Dreams 8/31

  8/31

  I dreamed that I had been sick or hurt, and a certain Doctor Julian had sent me to stay in a trailer with a young mulatto woman. The place was a dump, piled high with clothes, mostly. I was a good sport about it, beggars can’t be choosers. The trailer was on the wrong side of the tracks in town. I don’t want the first dream of the book to be a cliche, because it was not. The woman was friendly enough and had friends. The first visitor was a little black man with a long opium pipe. The pipe looked ancient, dried old wood like the bottom of an old puddle. The woman brought out a big glass water bong and wanted to share, but I told her that I was sick and should not. The second guest was a smallish sort of Bigfoot, maybe more of a swamp monster with long dark hair. He didn’t stay long. The third guest was an old high yellow black woman with long grizzled white hair who reminded me of Mama Odie from The Princess & the Frog. She wasn’t blind, but she had the air of magic. She was complaining that my bunk was piled high with the girl’s wardrobe. I could see some black and white sheets and a thin mattress, but the girl said that there was no bed beneath the pile. The elder said that Dr. Julian was going to have to do something about it. The girl went out, and the front screen door kept falling off the hinges. I wanted to lock the door. There was some sort of lock. I couldn’t even keep it on the hinges. Arthur woke me early. Welcome to Dana’s Dreams Four, I suspect it’s going to be a long one.

Dana's Dreams

Dana's Dreams Two

Dana's Dreams Three Revenge of the Dream Hog

Dream Notebooks

 11/18

  So many dreams to report, and I scribbled them in my dream notebook in the dark, so it’s like automatic writing and will require some deciphering and translating. First, Tim was here in the dining room and admired my high school class ring that I wasn’t wearing. Ron had an adorable buff colored rat terrier who looked like he had a mustache. The word, “steam”, is written in my dream book, but I can’t remember what it referred to: some sort of cleaning, I think. Maybe Frankie, the cat, had to be steam cleaned, but I can’t be sure. 

  Then I was walking my old grade school route to school, my old girlfriend, Stephanie Schwerian, was sitting on the steps. She wore a soft powder blue sweater, and her hair was longer. She mentioned something to me about “woke ass Irish” according to my dream script. I’m not sure what that refers to, but I think it had something to do with my tall dark haired boyfriend, Brian, who I also used to work with in a bar in the South Side. It wasn’t grade school, it was an enormous industrial high school, very stainless steel. I was driving my car, then, and Brian was in the passenger seat. There was a naked pink pearlescent Monster High doll with wavy blonde hair who was positioned backwards with her ass against the dashboard. Somehow she was interfering with my driving. “Gas tank” is scribbled in the notes, then, “stop”. I think I had told Brian that my gas gauge was broken, and he had me stop. 

  Then I dreamed of a broken glass cabinet in the bathroom that hung over the sink. 

  Finally, the show stopper: I was an English teacher and was hosting a big Halloween party. I had rented a hall. What was more, there had been a national essay contest sponsored by somebody, and people that weren’t even my students, like Theresa, had entered. I had given a guy with auburn hair a cassette tape which I thought had old Smiths cover songs that my friends and I had performed. I got the results of the essay contest and Theresa had won first prize, $ 2,700, that in the dream I kept wondering if it was $27,000. An old student of mine, Allen, I think, had also won second or third prize, $2,600. While I was in the bathroom I could hear the tape playing, and it wasn’t me and my friends, rather old Smiths. There was a dark haired girl in there with me who was kind of picking on me for that. I was not perturbed. I sort of joked with the guy about thinking it had been us. Then, a girl, who looked like his twin sister in a lace blouse, showed me a white chandelier type of necklace that she wore around her neck. It was for holding your joint, and as she held it between her fingers she sang a little supposed Smiths song all about it. Theresa was there, and I was thinking she should have it for winning the contest. I was also thinking that Ron really could sing like Morrissey and suggested to the guy that Ron and I should sing a cover song. I awoke with, “Hang the DJ”, playing in my head. 

  Kudos to my dream notebook. If not for it I only would’ve remembered the final dream.

