We took a trip to the Moon. Apparently someone had figured out how to grow things there, because there were trees everywhere. It looked like a grey, rain-soaked logging town. There were ramshackle houses set close to each other with small grassy yards. It looked like a poor neighborhood about two steps away from a trailer park. This was all on the Moon.
HAPPY 50TH TO THE DREAM ARCHIVE!
Thursday, June 27, 2019
Dream Archive 49: Shady Acres
I was making lunch at work. The nature of my job was unclear. I made a delicious banana shake of some kind. My dad needed help preparing for a board meeting. We walked through an indoor mall, and salesmen kept telling him he looked stressed-out and that they could help him. He refused.
My dad gave me three posters. The smallest one showed blurry shapes. The next one was larger and clearer. The biggest one showed an aerial shot of a housing subdivision by a lake. The lake looked metallic and polluted. The text across the top read: Now do you get it? Shady Acres, California...
My dad was worried about the consequences of decisions he’d made on the project. He compared it to a previous scandal that had involved 20 lobsters. A woman named Jill Herring had complained, but no one had listened to her.
My dad gave me three posters. The smallest one showed blurry shapes. The next one was larger and clearer. The biggest one showed an aerial shot of a housing subdivision by a lake. The lake looked metallic and polluted. The text across the top read: Now do you get it? Shady Acres, California...
My dad was worried about the consequences of decisions he’d made on the project. He compared it to a previous scandal that had involved 20 lobsters. A woman named Jill Herring had complained, but no one had listened to her.
Dream Archive 48: Skeptic
I was trying to find my way home, but they kept adding numbers to the street signs, so I became a college professor. As a police detective it was my job to track down a missing person. My partner said she had a vision of where he was. I told her not to believe in things she didn’t know for sure. Later on we did find him, but I refused to believe it or do any tests to confirm that it was him.
Dream Archive 47: Method Acting
We were trying to toughen up a friend of ours to get him ready for a role as a troubled police detective on a prestige drama. We showed him how to steal every single item in a store. Then we helped him steal a car. Apparently stealing things was the key to being a tough, troubled police detective.
Dream Archive 46: Memse
Walking around outside and reading different magazines to find out where to buy things. Nearby in an industrial part of town there was a business where all they did was film cars crashing into each other for movies. One of the roommates spoke to us in a very high-fantasy type dialogue. She used the word “memse” (pronounced "memsy") to refer to someone in a derogatory way. She looked like a punk rocker but potentially with a fin on her head instead of a mohawk, as though she were some sort of aquatic creature. There was animation of the fin appearing on her head in silhouette, so I don’t know if it was real or something she was imagining or describing.
I looked up where we should go in a zine-style book that was apparently so dangerous and badass that it jumped and lurched in my hands as I tried to read it. Whatever. Overrated. Inside there was a comic strip poem based on “The Night Before Christmas” that was actually a guide to different places around town. It was apparently inspired by a different article someone had written in a different magazine called “Ten Places Where the Bartender is Doing Your Dog.” A guide to bars so rough that the bartender is engaging in bestiality instead of serving you drinks? Please. It was clearly hyped up beyond belief. What kind of laughable person reads a magazine to find depraved bars to hang out in? Sounds like pathetic poser tourism to me.
Every “edgy” person in the world is a piece of shit. Every violent person in the world deserves to go to the hospital or the morgue. Ideally I would like to send each and every last one of them there myself. Fuck everyone in this dream. Stupid, sad nobody assholes—too lame to even exist. You act tough, but I’m the one who gets to wake up and continue with my life while you fade away. You were never anything. You’re meaningless, only ever seen by one person and then immediately forgotten. That’s what you’re worth.
I looked up where we should go in a zine-style book that was apparently so dangerous and badass that it jumped and lurched in my hands as I tried to read it. Whatever. Overrated. Inside there was a comic strip poem based on “The Night Before Christmas” that was actually a guide to different places around town. It was apparently inspired by a different article someone had written in a different magazine called “Ten Places Where the Bartender is Doing Your Dog.” A guide to bars so rough that the bartender is engaging in bestiality instead of serving you drinks? Please. It was clearly hyped up beyond belief. What kind of laughable person reads a magazine to find depraved bars to hang out in? Sounds like pathetic poser tourism to me.
Every “edgy” person in the world is a piece of shit. Every violent person in the world deserves to go to the hospital or the morgue. Ideally I would like to send each and every last one of them there myself. Fuck everyone in this dream. Stupid, sad nobody assholes—too lame to even exist. You act tough, but I’m the one who gets to wake up and continue with my life while you fade away. You were never anything. You’re meaningless, only ever seen by one person and then immediately forgotten. That’s what you’re worth.
Dream Archive 45: Sure Seller
Business idea: a floating pool toy that looks like a giant dead mosquito. Why wouldn’t anyone buy this?
Dream Archive 44: Deez Nuts
We were in a college town where we kept stealing everything from everyone. We were staying in a flophouse that catered to rich and poor alike. We kept listening to stories from the other residents. Michael said his friend “Hot” Charlie was having a rough time and we needed to go pick him up. I jumped in the car with Michael’s phone and headed over to get Charlie. I looked at the phone, which was now Charlie’s phone, and there was a text message that read, “Your divorce has been finalized.” I picked up Charlie and we texted Michael. Apparently he was having trouble with the front door of the flophouse. It wouldn’t open.
We drove recklessly back there to get him. He was listening to one of the residents tell a story, and suddenly he heard the Key he’d been waiting for. He went up to an old fashioned cart that was parked outside. It looked like a wooden cart where a traveling tradesman would keep all their stuff. He pulled out a ratty old leatherbound book and opened it. He said the Key and then used it to draw a handle on the page. He turned the handle and it opened some kind of door or portal. “All right!” he said. “Mike Deez, Mike Deez, you owe me some food, you sly motherfucker.”
We went through the portal and found ourselves in a labyrinth of hallways that led to various rooms. I guess this was Mike Deez’s house. We went from room to room looking for food. We reached a room with a sofa and some machinery. We could hear the disembodied voice of Mike Deez speaking in the next room. It sounded like he was hosting a talk show—possibly from beyond the grave? “If you’re going to be handsome and successful,” said the voice, “you have to know yourself and what you’re capable of.” There was thunderous applause.
We drove recklessly back there to get him. He was listening to one of the residents tell a story, and suddenly he heard the Key he’d been waiting for. He went up to an old fashioned cart that was parked outside. It looked like a wooden cart where a traveling tradesman would keep all their stuff. He pulled out a ratty old leatherbound book and opened it. He said the Key and then used it to draw a handle on the page. He turned the handle and it opened some kind of door or portal. “All right!” he said. “Mike Deez, Mike Deez, you owe me some food, you sly motherfucker.”
We went through the portal and found ourselves in a labyrinth of hallways that led to various rooms. I guess this was Mike Deez’s house. We went from room to room looking for food. We reached a room with a sofa and some machinery. We could hear the disembodied voice of Mike Deez speaking in the next room. It sounded like he was hosting a talk show—possibly from beyond the grave? “If you’re going to be handsome and successful,” said the voice, “you have to know yourself and what you’re capable of.” There was thunderous applause.
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