Dream-honey

I found a jar of "unfiltered honey" in my kitchen. A warning label told me that I should be wary of bee parts, particularly stingers, and remove them before consumption. Now, in real life I hate honey. I can do without a bunch of pollen suspended in a ton of bee saliva. I do not like the taste or the smell or anything else about it. But something compelled me to eat this dream-honey. I got out a piece of bread and poured some out over it. Compared to real honey, dream-honey is less viscous, lighter in color, and has small grainy brown pieces of I-don't-know-what in it. With no bee parts in sight I took a bite of the sandwich. And it was delicious. It didn't have that weird bee saliva smell or taste. It was just like eating a bunch of sweet wildflowers or something.

I had a similar dream when I was a young kid about the most perfect beverage in the world. I remember living in Manhattan Beach when I had it, so I must have been between 5 and 8 years old. In my dream, the most perfect beverage in the world appeared before me. It was pale blue, sweet, and tasted vaguely of something delicious plus artificial fruit flavor. Last summer at the University of Chicago food court I spotted the dream beverage in real life. The only difference was that it was carbonated, whereas my dream beverage was not because I hated carbonated drinks back then. Carbonation is not a problem for me these days, though. It was one of those "democracy" Mountain Dews called Revolution and I don't think it won. I only ever had one bottle. Maybe fifteen years from now I will find my unfiltered honey somewhere.

Ghosts of bicycles past

I was in a hurry to get somewhere in Manhattan and I had to take my bike to get there. Normally it takes an hour or more for me to bike to the city but this time it was something like 20 minutes. I got my bike out of the basement and paused for a minute on the street. Instead of my Lemond bike, Orville, it was the too-small blue road bike I found at Binghamton on the grass one day in early spring. The brakes hardly worked, the wheels badly needed to be trued, but I was in a hurry! I threw my bag into the oversized basket in front (a new addition since I saw the bike last) and was off. On the way there the bike slowly transformed back into Orville. Midway through the transition I noticed that I was riding the old red Kabuki I bought for $25 at the bike shop on Brighton that was going out of business.

I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, which looked more like the Verazanno Bridge that day. Everything was glowing the way it does after a thunderstorm. My destination turned out to be a weird coffee shop on the corner of a broad empty street downtown. Inside a 60 year old man was speaking at a podium about something very boring. There were three girls with short brown hair at a bench carved into the wall on the far side of the place. I carefully stepped through people seated on the floor listening to the man and sat down with them. I don't remember what we talked about, or what I did after that until the next morning.

I woke up at my house with the intent of making the same trip. I got Orville out of the basement. This time it was mostly the right bike except it was a fixed gear without any brakes. The Brooklyn Bridge was still the Verazzano Bridge. Everything was still glowing. Orville stubbornly remained a fixed gear bike.

Only one of the girls was at the coffee shop that day. As I sat down with her a metal buckle on my bag hit her head. She forced me to "kiss it to make it feel better". I pretended to be nonchalant and friendly about it but I was uncomfortable with this. Her two friends arrived in a white van outside. They honked for us to come out and we did. I started unchaining my bike from the pole. They offered to drive me home. I should have taken them up on it because my ride home was now mysteriously 3 times longer than it should have been, but I said no. I started to pedal away.

Easter with the Reeces

I was all set to go to my boyfriend's family's Easter celebration at his grandfather's house, and we were waiting for his mom to pick us up on a grassy street corner. However, when she got there they left without me.

Somehow I made it to our destination by hitchhiking. A colorful cast of characters, presumably his relatives, were gathering in the distance in the courtyard of a manor similar to the one featured in Last Year in Marienbad. My dream took a cinematic turn, and the camera switched to closeups of them taking group photos.

In the meantime, I awkwardly wandered around a meadow and found myself standing underneath a tree with a PA speaker in its branches. The speaker was transmitting salsa music to no one in particular. Then my boyfriend and his mother finally showed up.

Typical Embarrassing Situation

I bought a yellow and teal bikini with a high-waisted bottom part. I thought I looked totally bangin' but apparently no one else did because they made fun of me, especially Arjun. Only Vincent sided with me, but I suspect it was because I bought him a beige cellphone earlier in the dream.

