Art school, recurring dream

Snow and early siesta. First art school dream of 2016:

I am interested in taking as many classes as possible before the add/drop deadline. The class I am in has 4 or 5 women and 1 man. The teacher is female. It’s an acting class. The teacher asks us to introduce ourselves, each of us do so in turn. The teacher asks me to go first.

I know one of the women from my actual art school (the irl MCOA) She studied sculpture and made Orgone machines inspired by Wilhelm Reich. She has long dry Chinese egg noodle hair.

The other students are a blur except one woman at 11:00 and a man at 9:00. The egg noodled Orgone machine sculptor and I are at 7:00 and 6:00 respectively. (“Everything is at sixes and sevens.”)

The students begin to criticize my introduction. The teacher encourages the drama.  The woman says on first impression of me, she thought me a snob. She says I gave off an air of being better than her. (This is a common complaint I think to myself and wonder if it is her insecurity or if I appear aloof, making her comments valid. I don’t know how to change. I am more inclined to take her critique seriously because it has been said many times before. However, I don’t know how to change. So what, if on first impression I seem intimidating. Maybe I am not as trusting as I used to be. I feel frustrated.)

The man begins his criticism. He is wary at first. He looks to the teacher. She nods. He asks about a few images of me from an instructional welding class. I say yes, I took welding night classes, what’s the big deal?

He believes some of the outtakes are inappropriate. He moves his hand through the air to outline a saddled horse. His gesture refers to a film clip of me playing with a single ostrich feather. It’s a lavender feather.

I ask the teacher if she is hoping to incite an emotional response from each of us. She says yes. I begin to talk in my sleep. The accusations from the man are a fantasy I say. (I don’t say anything about the woman’s critique about my “intimidating” introduction.) I tell the man he is lazy and unoriginal to sexualize the content from the welding video. I say he is boring and typical. The other women agree.

A phone rings and I wake.

 

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3 sequence dream

Mr. M is at his window. We are naming the sky again. Chipmunk snowfall, neuron tree branches and white canvas over a dust cloud of morning blue. I’ve been pushing the baroque into my sentences.

Mr. M is gone. He hopped away like a cat. A three sequence dream:

1. A bookstore : a robot voice names off the titles while a red laser scans the books on display.

2. I’m using my best Oscar Madison accent to imitate Lou Reed’s speaking voice.  “Now, it’s garbage. ”

3. A lady is going to have a baby.I’m helping with the delivery. Both the mother and I are sickened from blood and guts.

Lemon pie nightmare, a waking dream

Early evening. My guts are jumbled up with homemade lemon pie. I write this from the Kindle fire instead of listening to Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scherezade and breaking my recent high score on the 2048 game. The internet is crowded with sucker fish. Why would I read and write on the “medium” app, website, ephemeral boredom hang out when I relearn to read and write every day? Isn’t WordPress and email enough? I don’t own a cellphone because I don’t want one and besides it’s bad for eyes brains and the East Congo.

 

“Too many eggs.” My mother warned me about the pie. I imagine hosts of 3 inch cherubs soothing my guts with healing laser beams. This is nice and funny.

I have 3 who write to me in various media. This is good. I’m mixing the miserable melisima of Pie with artistic conversations. I ate a homemade piece of underslept, overscheduled, “Busy”. The pie frenzy my mom has entered since returning from Arizona. Fortunately, she listens to my advice to use tiny pie pans. I can only eat so much. Today is the limit.

My stomach is a tower. The internet is a diversion. My waking dream uses palliative care of soda water and saltines.  I’m not feeling very Yankee today. Yankees are from Vermont. They eat pie for breakfast.

Game of Thrones influenced Dream

25th April 2016 No spoilers. The 1st episode of the 6th season of GOT aired last night. My dream had one of the characters in it. To err on side of caution I don’t want to share which character.

In dream: three of us, myself,another woman and a male have taken oaths to one another. Oath similar in words to knight and noble tradition.

