A video of interviews and images reflecting on the difference that the students of Michigan both experience at the University and make in the world.
These people are each very happy with their trajectories, and appreciative of their education.
I like all of them.
And they are nice.
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Monday, January 12, 2009
Monday, December 22, 2008
"PUSHING DAISIES"
that is, Pushing Daisies, the television series.
mm. yes, good.
http://abc.go.com/primetime/pushingdaisies/
http://www.youtube.com/user/47alias47?ob=4
ps.
oh yeah, did i mention: PUSHING DAISIES!
mm. yes, good.
http://abc.go.com/primetime/pushingdaisies/
http://www.youtube.com/user/47alias47?ob=4
ps.
oh yeah, did i mention: PUSHING DAISIES!
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
"Bilal's Stand" Trailer One
This film premieres at the Michigan Theatre in April.
I helped make it.
Providing the light including the sun. (among other things)
It will be stellar.
I helped make it.
Providing the light including the sun. (among other things)
It will be stellar.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
push
I am more lost than I've ever been.
I am sure of so little.
But I still keep trying. , , Because this is what I know... to do. because i am sure of somethings._
because someday,, , th- _ ;
someday, those sure things... will be.
I am sure of so little.
But I still keep trying. , , Because this is what I know... to do. because i am sure of somethings._
because someday,, , th- _ ;
someday, those sure things... will be.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
if there's only one thing
I understand the adage goes: 'You can't have everything you want,' meaning you'll need to make important decisions in life of what to pursue and what to sacrifice.
But what if there's only one thing that you've decided that you want? Anything else - any possession, any dream, any memory - is secondary... is worth sacrificing if you could just have this one thing because maybe it is everything you want, and maybe you never knew it until now...
How does that work?
Can I have it?
I think I'd give up anything just for a shot... just for one chance to prove that she's worth it _ __ ___
But what if there's only one thing that you've decided that you want? Anything else - any possession, any dream, any memory - is secondary... is worth sacrificing if you could just have this one thing because maybe it is everything you want, and maybe you never knew it until now...
How does that work?
Can I have it?
Sunday, December 30, 2007
ripe with i thought so
i am the rustlove harmonica
in the temporary river
of misfortunate circumstance
tributarized by melon-balling spritzers
of haircut microphones
singing alleyway triggers
of ass-i-kiss-tic ballads
for the best, never committed
now that's the truth
you heard me
in the temporary river
of misfortunate circumstance
tributarized by melon-balling spritzers
of haircut microphones
singing alleyway triggers
of ass-i-kiss-tic ballads
for the best, never committed
now that's the truth
you heard me
Friday, September 28, 2007
Dream 9.28.07
I am eating "lunch" with a child actor - in my dream.
(I quote "lunch" because everyone basically eats whatever they feel like during a midday lunch-sized break from shooting this strange scary movie, which had, in part, preceded this moment in my dream.)
He eats some freshly prepared Caesar Salsa...
Take a moment to imagine what this dish looks, smells, tastes like.
A white florray with hints of earthly green and red garnishing each scoop of the dusty rainbow tortilla slices. Bountifully chunky, and not too saucy, the bulks of his bites grab the chip preferring to be stomached by the young man rather than grace the forbidden ground of this gas station parking lot, even tented from the sun as it is. The air is warm and almost dry, but when child actor cracks the lid it radiates a conditioning into the air as a crisply-opened refrigerator door. The aroma and the breeze of Caesar Salsa wrap around my nose, my mouth, my face. I inhale and profess, "If I could have whatever I wanted for lunch every day, I guess that's what I'd eat too."
And of course, because this is my dream, everyone chuckles,,,
including the pretty girl sitting on my left
with an apple red lunch
meeting her apple red lips...
but that's another story.
(I quote "lunch" because everyone basically eats whatever they feel like during a midday lunch-sized break from shooting this strange scary movie, which had, in part, preceded this moment in my dream.)
He eats some freshly prepared Caesar Salsa...
Take a moment to imagine what this dish looks, smells, tastes like.
A white florray with hints of earthly green and red garnishing each scoop of the dusty rainbow tortilla slices. Bountifully chunky, and not too saucy, the bulks of his bites grab the chip preferring to be stomached by the young man rather than grace the forbidden ground of this gas station parking lot, even tented from the sun as it is. The air is warm and almost dry, but when child actor cracks the lid it radiates a conditioning into the air as a crisply-opened refrigerator door. The aroma and the breeze of Caesar Salsa wrap around my nose, my mouth, my face. I inhale and profess, "If I could have whatever I wanted for lunch every day, I guess that's what I'd eat too."
