dream!
LADYTRAP, INC.
the flip side of reality
previous week back to index following week
adventures of rich white men in the seedy underbelly of the third world
In the future, maybe on another planets, maybe just overseas but certainly another county. It's a faraway land and an interesting mix between nature and urbanity. Stretching empty plains with a massive mountain piercing the landscape. The mountain is split in half right through the middle, straight down to the bottom, and nestled in the dark steep-walled crack (which is miles deep and maybe 500 or a thousand feet across is a city. Absolutely Blade Runner, or maybe more Neuromancer. It's a sort of vacation city, bustling with bars and entertainment and seedy characters and brothels and barber shops and, well, you name it! It's so dark in this deep chasm that it is night allt the time. You may as well call it "Night City" or something like that, and the main industry certainly is tourism.
It's a scary place, the kind of joint where you don't want to pick a fight but if you happen to (or more to the point if someone picks one with you) the police certainly aren't going to step in the way.
There is a stage show and Erica is gaga for one of the dancers for his slick looks and talent. She and Stella fawn and gab about how great these dancers are. When he invites her to come have a person tour of the city, she is so excited and I of course encourage her to go, since it is harmless and he is a renowned master. But somehow, I ham able to see the future of this dream (as if I have read the book before) and know something sinister is up, whether it has to do with him or not we are going to have to deal with some shit. But, having read the book before (or the newspaper from the near future) I know the story HAS to unfold like this so I can't do anything about it.
I end up getting a drink in a seeeeedy sort of bar (but everything is seedy here) and for one reason or another end up buying a large bottle of lager that I smash over a threatening guy's head. H\e is out for the count and now I am terribly nervous since I'm not sure if I just picked off someone who is connected (And therefore I will be hunted and dealt with) so I sneak away out the back door, down an alley and into the perpetual night.
Somewhere way deep into the tunnel are the gambling halls and opium dens and artillery reserves... and the deeper you go the worse the stories get about what danger and intrigue occur in the depths of lawlessness. Night falls, and by this I mean the streets quiet up a bit and most locals are sleeping (probably the San Diego equivalent of 3:30 AM. I venture down there to find Erica, since I now have a stronger-than-a-hunch suspicion that shit will be hitting the fan before dawn.
Throughout this story, there is a parallel dream that is woven into the threads of this adventure... Major parts of Sea World are folding and closing down, and suddenly There are dozens and dozens of animals that they are trying to rid themselves of. Sea World is desperate enough to get rid of the animals that it doesn't care who gets them or what will become of them. Throughout the dream there is enormous pressure for me to adopt 30 baby chickens or 30 tarantulas or 30 poisonous but small and friendly snakes. I resist but somehow end up with one of the snakes and although I am afraid of the fangs that continually are pointed at what the snake arbitrarily chooses as threatening humans (I am one of them) it is mostly an annoyance an done more burden on my safety here in the Tunnel of Sin.
Before finding Erica I end up meeting with a few of the members of my party and it is somewhat a relief. We stick together and venture deeper into the city. One babyfaced guy arrives (we'll call him Pip), nervous that he may have picked the wrong fight, and I see him excuse himself for a minute to go buy a beer. While restlessly waiting, I come eye-to-eye with the man across the room whose skull I cracked with a Sapporo bottle. He recognizes me and starts walking toward me, but can't recall exactly who I am or why he knows me (memory loss). Before I understand what is going on, Pip smashed him over the head with his beer and he goes down AGAIN! Turns out this is one of the gang he got in trouble with and AGAIN we sneak away...
Somehow we get separated and I am driving the Nova down a mostly-deserted street. I park in a residents-only space. and get my courage together. While crossing the street to the aging apartment block (why am I going here?) there are a few drunk strugglers trying to find their way pack to their hotels or or cruise ships or park benches and a local strolls past me. At first I think she is a prostitute (sequined dress cut pretty high above the knees) but when she gets closer I recognise her as one of the dancers from the stage show way out by the entrance! I pretend to not notice and continue on my way (don't want to attract attention) but eight paces after she has passed me she shouts "hey you! come here!". I have no choice since if I run she may be able to call some goons on my tail so I turn to meet her. She says "are you american?" and I reply in my vague-foreigner accent that I'm not sure I understand the question but if she asked what I thought she asked, no I am not American. Her guard appears to go down (?) and she invites me to come with her. It would be too suspicious to refuse so I oblige, very nervous that I Am getting myself into trouble. Does she truly want a friend or is it a trap? We join a few friends of hers (all young thug-looking men) who ask what they present as curious questions but I have the feeling I am being interrogated and probed for any indication that I am lying.