I haven't blogged my dreams in over a month. They've been going directly to Dana's Dreams Two. I started that back in June, and I'm around page forty-five. You can get Dana's Dreams here:

Dana's Dreams

It is available as a paperback or ebook. It has some watercolors and photographs. So far Dana's Dreams Two does not. I don't know if it will, so it might be a lot more reasonable in paperback than the first. They are big books.

Dreams 10/14

   Second try: translating the dream scribble. I started off sleeping in a big bed with good sheets. I wasn't alone, there was at least a man and a woman sharing the bed with me and a madame watching. My bed partners were still sleeping when the madame wanted us to get busy. I wasn't into the kink and scampered out of bed. I was running up and down the grand wooden staircase looking into the rooms. The place wasn't that well kept. There was a man looking for me, and at some point I dove under an unmade bed with a navy blue spread and hid. I finally escaped the house. Once outside in the morning light I could see it was a red brick Victorian. It had an interesting set of four small square windows lined up in the back. The man was still coming after me, I was crawling over big wet rocks. The ground was muddy. I have written suicide in my notepad, but I can't remember that. The dream notepad works. I probably would've completely forgotten this dream. 

Dreams 10/12

   I thought I'd foiled my dream forgetfulness by leaving the closet light on and sleeping with a pad and pen at hand. If only I'd learn to decipher the dream script I'd be set: working on it. 

  First I dreamed of Matt Koett again, he'll be pleased to know. I've been told time and again by roosters to stop naming in my blog. I usually don't include surnames, and to avoid the commies I make 💩 up, (Bitch with the Hammer, Killary, Oogie Booger, Michael, Kid Smeller, Cabala Embarrass), but I don't have to be persnickety when it comes to Matt, never have. So back to the dream, or what I can make out of it. I was at home with my parents getting dressed in my childhood bedroom. Matt came over, and we were all going out to eat. Now, the final clue says "Darcr"... Oh! I just figured it out! Yes, it says Darcy. We met Dame Darcy while we were out, and Matt fell in love. It's nice to go back in time with Matt. I've always been good at deciphering scribbles and pronouncing names, why I was a hit as an English teacher besides being so much fun. 

  Anyway, the next dream was not fun, and what's more, I think I've dreamed it before. I was in the cellar of a corporation where I worked, I came down stairs and saw a blonde woman with a bobbed haircut dressed in blue work coveralls standing against an open stainless steel door. When she saw that I had busted her she became small and clay and tucked herself away in a plastic to go container, only I grabbed it, opened it, and squeezed her into mush. Too bad for me one of her many partners in crime saw me do it and called out for help. Now they were after me. They were all dressed in the blue coveralls. Still holding fast to the container and Play-doh mush girl I scampered away, but they were in pursuit. The place was very industrial: stainless steel, blue plastic, with a concrete floor. I had reached a metal fire escape outside. The first to catch up with me was a girl with a little brown ponytail. Here it says, "koaong"? No idea. Anyway, she was trying to kill me, they were shouting about what I'd done to Play-doh Girl, and didn't want it to get out. I hit Ponytail Girl in the head, hard, with a big rock and she fell from the fire escape. The chase persisted. Each time one would get close to nabbing me I'd disappear. I think I was beginning to do this lucidly as I try to pull myself from nightmares especially when I'm in mortal danger. There is another word I can't make out, "seinal"? Maybe it's signal as they were calling out to each other. I'll work on it. Maybe it's a Dream Word like the Dream People. It's an interesting new twist. Back to the dream, my pursuers were all men at this point, and I'd pop out of sight anytime they became too much of a threat. The final one was Matt Czuchry. He was standing against a set of lockers singing a song. The song went something like this: the girl you didn't get doesn't love me. The chorus sang, "evil grows". And, some people wonder, but no. I had nothing to drink. These dreams are the result of being out of wine. My favorite, Mad Hairy Fella, El Goru, from Spain, is in season. Yes, I’ve strayed a bit, which usually doesn’t happen, but it’s relative.