a picture of it first before eating, but the gummy on top would keep falling off. . .

Then I’m somewhere else, but still indoors, dimly lit. I’m spreading butter on a piece of bread, a pão da avô, half-slice, putting it on a table like some kind of offering in front of a picture of a young woman. I knew her in the dream and thought she was too young for some reason, but upon waking she is faceless.

Entry 88

Written at 8:10am on 21 May 2020, Thursday:

Walking on the beach, I see there’s a playground installed, like a colorful giant plastic castle, red, yellow, blue. It’s installed into the sand where the slide goes into a large pool containing deep water. I say to someone, I wanna try that. . .

Entry 87

Written at 8:10am on 20 May 2020, Wednesday:

Was with some sort of sports team, getting out of a van. There’s a pool or a hot tub, with opaque baby blue, steaming water. It wasn’t too hot when I got in, though. The water was soothing at first. Then it felt like there was some sort of residue brushing on me in the water. A woman appears with plastic bags at the edge of the pool collecting something. The perspective or the steam clears and I see she’s collecting clumps of red-dyed hair. I see now there’s lots of it as the water drains, no longer blue. I grab a black plastic bag near me at the edge of the pool, use that bag as a glove to grab a few clumps of hair. I put the bag on the side edge for the woman to pick up. The water has been completely drained and there are only bunches of clumps of wet red-dyed hair around. There’s also something in my mouth I spit out. I thought it’s hair, but turns out to be a thin piece of twig.

Then I’m at some get-together, small outside party. There’s a guy, the organizer, singing a song from the Disney movie, Frozen. The guy reminds me of — whom I met in Porto. In the song I wasn’t surprised he could sing, it was just one of his talents (though in the outside world I don’t know if he really can). I go inside the house to get some beer. I knew I had stashed some in my room closet. But the beer was no longer there. I knew someone had stolen it. I thought the thief had already escaped, but when I went out back I saw he was still packing his loot in his car. A bucket of bottled beverages was there near right out the door. I dragged it inside the house and locked the door. Then I thought I need to chase the guy, get the rest of the drinks. When I got back out he was still there. I gave chase and also thought I should call the cops. He ran and the dream ends with a vague image of him tripping over a box of bottles of wine. He’s on the ground washed in bubbly.

Entry 86

Written 19 May 2020, 9:38am, Tuesday:

I’m at some car dealership, sitting across a desk from me is a woman. I’ve decided to buy something, decided to use my U.S. card to pay, pulling it out from my wallet, calculating in my head how much would be withdrawn from my account. I didn’t want to be charged extra if I were to use my Portuguese card.

Then there’s an image of a Lysol spray bottle, lemon, sprayed on a dish of ‘arroz caldo.’ I could taste the detergent lemon-flavored. I was sure my mom had emptied out and cleaned the bottle before putting in real lemon juice, that she just wanted the spray-function of the bottle. But I still emptied the bottle half-way and put water in it to dilute the liquid inside.

Then I’m in front of a couple of actors performing some sort of musical. The spotlight hangs atop some locker. I pull it down and manually direct it in front of the performers. I start singing the song, “More than this,” by Roxy music. “More than this / You know there’s nothing. . .”

Entry 85

Written 18 May 2020, 12:24pm, Monday:

Getting into a car, a minivan, hopping at the back. It’s night, or, even though it’s dark, I could see a bunch of guys like shadows in the front rows of the van, except the driver’s side passenger seat. When I hopped in I wanted to sit with the other guys, but had to choose or just go to the available seats in the back or in the front. I think the image repeated, and I had to choose twice, or was presented with the same selection of seats, front or back, twice. The front seats were available, but I think the driver’s seat, too, but in the dream it never even occurred to me to choose the driver’s seat.

Then I’m at some kind of patio with several people, a couple of guys and a couple of women. One woman before the steps up the patio I recognized, and for some reason I was nervous she’d recognize me, too. Now that I’m awake, I don’t remember who she was at all, just that she was fairly tanned. The other woman on the patio, faceless, said she wished she learned and could speak German like everyone there. I don’t know why I didn’t tell her I couldn’t speak German, didn’t occur me to to say anything. . .

Entry 84

Written on 13 May 2020 at 1:30pm, Wednesday:

Vague image of being in a factory, or being surrounded by factory machinery. Popcorn was being made. There’s a woman at the machine. I made it known we should save the extra or loose popcorn. She swept up the popcorn from the floor and put it in the big batch bowl. That wasn’t what I meant, and so now I thought we need to throw out the top layer of popcorn that has dust from the floor.

In a later dream, I’m in the garage at my parents’ house. I’m working on a large, old computer, a dinosaur I’m trying to see if still functioning. My mom comes in, says my dad found two computers, asks which is mine. I say both, the large one a Toshiba laptop, its battery not working, the newer one, a smaller Acer that’s mainly for internet use. She tells my dad the large one is old and doesn’t work. I wanted to correct her, to explain that it still does, it’s just the battery that’s shot. The computer in front of me doesn’t seem to be working. The electrical chord runs through a small white box before its plugged into the outlet on the wall. This white box lit up, a small flame. I try to put out the flame, or just look at it, thinking how to put it out. My dad tells me to unplug it.