And of course, because this is my dream, everyone chuckles,,,
including the pretty girl sitting on my left
with an apple red lunch
meeting her apple red lips...
but that's another story.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Me and Me from This to That
Marla...
the little scratch on the roof of your mouth
that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it,
but you can't.
-Ed Norton, Fight Club, 1999
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'm a schizophrenic
And so am I
-Bill Murray, What About Bob?, 1991
From that day on,
we was always together.
Jenny and me was like peas and carrots.
-Tom Hanks, Forrest Gump, 1994
the little scratch on the roof of your mouth
that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it,
but you can't.
-Ed Norton, Fight Club, 1999
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'm a schizophrenic
And so am I
-Bill Murray, What About Bob?, 1991
From that day on,
we was always together.
Jenny and me was like peas and carrots.
-Tom Hanks, Forrest Gump, 1994
Friday, July 20, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Dreams 7.17.07
I had like four dreams last night/this morning. Crazy. Let's see what scraps I can recall from them...
In one dream I could float around. My shoes were like some sort of hover shoes or something because I just glided around an inch or so off the ground, but I definitely felt like Gumby.
With the slickness of my new sweet ass shoes, I sneaked into a corporate office building to try and find a friend who has refused to speak to me for a while. I "skated" (or "coasted," or "Gumby-ed") my way around a maze of peach-walled cubicles only to be stopped and questioned by random nagging staff. I thought at some point I had seen this friend but was influenced to leave rather than continue searching.
As I hovered my way out front - it was night by the way, and I know not why - this friend came chasing out after me. We talked awkwardly for a minute. Friend offered to call me soon sometime to hang out... as if there had never been anything wrong. Then I woke up, wondered about the shoes, and went back to sleep hoping to dream something better.
In another dream I was walking down a street, reasons unknown. It was also night. I passed a bank heading into a parking lot, and saw two young guys with guns preparing to enter said bank. I don't think I cared, so I pretended like hadn't seen them, but one gunman called to me telling me to "come on inside" with them. I ran. Ducking around one brick wall, I was forced to try escaping into none other than a McDonald's. (This may have been worse than being taken hostage, but I was spooked.)
I hid under a cashier's counter as the gunman barged in. He jabbered on something about looking for me. People screamed a bit, but not much. And eventually, because in this dream I am too big to fit under a counter, he spotted me. As I stood to face him he said something cocky, pointed his gun at me and fired.
I flinched, but instead of feeling a bullet hit me in the chest or arm, I felt it wedge in my right ear... not like a bullet shooting my ear, but like an ear plugbeing pressed in. I looked back at the stunned gunman, and pulled his bullet from my ear. It was unscathed, looked brand new. Then another bullet sprouted in my ear... and another in the other ear. What the hell, indeed! I pulled these out, but alas, two more. We chuckled over it. The gunman hesitated to try and shoot me again. Feeling mildly invincible, I offered the gunman the bullets in my hand. He asked me for more. I continued to pull bullets from ears until he was satisfied.
Thank God I woke up from that one.
In another dream - also night - I was stuck in a house with people I do not know. One reminded me of Colonel Sanders. He was the grandfather. I was one of three kids, a friend of the grandson.
I can't seem to remember much of this dream, but it involved some supernatural gift the grandson had that chased some evil from invading our home, or dimension, or planet... I guess.
At the end, the grandfather crashed out in the garage where he lived. My friend's older sister came home wondering what was up. I tried to flirt with her for a minute; she ignored me; and before I knew it, I was boarding a bus home in front of their house... in the middle of the night.
Writing about those dreams made me forget the fourth one.
If I remember it ever, I will come back to this entry and tell yous... but that is unlikely.
In one dream I could float around. My shoes were like some sort of hover shoes or something because I just glided around an inch or so off the ground, but I definitely felt like Gumby.
With the slickness of my new sweet ass shoes, I sneaked into a corporate office building to try and find a friend who has refused to speak to me for a while. I "skated" (or "coasted," or "Gumby-ed") my way around a maze of peach-walled cubicles only to be stopped and questioned by random nagging staff. I thought at some point I had seen this friend but was influenced to leave rather than continue searching.