She tells me she's glad I'm not one of those good-for-nothing, thieving, murderous rich bastard Americans and I have no choice but to rant with her about how they think they are so big here because of their money, getting into trouble that their daddies or the local US embassy buys them out of) but one day we'll show them. Nod and smile, nod and smile. She takes me to a candy shop and it is surprisingly crowded. I Am delighted at the wonders of this candy shop, It's almost like the gift shop of Willy Wonka's factory, and my childlike wonder shows through my disguise. She buys some jelly beans and mints that come to six dollars, which by local standards is closer to sixty dollars. She falters but I do not chip in for fear of blowing my cover story. The seedy man behind the counter seems to sense her dismay (there is so much tourism that the locals can't afford good in this city, like the restaurant scene in Cape Town a few years back) and gives her a one dollar discount with a "don't mention it, but you better do me a favor someday" grin. I think she gets plenty of discounts with her short skirt and predatory sexuality.
We are back with the group. We press on, and as you venture deeper into The Slot (whether bravely or naively), the air gets thicker, as well as the tension that runs through it. It gets oppressively hotter and muggier, and passions flare increasingly more wild.
Her friends are starting to conclude that I look more French than anything else (a common observation I hear overseas) and, don't you know it, my London friend Leo appears out of the now-growing crowd (the town is waking up again in darkness). He says "hey" but fortunately nothing to reveal his accent (in my dream he is American) and I rush over to give him a hug and whisper in his ear several times "we are foreigners. we are foreigners." I don't have a chance to explain myself to his puzzled looks and the rest of the group catches up to us so I just start talking loudly in my funny accent and Leo follows suit. But her is never aware of the tense situation and eventually starts talking frankly with me and all suspicious eyes turn glaring toward us. I grab him and we run from there as fast as we can, without sense of direction or trajectory, just running running fleeing flying for safety.
When we finally feel temporarily safe (well, as safe as one can feel in this shady world) we go through a thick iron door in the wall of the rock and suddenly are outside in the hazy twilight of early dawn. (Is it always twilight everywhere in this country?) Behind us is the black rocky mass of the mountain, and in front of is the grey foggy sea. Through the fog appear an advancing navy of mighty armored American battleships of all sizes. The huge ones lumber slowly forward while a quick traffic of nimble ones dart between and around them. There is clearly one mission, which is CONQUER. This is the kind of force a country like this will never be able to stand up against. When the ships are near enough to shore and start to deploy pods of helmeted soldiers, the feeble rifles and pistols of the terrified defenses dotted in the black rocks are desperately useless. We know that this place will be gone before the sun rises (if it ever rises) and we will be on a cushy plane back home to our cushy homes and cushy jobs.
unfit
[dream edited for public safety]
love and citrus in china
This is a love story. While visiting China, a middle-class American falls in love with a Chinese farm worker. They take some time to travel together in China and it is a romantic and beautiful time.
They decide to go to the U.S. and marry. The American goes back to the hotel and the Chinese man goes back to the farm to gather his things. A few days later the American telephones him and it is a confused and misunderstood phone call. The Chinese man gives some cryptic reasons for not being able to go to the US and never being able to see the American again. The American refuses to accept this and goes with a traveling companion out to the rural area where this farm is. The American cannot understand why the Chinese man would not want to leave, since he has no family here in China.
The Chinese man refuses to come out to meet the American so the American, driven by love, sneaks past the guards and ventures into the fields and finds him. The American finds the Chinese man and pleads for him to come along. "Your life will be better there, we will be happy and in love and you won't have to break your back picking oranges out here." The Chinese man then reveals that he is not an orange-picker after all but drives the truck that gathers the piles of oranges that have been collected by the others.
[At this point we see the orange-pile-gathering machine and it is enormous. The size of a two-story middle-class American suburban home. The piles of oranges are enormous as well, and we are shocked to see them in such huge quantities. We didn't think it was possible. But this is the orange field that must feed all of China, so you can imagine the oranges for a billion people will be plenty. But even keeping this in mind, the staggering image of all these oranges and giant machines is difficult to accept.]