Entry 83

Written at 8:43am, Saturday, 09 May 2020:

I’m sitting at a table with peregrinos from SK in last year’s camino. Z had some sort of tablet in front of him. I’m not sure if he’s watching something or taking notes. He tells me of his experiences of racism as an asian in Europe. I feel bad for him and try to tell him the following story. But he disappears and now D is a little girl called Betty. I tell her this story, with me simulating the main villain, a kid with a secret in his hand. He shows it to his friend to his left, then to his right. Then he calls Betty and was about to show her what’s in his hand, asking her, you wanna see? She nods yes. He’s about to show her but then shuts his hands closed, tells her no, she doesn’t get to see it because she’s Chinese and Asian. I remember deliberately saying , Chinese, deliberately making this mistake because I knew she’s not Chinese, because in my mind in the dream I was trying to teach her. Betty runs into a little play-house, hides. I try to tell ask her what “gift” the boy left her, but she doesn’t come. I fear she doesn’t understand the story. I wonder why I even did this simulation, now I traumatized her again because I thought she’s experienced this before. I reached out to her, asked her to come closer. She sits to my right. I still ask her what the kid left her, somehow expecting her to read between the lines, to see the subtext of the story, that even if the kid-character, me playing the villainous kid didn’t show her anything, I still left her with this painful memory of humiliation and unbelonging. When I woke up I thought, how stupid of me to this to a kid in a stupid round-about way, and I wasn’t even teaching her anything, just showing off the artifice of a story. . .

Next dream: Sitting in the passenger seat of our van with my mom driving. She’s getting the car out of the garage. There are towers of stacked up papers and boxes, and my mom maneuvers the van around these towers and out of the garage. . .

Then I’m in some supermarket buying a bottle of wine. A clerk tells me to buy the expensive one. I kind of chastise him and say I don’t need the expensive one.

Then I’m at some park snipping or at first trimming the beard off of my chin. I see my face as an old man, like a homeless man, all grey, shaggy. I snip the hair close to the skin and start to see the short hair looks all black again.

Entry 82

Written at 11:25am, 08 May 2020, Friday:

By the side of a road standing outside of a “chapa,” a minivan turned public transport in Mozambique. We’re outside waiting, I guess, for the cops. The driver had caught someone stealing, or someone stole something from him, but the doesn’t know who, so now we’re all just waiting also for someone to confess. Across the street I see a restaurant or bakery and wonder if I can go, if I’m allowed to just buy something and come back. Now that I look around, it seemed like there are no other passengers from the chapa except me. Odd since usually these chapas are always full.

Woke up, listened to a podcast, then fell back asleep. . .

Next dream I’m looking at some meats, cubes and ribs of meats sealed in plastic, moisture-locked, air-locked. Then I’m lying down under an oven, placing the meats inside to cook. Then there’s a woman standing above me. I recognize her as my new flatmate from Africa. I stand up, introduce myself. Her name is “Tembe.” She seemed to recognize me as I her, though we’ve never met before, it’s like as if she’s a friend of a friend, or a friend of my current flatmates. The flat, I guess, is the one in Germany and I’ve come back after a long absence. She said she was supposed to have sent me a letter or email, and I think to myself that I did get that email but forgot.

The next scene, I’m standing over the kitchen counter. There’s a small gathering, a party. I’m saying something across the counter to Tembe. On the counter there are a couple of big black binders, the ones with large D-rings. I fold them up and put them away. They were empty, I think, though I also think I was reading something in them. Then Tembe was next to me, to my left, telling me something. I’ve forgotten what she said now, but I remember intently listening, trying to understand. Then I try to explain to her I’m not a dirty flatmate, but just messy, “like see, I just cleaned this,” and there’s a bunch of papers laid out in front of me on the counter. I go ahead and clean up the counter again. . . Felt refreshed after the dream. Tembe seemed solid, reliable, straightforward.

Entry 81

Written at 9:45am, 07 May 2020, Thursday:

First dream had me looking at some picture, a polaroid maybe. I don’t remember what’s in the picture or what it’s about, but I vaguely remember the frame or the white border like a polaroid. Someone asks me, “What’s holding it up?” And I answer, “Fascia.” I don’t know why I said that; I’m not even sure I know what fascia is. Or I think it’s like the thin strings of fat or cartilage in meat or muscle. I guess I had a picture of a piece of meat in my mind, but in the dream I wondered if I even understood the question right.

Then I’m in some hotel room. There’s another person and we’re trying to figure something out. From the window we see a young woman with short, white hair pass by. I try to remember something, then finally confirm with the other person in the room that the woman we saw goes to the same high school as me.

Entry 80

Written at 10:04am on 06 May 2020, Wednesday:

I was at some brunch round table, I think there were people around but didn’t see them, or wasn’t seeing them because I was so fascinated by this. . . thing, which I don’t even know what to call it now. It’s one of those old rolls of photographic film in its plastic casing before you put it in a camera, or in this case, having used up all the shots in the film, before you submit it to a photo developing store. It’s film for an old, non-digital camera. In the dream I knew it’s been used, ready to be developed, and I was fascinated by it, by what photos or images were in it but could not see. I thought this must be so old, and then its film was in some portfolio, or maybe it was first in one of those black plastic canisters and I see the date on it said May 2019, I think. . . or maybe May 2020, I’m not really sure.

Then I’m in some pub quiz with two other people, one I think was Jerry Seinfeld, but he wasn’t doing or saying anything. It was like he was just a statue or shadow to my right or behind me. To my left or in front of me there’s this woman from when I was an undergrad volunteering with a student group to raise awareness about problems of sexual assault on campus. And I guess we got a question right, she was so happy, jumping up and down, we hi-fived and she fell on the floor laughing and got right back up laughing, excited, saying we gotta get the next question right. And then it was announced that they were changing the MC or whoever it was announcing the questions, and my female pubquiz partner got excited because she knew this MC, who then comes over to say hi, I guess. He looks at our card of answers, which I see had “PhD” written on it. And my partner was then so serious, saying to the guy that we gotta win the pubquiz so she can get her PhD. And I was a little jealous that she was just paying attention to this other guy, and I said to her, you know it’s not a real “PhD,” it’s just a card from the pubquiz, and I thought what I said was funny. I think she laughed, too. . .