As I hovered my way out front - it was night by the way, and I know not why - this friend came chasing out after me. We talked awkwardly for a minute. Friend offered to call me soon sometime to hang out... as if there had never been anything wrong. Then I woke up, wondered about the shoes, and went back to sleep hoping to dream something better.
In another dream I was walking down a street, reasons unknown. It was also night. I passed a bank heading into a parking lot, and saw two young guys with guns preparing to enter said bank. I don't think I cared, so I pretended like hadn't seen them, but one gunman called to me telling me to "come on inside" with them. I ran. Ducking around one brick wall, I was forced to try escaping into none other than a McDonald's. (This may have been worse than being taken hostage, but I was spooked.)
I hid under a cashier's counter as the gunman barged in. He jabbered on something about looking for me. People screamed a bit, but not much. And eventually, because in this dream I am too big to fit under a counter, he spotted me. As I stood to face him he said something cocky, pointed his gun at me and fired.
I flinched, but instead of feeling a bullet hit me in the chest or arm, I felt it wedge in my right ear... not like a bullet shooting my ear, but like an ear plugbeing pressed in. I looked back at the stunned gunman, and pulled his bullet from my ear. It was unscathed, looked brand new. Then another bullet sprouted in my ear... and another in the other ear. What the hell, indeed! I pulled these out, but alas, two more. We chuckled over it. The gunman hesitated to try and shoot me again. Feeling mildly invincible, I offered the gunman the bullets in my hand. He asked me for more. I continued to pull bullets from ears until he was satisfied.
Thank God I woke up from that one.
In another dream - also night - I was stuck in a house with people I do not know. One reminded me of Colonel Sanders. He was the grandfather. I was one of three kids, a friend of the grandson.
I can't seem to remember much of this dream, but it involved some supernatural gift the grandson had that chased some evil from invading our home, or dimension, or planet... I guess.
At the end, the grandfather crashed out in the garage where he lived. My friend's older sister came home wondering what was up. I tried to flirt with her for a minute; she ignored me; and before I knew it, I was boarding a bus home in front of their house... in the middle of the night.
Writing about those dreams made me forget the fourth one.
If I remember it ever, I will come back to this entry and tell yous... but that is unlikely.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Who Am I in My Dreams?
I have already forgotten my dream from last night, but this story is not about that dream. It is about who I am or who I become when I fall asleep each night.
Granted I have plenty of trouble remembering most of the time. Many times I am simply myself in usual or unusual situations, like going on a road trip with people I know. Few times I may not even be in the dream. Sometimes I am watching from that third person floating-over-people point of view. But sometimes I am someone whom I aspire to be.
My dream Saturday night/Sunday morning - while I don't recall the most of it including the plot line - involved me being a pilot. Well... not an experienced or even a trained pilot, but I was flying a plane. I was a co-pilot in a commercial jet. The pilot was trying to teach me how to operate the controls. Most of the buttons were labeled with labels from buttons that I have actually seen before, like on a laptop keyboard or a cash register... or an arcade game.
At some point - I think after the first landing - the pilot skipped town. I was left to pilot the plane, AND I was given a new apprentice to teach how to fly it. Needless to say, I did try to teach him, but we mostly ended up doing aerial acrobatics in our commercial airliner and landing (safely) in the water while we played with the buttons.
I often become a "me" that I daydream of being: a pilot, an undercover agent, a chef. These are all on my list of back up jobs in case I fail as an artist or filmmaker.
But what bothers me is that I have never in my dreams been a baseball player or an astronaut. These are at the top of my list. In fact, I would give up (at least for some time) being who I am now to be play baseball or go into space. But I do not dream at night of being these "me"s. I wonder if this is because actually becoming either of these seems so far-fetched or out of reach. I could be a chef quite easily, but how much closer I am to becoming a secret agent, or a pilot.
Knowing that chances are slim that I may ever play in the Major Leagues or leave the Earth's atmosphere, I would love to at least dream that I can.... even if it's just once.
Granted I have plenty of trouble remembering most of the time. Many times I am simply myself in usual or unusual situations, like going on a road trip with people I know. Few times I may not even be in the dream. Sometimes I am watching from that third person floating-over-people point of view. But sometimes I am someone whom I aspire to be.
My dream Saturday night/Sunday morning - while I don't recall the most of it including the plot line - involved me being a pilot. Well... not an experienced or even a trained pilot, but I was flying a plane. I was a co-pilot in a commercial jet. The pilot was trying to teach me how to operate the controls. Most of the buttons were labeled with labels from buttons that I have actually seen before, like on a laptop keyboard or a cash register... or an arcade game.
