I had this dream the other day, and the second one a few days previous. I took some notes on the first to make it stick as I had no time to properly write it up at the time. It stayed with me well enough, so here it is. Very long, both in the story of it, and in my memory. It seems I’m getting better as this dream recall thing, though it’s still inhabited more by architecture than people. The second one I had no notes as it was just a few moments long, but has stayed enough to make me want to write it up still.
People who weren’t really Marc, Jenna, and a vague ‘tween-aged daughter were showing me around their just-acquired house, which was actually a series of buildings, all in a complex. They were built on pylons as they were either on or over water, depending on the specific building. All the structures were white and open, and all connected by variable, but mostly narrow boardwalks. It wasn’t newly built as some windows were painted shut with standard white rental property paint. There was a large building that the daughter was showing me, gleefully telling me about how all five rooms were her bedrooms. All of them were awkwardly shaped, as if they walls were meant to be temporary between them. They didn’t have real closets, again like temporary walls, but had sliding parts that partially hid poles with hanging clothes. She had lots of clothes, fun stuff too. There were ceiling tiles both on the ceiling and the walls (I know that doesn’t work in waking life, but visualize with me here). Each ceiling tile was clean and white, in that acoustic random texture, with a distinct gold painted moulding (a la drawing room walls. None of the rooms were kitchens or any public social space of a house proper. That would be in another structure entirely.
We continued wandering. As we left the daughter’s building, we crossed to the next over the boardwalk. To the right of the walk was the daughter’s building, ahead was the next structure, and to the left was a running creek, winding under and between buildings. I was told by not-Jenna that the creek was intermittent and would disappear for days, then be back strong. I followed with my eyes the path of the water, mostly filling the ruts in the sand-soil. At a lower point, there were piles of bright blue felty shapes. All the shapes were the same, piled upon one another, with the higher ones still dry, and the lower completely soaked. They had a toxic laundry color to them, and were a cue to several such piles of things later in the dream.
At various times, I was wandering alone or with other prop people. There were small doors or compartments, John Malkovich size, around in various rooms, several painted shut. Outside a deck off one building was a large body of water, small waves like an inland sea or calm ocean. It was all water out one window, but outside another window, the surface of the water was covered in a caramel magic-shell, with woody junk sprinkled like nuts atop it. The junk was large-ish, furniture scale, but at the eye’s distance was very like crushed walnuts a top a sundae. It still moved like water, which was clearly under the cracking sheets of caramel surface. Some parts of the caramel looked as if poured and hardened onto a wave and they spiked up firmly to the lovely sky above. It was far too large a body of water to be covered in anything and the closest visual I can offer outside my own head is the from trash compactor scene from Star Wars. The water moved like that water did, but not nasty and monster infested.
Another building, walking alone now, I found a room with piles and piles of furniture. Decent stuff, mostly real wood, chairs upon chairs upon tables. Nothing fancy or antique, but the sort of student housing run of the mill heavy duty, lathed legs and rounded backs. It was an accepted dichotomy: beautiful clean air, sunny and bright, very California, yet with large debris in semi-tidy bunches, accepted as part of the scenery. It was even rather pretty. This walkthrough went on for many more rooms, all similar in the whiteness, odd shapes, almost warehousey at times, all empty except for the ones crammed with junk off in one corner. The junk was clearly left behind from previous owners, but it wasn’t as if the space was set up like a rooming house. Very odd. I walked through a lot of rooms and halls.
For the second time in as many weeks, I’ve had the sense of wanting to take pictures while dreaming. I miss my camera in my sleep. I could almost feel the emptiness the size and weight of the D70 in my hands, itching to pull the camera to my eyes to document the caramel ocean and the piles of stuff.
The earlier dream was in London, at night. It was probably more like NYC, but I decided it was London, so there you go. Kelly was showing me around as she apparently was more familiar. We were heading down a night-dark street in a misty half-rain. We ducked into a bar, didn’t feel like we wanted to stay, went back outside. We heard the rattle of gunfire, semi-automatic, and not too far away. I wanted to head off to find it, and I also wanted to take pictures of the way the misty wet dark hung in the air. There were stoplights and taller buildings in the distance that had a wonderful dank glow on them that was positively beautiful, if a bit scary. Kelly didn’t like the idea of being outside with the gunfight, and told me it was a bad idea while pulling me back inside the pub. I was letting her pull me as I stared behind us, up to the sky, echoing with shots.
Filed by joy at 5:36 pm under crafty
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