I travel to the Okemo mountain area in Southern Vermont. I have fun debate with the man. He says Burke mountain is the best. I say Jay Peak. I think to myself this dream time period is set before the news broke about the money scandal involving the owners of the two resorts.

I tease the man with affection. “Maybe take the Alpine Slide at Okemo.” I talk with my hands and pantomime steering a sled. I’m not sure there is a summer season slide at Okemo. I think of it as a mountain where tourists ski. I think of it as “baby mountain”.

I find video footage of the other woman who made oath with us. I need to find her. I pantomime writing her a note on a metal surface. She arrives and helps me erase the video camera images that we don’t want anyone to see , especially the man. End of dream.

Dream 22 April 2016

I woke and remembered : I am working for a modeling company. There are men, women and children models. The company is celebrating fact that it avoided a hostile takeover instead winning independent spirit award.

 

I am tapdancing in Boston’s  Beacon Hill area. The roads and buildings made of brick. The tapdancing attracts some mates. One asks me to dance with him after the work celebration is over.

The man is handsome. Later he offers me a job being a Spectre Assistant.

 

End dream

Dream record : 20 April 2016

Three sequence dream:

1. I have to harvest carrots. The carrots are golden orange and shiny. They are as tall as me and as wide as maples. Two gardeners are helping me to harvest. I’m overwhelmed. T. is with me to help harvest. I don’t know why T. is here. T. seems distant although she is excited about the carrot crop.

 

2. I am walking on “Moon St.” in an alternative fiction, “Portland, Oregon.” I’m omw to the youth hostel. It is a block away. I think about calling S. and E. This is a recurring dream.

 

3. This seems to be the second segment although write of it, thirdly. I’m playing at LARP. I’m paying the bill. I don’t get along very well with the rules or the players. I quit early because I don’t want to get violent.

 

 

 

List to-do : improve blog

  • make an about page
  • experiment with blog templates
  • categories : dream, rêve, undecided, WIP
  • learn to post image
  • learn to post sound
  • learn to post YouTube
  • Have most recent post show first, descend chronologically
  • Rhetorical Questions and observations
  • Links to other blogs and info
  • Remind self to turn it all off

Annual Goals : this blog adventure

This is a blog to record my dreams.

I have the usual impairments of the computer literate,

I can only do so much.

I need to brainstorm a few goals for this blog adventure and see if

I may improve my knowledge and experience.

To begin with I would like short attainable goals. A sense of accomplishment is motivating factor to contribute more often to the

group dynamics of blogging.

 

I feel very uncomfortable with the ephemeral nature of electronic media.

I would like audio files for every written word I give.

 

It’s important to me because slipping and regaining balance on the arts-tech learning curve is the only way I’m going to improve my foothold.

 

It’s slippery for many reasons. The largest reason is I don’t have much respect for the medium. I question my motivation.

nootropics: dream stub

19 April 2016 In dream : I’m in a familiar hospital waiting room. The walls are woodpaneled. I’m waiting for my mother to finish work so I may give her a ride home.

There are more details: a white plastic grocery bag rests under my seat filled with legal prescription medications.  Legal because my doctors prescribed them to me. I am self-conscious about them. I do not know the prescriptions market value nor their street value. Yet I know they are valuable. I keep my most valuable possessions in a white plastic pharmacy bag under the chair in the woodpaneled waiting room for anyone to see. I feel awkward.  A young woman who says she is my cousin, though I understand she is a stranger, has been following me. I’m not worried about her. Yet she is grotesque. Her skivvy boyfriend in tow doesn’t say much and is not attractive. I have no interior feelings or motives regarding my cousin.

My mother arrives. The cousin asks us for money… and or more importantly, the pills. She is an addict. I feel angry. I snip out my words:

“My mother and I don’t have much and what we do have we need for ourselves. How dare you test my loyalty! You are not even my cousin.”

End of Dream …. note: this hospital is a recurring location in my dream scape from past ten years. This is my first time dreaming of the place for 2016.