At some point - I think after the first landing - the pilot skipped town. I was left to pilot the plane, AND I was given a new apprentice to teach how to fly it. Needless to say, I did try to teach him, but we mostly ended up doing aerial acrobatics in our commercial airliner and landing (safely) in the water while we played with the buttons.
I often become a "me" that I daydream of being: a pilot, an undercover agent, a chef. These are all on my list of back up jobs in case I fail as an artist or filmmaker.
But what bothers me is that I have never in my dreams been a baseball player or an astronaut. These are at the top of my list. In fact, I would give up (at least for some time) being who I am now to be play baseball or go into space. But I do not dream at night of being these "me"s. I wonder if this is because actually becoming either of these seems so far-fetched or out of reach. I could be a chef quite easily, but how much closer I am to becoming a secret agent, or a pilot.
Knowing that chances are slim that I may ever play in the Major Leagues or leave the Earth's atmosphere, I would love to at least dream that I can.... even if it's just once.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Dream 7.14.07
Yesterday was my dad's birthday.
So in my dream, it was also my dad's birthday. I decided to take him golfing. My stepmom and little sister also came along though they do not golf, but they wanted to spend time with Dad.
We went to this new upscale golf course. The place was packed. Obviously it was very popular... and very expensive. At the only counter - I don't remember waiting in any line - we could order pretty much anything you would find a pro shop, or a bar. Naturally we needed:
a tee time for two,
golf balls,
lunch,
a membership (I think,)
two golf bag strollers because there was no way golf carts could drive this course - I'm pretty sure there was an elevator somewhere -
and two kegs... which could be carried on the strollers. (I guess we were thirsty.)
Unfortunately because this place was so new and fancy, the bill totaled over $600. I put it on my credit card. I don't how it went through because my credit card is overdrawn right now, but... over $600.
The first tee was on the close side of the building on the second floor. By the time we hiked up to it, the line at the counter ran outside, and a line had hiked up behind us at the tee. I looked out across the course.
It was like nothing you've ever seen before. It was indoors in a massive warehouse-sized complex. This place was bigger than a WalMart. Each hole was corridored off from the others by ceiling-high nets and plexiglas walls. Arranged in a maze, the holes wound around corners where the doglegs were more like U-turns. Golfers were banking shots off of walls. Some holes overlapped others above or below as each seemed to move up or down multiple floors. This strange course reminded me of an uncanny mixture of an indoor driving range, a mini-golf course, and a carnival fun house, but on a much larger scale.
My dad and his new clubs were already prepared to tee off. And as he took his first swing, I was still trying to strap the keg and my bag onto the stroller. People waiting behind us began to heckle. While I tried to hurry faster, they only grew more impatient. My dad had banked his first shot around the corner and onto the floor below, so he offered to go ahead and play the rest of the hole while I was catching up. We could play back together on the second hole. He, stepmom, and Racheal walked downstairs.
Meanwhile - this is where things get worse, not better - I thought I had strapped everything in properly. I looked for my driver, but my clubs are an incomplete set and some of them get misplaced once in a while. The driver was gone. I could've borrowed one of my dad's, but he had gone ahead. 'Come on,' people continued to harass me. The line was building. And the counter attendants were peering up the hill (or corridor, or incline, whatever.) I just grabbed a club, dropped my ball, and swung. I topped the ball. It bounced between the walls a bit. I dropped another. I swung again. I missed. Then the keg and my bag fell off the stroller. People were getting loud. I started to look for my family, but I didn't see them.
As I tried to pick up my things and pack them onto the stroller, a couple golfers jumped in front of me. They teed off, and the line gradually edged me against the wall. I threw my bag over my shoulder and pulled the keg along on the stroller. (I'm pretty sure I left a club behind.)
I took off cutting across fairways wandering throughout the second floor. I began calling for my dad who was forced to continue playing without me. I felt like a little boy lost in an amusement park. Here I am standing in the center of this maze that is some insane golfing complex looking for my family because we've been separated. I spun searching in every direction, but saw no one I recognized. I could hear only golf balls flying by. The passing golfers ignored me as they played through. I sat down and started to cry...
I had tried to do something nice for my dad and my family. I had found this amazing new adventure. I paid for a very expensive outing, which I had not even been a part of yet, and it was coming closer to an end with each passing minute. Watching the feet of each passing golfer felt like clubs swinging against my chest.