Television vision

I can only see a television screen. Any area outside the square of vision is black. I am watching a woman being dragged out of her house and strapped to a table with wheels. The table is tied to an ambulance, it is very white. The camera taking the video is clearly from of a chopper, as it is high and to the left of the scene; it is very shaky. It zooms in on her face; she is a white woman, late thirty's, looks plain, looks normal, maybe she is a school nurse. She is crying, red faced, hyperventilating. The ambulance begins to move and the camera follows the table as it is pulled by the ambulance.

The voices begin discussing the alien ants embedded in her brain. I realize they are news casters. They have a scientist discussing how they will begin to remove the ants. Either they can go longways across the top of the head, opening the skull and picking the ants out one at a time. Or they can saw from top to bottom. Opening the face like elevator doors, and allowing the ants to flow out with the blood. The camera zooms in closer on her face, the tears are streaming and the look of terror is total. I watch her slowly her breathing becomes shallow and fast. She grabs her throat and begins gasping. She dies on shaky copter cam, terrified, crying, and breathless from the insects in her head. The camera doesn't move away, which you would think it would. It just shows her lifeless, dragging behind the ambulance on a table with wheels.

I got up and drank three beers, showered and smoked a cigarette.

The Heist

The beginning is hazy, but the first thing I remember is my friend trying to get a contract to steal something extra from a place he was already supposed to rob. The original contract was to steal only one item from a bar/gaming parlor, and this was his first contract of the sort, but he was already making side deals. Later, I was inside the bar having a beer and scouting out the place. A taller me came out of another room with a pool cue and told me to get up. I was surprised to find that I was almost too drunk to walk. Taller me grabbed me by the arm and led me into the other room where he watched me line up pool shots on one of those side tables that are kind of high up at bars. The pool balls could have been in a giant ash tray. I felt really bad about being drunk and how it was effecting my motor skills. Later I was distracted by a sort of ghetto fellow who did not speak very clearly. He told me he wrote on his resume that he does not drink alcohol due to the fact that he took amphetamines (which he mispronounced badly) at the age of fourteen and mumbled something about his father. I was going to tell him that he doesn't have to not drink and he definitely shouldn't put it on his resume, but I was overcome with tiredness. I found myself in a bed, very big and thick, but also shaped like a couch. I was woken up by a girl skipping in slow motion calling my name. She rolled me off the couch and I landed on my back. With huge, flowing, pillowy sheets surrounding me, she dives in and starts kissing me upside down so that her chin touches my nose. She kept asking "Who is your special friend? Am I your special friend?" For some reason I could not grab her. She leaves and taller me comes in and tells me I've botched the robbery, even though the friend I set this up with didn't even show up. He was very upset that I allowed lust to override my previous engagements. Later in the dream, I saw a bunch of people standing behind a high wall so only their heads were showing. They would stare at each other and then turn to me with clockwork regularity. I stole a pack of cigarettes from a pair of pants lying on a nearby bed, but returned it to the owner.

Disorder at the Libertarian Community Center

I alternated between being a 19 year old girl with wavy blond hair and a 19 year old corn fed kid with a buzz cut. Both of these people worked at a libertarian community center (???), which is basically a place that feeds and shelters the needy while indoctrinating them. It also handles campaigning stuff during election time. Most of the details on this are blurry.

There was some kind of very intense drama going on between the staff here. Most of what I remember from the dream was that as I was going back and forth from the perspective of the girl and the boy, they had been murdering other staff and sometimes each other. This was all somehow sequentially sound, as these things often are in dreams. In one instance the girl and the boy were out picking up food for the center with some other staff. It was late out and the boy opened the sunroof to the car to stand up. I was the girl in this scene and I was driving. When we pulled into the center parking lot the boy slumped over and we realized that he was dead. In the next scene I was the boy and somehow back to life. I was freaking out on the girl for having murdered me. She didn't know what I was talking about and was very scared of me. I went into a room and started to write something on a whiteboard in the dark. Then I switched to being the girl, and followed him into the room. Light was coming in from the hallway and I could see that the boy, who was writing on the board, had a pair of fake legs coming out from under his shirt (in addition to his normal legs). They were wearing women's jeans and had the same shoes I did. A fake set of arms were also sticking out from his t-shirt's arm holes. They had on the same shirt that I did. Apparently this was very bad news because I was terrified. The last thing I remember was him slowly turning his head around to give me a cold look.