The Chinese man explains that he has a nice job here in China and all his needs are met and the American says that it will be even better in the USA since he won't have to work so hard and maybe won't have to work at all. The Chinese man offers several other explanations and excuses and the scene gets very emotionally charged since they are so in love. Tears, shouting, hurt, misunderstanding. The Chinese man then tells the truth about why he must stay: because he drives the big machine he has access to more oranges than the rest and all of his friends rely on him to sneak oranges away from the farm for them so they can feed their families, since other food is not in such great supply. They and all their children rely on him and he cannot let them down by leaving China. This is his most convincing argument and part of us understand that this is the true reason for his pain and why he is willing to throw away true love. Another thread of the story has us believing this explanation for a while and then realizing that he loves China and socialism and fears America and all its excessiveness and decides he cannot leave for moral and patriotic reasons.
The American understands (whether it is the feeding-his-friends story or loving-his-country story) and leaves to farm to pout in the hotel. The Chinese man assumed that the American would not want to stay in China and therefore they must never see each other again.
This love story has four possible endings:
1) TRAGIC A: The American, devastated, returns home and eventually goes through American life and marries, but never forgets the Chinese love that could have been
2) TRAGIC B: The American leaves but can't stand the thought of returning home (Seeing America in a new perspective) and wanders the earth for decades, searching meaning, until dying alone. The American realizes in the deathbed fifty years later that it was a mistake to leave true love behind
3) BITTERSWEET: In a moment of weakness the Chinese man decides to come to the USA after all and even though the marry and are in love he can never get over the guilt of having left his people and country..
3) HAPPY A: The American leaves everything at home behind and stays in China to be with true love. The Chinese man gets the American a job picking oranges and their love echoes in citrus harmony forever.
* * * * * * * * * *
Comments: This was one of the rare dreams in which I am pretty much a third-party observer rather than an active character. I think for the most of the time I play the role of the "traveling companion", just along for the ride, but during times of deep reflection I jump into the body of either character to see the situation from their perspective. It is the only way to understand what is happening. It is as if I am all characters at the same time.
You'll notice I never give a gender for the American. That is because it was never clear, nor important. When the American was a man, it was never an issue of gayness and when she was a woman it never changed the story, since it was the deep love that was the most important character, and not the nationalities or genders of the participants. Overall a very poetic and beautiful dream. Great way to begin a Friday.
my important task for humanity
I play scinetist for a day and help Pete out with some work up at USC. It's a chaotic room full of papers and books and clutter. We have the computer calculate some vast results, and the output is hundreds and hundreds of pages of printed text. For days and days my task is to watch the printer and feed it more paper and fix jams etc. It's a terrible job, and we don't even know how many pages it intends to print... thyus, I have no idea when this will end. It could be that it is only 20 hours of printing, but the darn thing runs out of paper often and jams so frequently that often I come back in the morning to find that only three pages printed at night.
A woman who lives in a dorm room adjacent to this printing room complains about the noise at night. I can only imagine how it feels to be the ones who actually sleep in the same room as the printer.
Nevertheless, I feel important, like I am doing my job for humanity. And it feels prestigious to wear a tie and have a pipe in the corner of my mouth and sit in a big leather chair with my legs crossed and my face screwed up in some expression of deep thought.1920s-style. Think Niels Bohr.
smashing
No too much of note here. The most prominent is getting inadvertently involved in some sort of dance competition, and I haven't danced in years. The director thinks I'll look just smashing in this old fast food T-shirt that says SIMON across the front (very colorful 1980s BMX-style) and my stepbrother Jackson has one just like it so I go over there and it ends up being the house I lived in from age 12 through 18 and my old orange cat Chester is there as a kitten. We play with a shoelace in the backyard at dawn even though the sprinklers are on.
Fin.
skybucket
I write some music which, to me, sound incredible. A solo piano piece in A minor that highlights the ninth or the 6ht a lot and throws in a few C majors there? I can't be sure, really.
A bus tour with a school group. Rikker and I look for the best seats on the bus. The bus is crusty and old and green, and half the seats are just folding chairs loosely strapped into place. Part of the tour (as one of the students comes to tell us about since she has been participating in it for years) is some British swim competition in Cambridge which has been around 293 years, started specifically as a competition between England and the Colonies. It was originally thought that this winner of this swim competition would gain control of both continents and the loser would "meet the big weatherman" (in her words).
