Dream Log: December 5, 2001

This dream starts on Friday. Tomorrow there would be a running competition consisting four legs, about 6 kilometers each. I don't have yet a team but I'm not looking for one neither. However, a mate I know comes over and asks if I could join their team since they are lacking the fourth guy. I agree and ask what kind of team is this. He says that he is not so enthuastic about this team but there's a young blonde girlie who picked up two other guys and him and she really wants us to make a good result. He tells me that these other two are philosophers and it seems like they are virtually unknown.

Saturday morning and one hour to go before the start. I see some guys from my own running club and they wonder why I'm here. I tell them that I'm in the second leg and I describe the team briefly. The blonde cutie just passes by and asks if I'm ready. I nod and ask my clubmate if he's ready, if he have done those 5 kilometers. He grins because we both know that our club has a really stupid warming up policy. "Sure.." he says.

The next scene takes me to see how the blonde masturbates. This is happening after the race. She lies in nowhere: there's no floor, no walls, no nature, no nothing. She stops cuddling herself as she notices those philosophers having gay sex. I don't know how it is possible but they were having a double anal penetration. Now the other philosopher is on the back and another is just shooting his load. The blonde approaches them and tells them to "fuck me like no one has never fuck before." They look at her amazed expression on their face. - I see all this like some Big Brother would have seen.

I was in the UK, finishing up my finals for AI. The weird thing about this final was that it was taking place sort of in a house, and the problems were literally hands-on, with no seeming connection to AI. This didn't bother me. So we got to the last problem and I was doing pretty well when the teacher told us to go back to our rooms and she would give the instructions for the last problem. We did, and she started telling us the instructions as we closed to the door to our rooms, so I couldn't hear her very well (poor planning on her part... she shouldn't have wasted so much time between questions and given us the instructions while we could all hear her). In any case, I thought that I would be alright, because I decided that I could probably figure out what to do just by looking at the type of problem it was. I started on it pretty confidently, but realized that I couldn't figure it out.

At the end of the time period I realized that I would fail that section, but that didn't bother me because it was time to meet my parents who had come to the UK for winter break. So I meet them outside and we get on one of the buses to go somewhere.¹ My parents and I get seperated to different sides of the bus, and just before the bus starts moving, my dad realizes that its the wrong bus and gets off with my mom. I try, but there's too many people so I can't get off. Typical, I think. So I see my parents out through the back window and it takes them a second to realize that I'm not there. I'll just get off at the next stop, I think, and meet them in two seconds.

The problem is that the next stop is a bit of aways away and down a hill, so it would take at least 10-15 min to get back to where we were. At this point I'm starting to get a bit annoyed with my father that he did something like that right at the last minute that is now making me walk for 15 minutes. So I finally get off the bus and cross over to the other side, and now my parents are there, waiting for me. I thought that this was very nice, walking all the way down to meet me, but I'm still annoyed with my father.

Another bus comes going the opposite direction, and my mom and I are just about to get on, when I see my father shaking his head in annoyance, like "Why are you trying to get on? This isn't our bus!" At this point I lose it and start yelling at him. I tell him that I'm not annoyed that he got off at the last instant on the other bus, because that was when he discovered his mistake. Fine. I'm pissed off because he was just standing there waiting for me and my mom to make a mistake and then criticize us about it. He could have said something *before* we tried to get on, rather than getting annoyed that we went on a bus we shouldn't have.

We then get into a full blown argument and he starts to say something to me and then decides to say "No, I'm not going to say it" and I yell back "Yeah, save it up till it really hurts, then hit me with it. Yeah, save it up." He then says "You know, we came all the way over here, and carried everything that you asked us to, even those pictures of your... your... girlfriend² I guess it is, and now look at where we are." He then gestures at my mom, who is now almost crying because of our argument. "What a wonderful Mother's Day, hmm?"

At that point my heart breaks because I hadn't remembered that it was Mother's Day, plus the fact that I'm making my mother cry (not to mention that they carried all of my stuff for me and I was being disrespectful). All of my being wanted to tell my mom that it would be alright, that I was sorry, so I began singing this rock song that I realize is a cross between St. Robinson in His Cadillac Dream and a Phil Collins song.

