Dreams: August 8
gravity-defying jumps
I'm at a music concert. A huge crowd of people is pressed up to the
stage, where an animated young woman is singing. I'm holding a tube
of toothpaste and my black purse/wallet. I don't want these things
in my hands, so I ask someone to put them in their backpack for a
while, which they do. As a mass, the crowd of people looks grey,
as if everyone is wearing only black & white.
Suddenly I'm holding onto a big rope-swing. I swing over
the crowd, just above their heads.
Now the crowd turns into a big,
grey, king-sized bed, and the auditorium is now just a big bedroom.
I don't have the swing in my hands anymore, but I decide to jump off
the bed. I'm at the head of it and take one huge leap, bouncing off
the foot of it. This propels me into the air. I almost hit the
ceiling, and then I land on the thickly-carpeted floor. It was a fun
jump, almost in slow motion. I realize that I can do whatever I want
to do. I get back on the bed and jump again. This time when I jump
off the foot of the mattress, I sail forward and upwards, way across
the room to the opposite wall. It feels as though I'm defying gravity.
It was all so smooth, slow and graceful. There are others in the
room who were watching me, and I know they're impressed. Now I'm
standing on the floor, and I have a glimpse of lucidity, for I believe
that I am capable of doing almost anything. I begin to jump up and
down, and gravity isn't quite exerting its normal force on me. I float.
Others are watching.
tangled layers of sexuality
I get back on the bed. I look down at the floor and see
__?__ (beautiful Asian male from
Swat) stretched out on the
floor next to the bed. I tell him that I know him, and that his
name is -- all of a sudden I can't remember his name. He starts to
sound it out for me: "Yyyy...".
"Yu!?" I say, even though I know that's
not his name. As he sounds out the "yyy" sound, his mouth is stretched
open, and I can see his teeth. They look like little kid's teeth,
huge, white and clean, with rounded corners. There are wide spaces
inbetween them.
Phoebe
is on my left.
I hop down to the floor with what's-his-name and stretch out
on the carpet. I notice that Maureen and Don are in the corner
almost having sex. I only look for a second because I don't want
them to see that I'm watching them. I continue to talk to my young
friends. I try to discern if they have noticed the couple in the corner,
but they haven't seemed to. I look over at Maureen and Don again.
They seem oblivious to us, since they're so wrapped up in their own
lust. Each is half-clothed, their exposed tan & pink skin shiny
with sweat. They roll around together. I see Maureen on top of Don.
Then she rolls off and slides a leg up. I see Don's hand between
her large thighs, and he seems to manipulating a dildo.
A little later, Maureen has gotten up. I hear some commotion
in the next room, so I go to check it out. There's a set of big
windows on one wall, with a small counter under them. I lean on the
counter and look out the windows. We're high up, on a top floor
of some apartment building. I look down and see that many people
are sticking their heads out to look down. There's also a balcony
one level down from us, and a crowd is on it, many people practically
hanging off the ledge to see the ground below. I look
down and see Maureen's body far below on the sidewalk. She's naked
and her body looks pale. She's entwined with the body of a black boy, who
also looks dead. She must've fallen or jumped from this level. I
get the impression she was going for the black boy (in lust or love).
Some apartment levels have planks extending from their windows,
and people are standing on them to see the sight below.
Don comes up to me from behind. He asks me what's going on. I tell
him to look down at the street. He's trying, but from his perspective,
the balcony blocks his view of Maureen. Then he moves his head and
sees her.
Suddenly I'm naked, leaning my elbows on the countertop.
Don is now a composite of several men I know, and he's also naked. I
feel sexy and stimulated. He slides his penis into me.
It feels good. We begin to rock together in rhythm. I realize this
is also the perfect position for me to also masturbate to get full
pleasure. I reach around front, between my legs to touch my clit.
Then he stops for some reason, even though I want him to go on.
Now I'm back in the other room, talking to a man who is a combination
of E., D. and S.. He asks me if I remember him ever "approaching me".
I say I don't. He looks relieved but then asks me if I have any
recollection of the time, years ago, in the restaurant. I say no
at first, but then it sounds very familiar. I have a quick visual
flash of me sitting across a table from him, with his feet between
my legs or something. Then I have a memory of his
denial/defensiveness to my protests. I tell him I do remember, only
slightly. He tells me he talked to someone about that incident
the day after it happened, and they told him that that was one of the
worst things he could've done for me. They said it would have a
lasting, upsetting effect on me. I'm surprised because I had forgotten
it until now. Did it really affect me?
I ask him to tell me what really happened because I don't
really know how accurate my hazy glimpse of a memory is. He won't tell
me. I beg him to, but he refuses. Suddenly he's in a big sleeping
bag sac that's shaped like a small playhouse, all zipped up. He's
protected inside and won't talk to me. I want to reach him to
make him tell me, so I tear through the bag, ripping the fabric with
my hands. It gets down to another layer of batting, which I also
tear through. That only reveals a thick layer of insulation (like
the pink stuff in the walls of a house). I rip it apart, wondering
if it will hurt the skin of my hands. Finally I make a breakthrough.
All I see inside is my green bathroom bag, filled with all my
daily toiletries. I pull it out, for I don't want it inside the bag
with him.
Then I'm wandering around the house alone. I feel turned-on, and I
want to come. I'm looking around for a book of erotica or something.
I'm now in a big room that's supposedly Mom's bedroom. I know I can
find something here. There's a huge, tall bed/dresser. It has a
mattress on top and big drawers on the side. I pull one of the
drawers out and peer inside. I only see junk, papers and clothing
in this huge drawer, not the kind of book/mag I'm looking for.
Phoebe's now in the room with me. I ask her to help me look. We
pull out the next drawer, but it's just filled with the same sort
of stuff. I look around the room, wondering if she has any '70s
porn hidden away somewhere. I want to find it.
FIN