Morning of November 2nd
So, another dream.
November 2nd, 2011
Right before I woke up I dreamed about Watchmen, and a newspaper that interviewed the bright-eyed, kinda vague teenager who would soon grow up to become the Comedian. He made a better interview subject than a crazy hippie or an apathetic blue man.
Had a very long involved dream.
A luxurious underground palace, structured kinda like the Westside Pavilion. All was gold and it glimmered. All was happy and lovely, I was there with my mom, but we knew that the core of this happy place, the man who ran it, was emotionally and sexually abusing a little girl - rather like Ginny Weasley. The happiness depended on everyone ignoring this truth. Then, next dream, I was at home, with Mom and Dad. Mom and I were getting ready to go to see a show at the theater, but I was taking forever to decide how to dress, making us late. (Very out of character.)
Next dream I’m alone in a crowd, in a movie theater that’s part of the glorious galleria-palace thing. I’m watching a film, raised up high in metal bleachers, and taking my written driver’s test at the same time. I was doing pretty well, too. But it was over and only the people who had done perfectly well were allowed to leave. The proctors began to flood the place with water, and I forced my way out through some careful timing.
New plot, in the galleria, two girls who reminded me of girls I knew in high school, girls who had suffered but were stronger for all they had endured, resolved to steal away the little girl who was being abused. (I was sometimes the rescuer, sometimes the rescuee.) We moved past a lavish Star Wars display, and the two heroines had rigged up an actual getaway vehicle, (a hovercraft perhaps?) that was big enough for one of the rescuers and the little girl. Climb in, switch my POV to the little girl, and we are off!
My savior hollers to the dark night, I try to holler but never get it quite right, we clatter uphill up a steep, unpaved road like any you’d find in California. Out in the distance is the ocean, but between us there are two stadiums - Disney and Universal Studios. There’s a special lights effect they are performing or rehearsing, and weirdly an almost identical show is happening in each. A man is standing in the center of the stadium, on an elevated island, he moves his arms and legs and fire appears to travel around the stadium in waves. He brings the fire back to him and the island is wreathed in flames, columns of them that open up to the heavens, but he is not burned. Is it, though, merely a very clever, well-practiced show, or actual firebending?
The man of Disney - a black man with dreadlocks and a weary smile - shows us his hands as we pass, saying, “I’m glad the splendor was worth it. At least my hands didn’t burn this time!”
Our journey continues, up the slope, through the night and wilderness, until we reach the top of the hill and dawn breaks. The ocean is in sight again. We descend towards a beach resort. I am left off to swim in a blue, protected cove. A girl who’s lived there all her life shows me the Victorian bathing machine, and the way that if you swim and tread water right between where the cove ends and the ocean begins, you get a lovely feeling of being hit by hot and cold water. I prefer to paddle the warm waters of the cove and look up at the hotels that line the shore, beyond the palm trees. Now that I think of it, it was a bit like Egypt and swimming in the Mediterranean.
I’m taken into the bathing machine, which it turns out is bigger on the inside. Inside, it’s a refurbished Victorian home, paneled in dark wood with light blue trim and nautical accents. We - myself, the hotel’s matron, the girl who’s been my guide, my rescuer, and a man who’s just hanging around, are waiting for the elevator to show up, when my dream changes for the last time.
November 2nd, 2011
Right before I woke up I dreamed about Watchmen, and a newspaper that interviewed the bright-eyed, kinda vague teenager who would soon grow up to become the Comedian. He made a better interview subject than a crazy hippie or an apathetic blue man.
Had a very long involved dream.
A luxurious underground palace, structured kinda like the Westside Pavilion. All was gold and it glimmered. All was happy and lovely, I was there with my mom, but we knew that the core of this happy place, the man who ran it, was emotionally and sexually abusing a little girl - rather like Ginny Weasley. The happiness depended on everyone ignoring this truth. Then, next dream, I was at home, with Mom and Dad. Mom and I were getting ready to go to see a show at the theater, but I was taking forever to decide how to dress, making us late. (Very out of character.)
Next dream I’m alone in a crowd, in a movie theater that’s part of the glorious galleria-palace thing. I’m watching a film, raised up high in metal bleachers, and taking my written driver’s test at the same time. I was doing pretty well, too. But it was over and only the people who had done perfectly well were allowed to leave. The proctors began to flood the place with water, and I forced my way out through some careful timing.
New plot, in the galleria, two girls who reminded me of girls I knew in high school, girls who had suffered but were stronger for all they had endured, resolved to steal away the little girl who was being abused. (I was sometimes the rescuer, sometimes the rescuee.) We moved past a lavish Star Wars display, and the two heroines had rigged up an actual getaway vehicle, (a hovercraft perhaps?) that was big enough for one of the rescuers and the little girl. Climb in, switch my POV to the little girl, and we are off!
My savior hollers to the dark night, I try to holler but never get it quite right, we clatter uphill up a steep, unpaved road like any you’d find in California. Out in the distance is the ocean, but between us there are two stadiums - Disney and Universal Studios. There’s a special lights effect they are performing or rehearsing, and weirdly an almost identical show is happening in each. A man is standing in the center of the stadium, on an elevated island, he moves his arms and legs and fire appears to travel around the stadium in waves. He brings the fire back to him and the island is wreathed in flames, columns of them that open up to the heavens, but he is not burned. Is it, though, merely a very clever, well-practiced show, or actual firebending?
The man of Disney - a black man with dreadlocks and a weary smile - shows us his hands as we pass, saying, “I’m glad the splendor was worth it. At least my hands didn’t burn this time!”
Our journey continues, up the slope, through the night and wilderness, until we reach the top of the hill and dawn breaks. The ocean is in sight again. We descend towards a beach resort. I am left off to swim in a blue, protected cove. A girl who’s lived there all her life shows me the Victorian bathing machine, and the way that if you swim and tread water right between where the cove ends and the ocean begins, you get a lovely feeling of being hit by hot and cold water. I prefer to paddle the warm waters of the cove and look up at the hotels that line the shore, beyond the palm trees. Now that I think of it, it was a bit like Egypt and swimming in the Mediterranean.
I’m taken into the bathing machine, which it turns out is bigger on the inside. Inside, it’s a refurbished Victorian home, paneled in dark wood with light blue trim and nautical accents. We - myself, the hotel’s matron, the girl who’s been my guide, my rescuer, and a man who’s just hanging around, are waiting for the elevator to show up, when my dream changes for the last time.