The main part was as follows:

Are you there, son?
Are you there, son?
Yes, mum,
Yes, mum,
I'm he're!!!

I'm down at her feet, crying and singing with all of my being and this is when I woke up, crying.

As I lay there in bed, I realized that the part that sounded like Phil Collins had the same melody as one of his actual songs, No Son of Mine, and the "Are you there, son" matched up with the line "You're no son, you're no son... (of mine)".

---

¹Reflecting on it now, I realize that the buses were going in the wrong direction, (i.e. the US way). Guess that even though the UK driving standard is second nature to me now, I still think of buses as going to the right, after so many years of taking them.
²My parents don't know about her yet, and will actually be taking some not so subtle pictures with them when they come visit me. Here's hoping they don't get curious.

I was off of work (which was actually a less vivid and longer dream that took place before, long winding cubicle mazes), rewarding myself with a piercing through my left forearm. Two of my best friends, both girls, both of whom I've never had any romantic interest in, took me in through the back way. I had been there earlier, making an appointment. The receptionist recognized me and asked me to wait. Her blonde hair covered her face. I read nothing, the girls talked about books. Suddenly it was time and I wanted to be listening to music, so I was, through big bulky headphones. They led me through some white hallways and down a flight of spiral stairs, down another white hall. The floors were hardwood. The receptionist asked me to enter the room and sit on the dentist's chair. I rolled up my sleeves and relaxed, though I was certain this was going to hurt. Unseen preparations were being made. The girls were looking in a nearby bookcase, reaching for books I couldn't see. One was Mingus' Beneath The Underdog, the other was Bukowski's Love Is A Dog From Hell, but they were calling them both Bukowski books of completely different titles.

I looked at the ceiling and had a mask around my mouth. The black man said to me in a comforting voice, "Nigger, please sleep," and I could feel the inhalant-based anaesthesia working. The music in my ears was a song I wanted to change because it was almost Ozomatli's Cut Chemist Suite, which I had been listening to earlier when I was awake, but the rapper was different, the horn arrangements off. The anaesthesia was only barely working, and I could see: the girls, the black man, the rim of the mask around my nose. I was not wearing my glasses and I could see just fine. Everything was going dark, but I wasn't going unconscious. I looked at the man and he upped my dosage. A brief flash of nothing but shivering silver, ecstacy. I was awake, too awake, so they removed the mask and sat me up. The needle was two feet long and glistening. I closed my eyes and felt it enter my arm.

I don't have dreams this vivid or unsettling very often. Everything was carried out in this frenetic Requiem For A Dream style, quick slices of things going on in my life. I really don't want to then expose you to "I woke up and was pierced," but my arm does feel as though someone stuck a huge fucking needle through it.

I went to sleep around noon EST, having gotten exactly no sleep before. This dream occurred roughly between four and six pm, and sleep seems like a pointless endeavor at the moment.

I dreamed of eating magic mushrooms, and I had the oddest experiences...I went to the mens' toilets at an outdoor carnival, and there was this really aggressive guy there who was pissing all over everyone and shouting...I nearly got into a pissing contest with him but then thought better of it and started laughing instead, telling him he'd better not hang around in the mens' toilets all night or everyone he'd pissed on would try and kick the shit out of him. He seemed to appreciate the advice, and became friendly, and came outside with me...then I started coming up on the mushrooms, and the sky was the most vivid shade of blue, the grass was deep, lush green - everything was realler than real and so beautiful to look at. I think for a while I just wandered around enjoying how beautiful everything was.

Then I met James Dean, who had come back from the dead and was wearing his outfit from Rebel Without A Cause, the red leather jacket etc. He was kind of running around doing his 'cool' act, and I had this sickening realization of what a trap he was in now...the whole world knew who he was, James Dean, the icon of coolness for an older time, and now he was trying to be that person, and it was grotesque, it didn't make any sense any more, and instead of being himself he was trying to be this mythic-self that the world knew him to be...in his red leather jacket, posing to be cool, posing to be James Dean, but who is he? I am kind of fascinated with James Dean, a little. He seems so much more of a myth than a real man, like an idea of a person, and the real person behind it seems to be just a boy, who loved fast cars and the cool image, and who wanted the world to fall in love with his stunning ghost.