Earlier, I am staying at some compound in a rural area, maybe not even this country. A friend is doing research and the rest of us are just paying a visit for a week or so to get away from the city. Tall trees and fields, and somehow I accidentally end up in the skybucket-style ride that moves researchers about above the treetops. I see Lago Sandoval, which I visited in deepest, darkest Peru and previously only saw from the ground level. I worry a bit about about falling out of the skybucket, but my researcher friend, who might be Landon or Ojay, gets me out of it safely.
Yet earlier I am driving to this faraway place and we drive past a place that I'm sure I visited in another dream. In this previous dream I had gone skiing or sledding or at least hiking on some hilly terrain covered in snow. And I recognise this place even though the snow is gone and it's now just dirt and rocks. That seems to happen often... I visit places in my dreams that I visited before in dreams but never remembered in the waking life.
At one point during the dreams, I am watching a film or the news or a play and as part of the story a man places a sheet or blanket or curtain over a big pile of books or tools or bed or just the floor (like my details, here?) and as he explains that he bought it in Thailand I realise it looks exactly like the one I bought in Thailand that is hanging across my window! Sure enough, my eyes had opened while I was dreaming and I was actually looking at it while sleeping. That's the second time a visual image form the real world has worked its way so directly into a dream.
goodbye, wild country
I set out with a small group to climb Mt. McKinley (Denali). Exciting concept, yes, but we seem to be going about it all wrong. For one, I believe it is winter, and there certainly isn't much daylight to go around, it being Alaska and all. So much of the ascent involves climbing, without ropes or axes or even rock climbing gear, a steep slippery granite trail that curves away into a great snowy void below. I am very frightened to be on this part of the trail, and find myself hanging by my fingernails far below what was supposed to be the trail while the rest of the party passes across five meters above my head. As we have no ropes nobody is even able to help me and I am forced to scramble far back to now cross the trail in solitude.
At some point close to the top I am carrying a large wooden table (it had some purpose but I don't think that was even clear to me in the dream) and as I catch up to the woman at the back of the pack she shows me that I can leave the table by the trail, wedged under a crack in the rock.
I reach the top with Mater Pete and am instantly disappointed. Packed with tourists! Green grass, restrooms, gift shops, pay telephones. Ack. Turns out the back side of the mountain has a gentle climb easy enough to pave a nice flat road to the viewpoint at the summit. Pete and I walk around a bit and somehow are driving around in his Supra at times up there. We see a big truck with the father and son in it. The son had been driving but has set cruise control and has his father steering from the passenger seat while he goes to look for something (snack? map?) in the back. We are certain this is disaster since they are about to reach the end of the road, after which, is the steep drop off the mountain, so we make sure not to park near the trajectory of the truck. By the time we get out of the car, however, the son is in control and they have parked safely.
We head back down the way we came up and once again are back in the big wild outdoors. It is 150 years ago and the only people we see along the way are the occasional natives every twenty miles or so. At one point I have caught a wild horse to help carry gear and before the rest of the party arrives feel the need to let it run a bit. So I tie a thick 500-mile-long rope to it and let it go far ahead of us. This is a mistake, as the rope obviously is very heavy and when the horse has run far enough out (Almost to the horizon, it seems), the rope has become too heavy and the horse freaks out a bit. He cuts off to the left around a grove of trees and out of sight. I try pulling on the rope but it is too heavy for me as well. Just as the rest of the party arrives and we are about to head out (I get chided for my foolishness) the horse approaches in the highlands to the left with a few others and a native riding it. He has looped off part of the rope to tote along a pig he has come up with somewhere. At this point we would have to cross all the way around the grove to get the horse back (for some reason we can't cut the rope-- maybe because it is moving too fast to catch or it's too thick) so we head across the great valley.
At one point in all this untouched land we round a corner and see a terrible sight. Not twenty meters in front of us is the unfinished section of a giant 4-lane paved road, right through all this paradise. Parked at the end of the road (still being built at an alarming rate by a crew of orange-helmeted women and men) is a giant charter tour bus and standing in front of it are dozens of men, women, children from the suburbs. A tour group, complete with cameras and and candy bar wrappers and pink sweatshirts, and certainly not the type of gear you would need to hike out here. They are the first of many who will take this new second approach to McKinley. We are shattered and depressed as we realise soon all this vast part of Alaska will be prefab homes and strip malls.
The leaders of that tour group have captured the horses and the pig and the native and before I notice the pig is already slaughtered in preparation for the luau that night.
previous week back to index following week