I got hit in the ribs with a golf ball. No one bothered to yell 'Fore.' I staggered to my feet, and started down the path to the front counter. At the bottom of the hill, my dad had just arrived up front as well. He was looking for me at the counter asking if they had seen me. I came up beside him. I tried to explain what happened, but I was still shaken. I didn't need to; he understood.
We gave the owners (or managers, or counterpersons, whatever) some hassle over the trouble we had. They tried to give us trouble back. But in the end we gave them their kegs, they gave us our money back, and we played through... from the fifth hole where my dad had stopped golfer traffic in order to find me.
So in my dream, it was also my dad's birthday. I decided to take him golfing. My stepmom and little sister also came along though they do not golf, but they wanted to spend time with Dad.
We went to this new upscale golf course. The place was packed. Obviously it was very popular... and very expensive. At the only counter - I don't remember waiting in any line - we could order pretty much anything you would find a pro shop, or a bar. Naturally we needed:
a tee time for two,
golf balls,
lunch,
a membership (I think,)
two golf bag strollers because there was no way golf carts could drive this course - I'm pretty sure there was an elevator somewhere -
and two kegs... which could be carried on the strollers. (I guess we were thirsty.)
Unfortunately because this place was so new and fancy, the bill totaled over $600. I put it on my credit card. I don't how it went through because my credit card is overdrawn right now, but... over $600.
The first tee was on the close side of the building on the second floor. By the time we hiked up to it, the line at the counter ran outside, and a line had hiked up behind us at the tee. I looked out across the course.
It was like nothing you've ever seen before. It was indoors in a massive warehouse-sized complex. This place was bigger than a WalMart. Each hole was corridored off from the others by ceiling-high nets and plexiglas walls. Arranged in a maze, the holes wound around corners where the doglegs were more like U-turns. Golfers were banking shots off of walls. Some holes overlapped others above or below as each seemed to move up or down multiple floors. This strange course reminded me of an uncanny mixture of an indoor driving range, a mini-golf course, and a carnival fun house, but on a much larger scale.
My dad and his new clubs were already prepared to tee off. And as he took his first swing, I was still trying to strap the keg and my bag onto the stroller. People waiting behind us began to heckle. While I tried to hurry faster, they only grew more impatient. My dad had banked his first shot around the corner and onto the floor below, so he offered to go ahead and play the rest of the hole while I was catching up. We could play back together on the second hole. He, stepmom, and Racheal walked downstairs.
Meanwhile - this is where things get worse, not better - I thought I had strapped everything in properly. I looked for my driver, but my clubs are an incomplete set and some of them get misplaced once in a while. The driver was gone. I could've borrowed one of my dad's, but he had gone ahead. 'Come on,' people continued to harass me. The line was building. And the counter attendants were peering up the hill (or corridor, or incline, whatever.) I just grabbed a club, dropped my ball, and swung. I topped the ball. It bounced between the walls a bit. I dropped another. I swung again. I missed. Then the keg and my bag fell off the stroller. People were getting loud. I started to look for my family, but I didn't see them.
As I tried to pick up my things and pack them onto the stroller, a couple golfers jumped in front of me. They teed off, and the line gradually edged me against the wall. I threw my bag over my shoulder and pulled the keg along on the stroller. (I'm pretty sure I left a club behind.)
I took off cutting across fairways wandering throughout the second floor. I began calling for my dad who was forced to continue playing without me. I felt like a little boy lost in an amusement park. Here I am standing in the center of this maze that is some insane golfing complex looking for my family because we've been separated. I spun searching in every direction, but saw no one I recognized. I could hear only golf balls flying by. The passing golfers ignored me as they played through. I sat down and started to cry...
I had tried to do something nice for my dad and my family. I had found this amazing new adventure. I paid for a very expensive outing, which I had not even been a part of yet, and it was coming closer to an end with each passing minute. Watching the feet of each passing golfer felt like clubs swinging against my chest.
I got hit in the ribs with a golf ball. No one bothered to yell 'Fore.' I staggered to my feet, and started down the path to the front counter. At the bottom of the hill, my dad had just arrived up front as well. He was looking for me at the counter asking if they had seen me. I came up beside him. I tried to explain what happened, but I was still shaken. I didn't need to; he understood.
We gave the owners (or managers, or counterpersons, whatever) some hassle over the trouble we had. They tried to give us trouble back. But in the end we gave them their kegs, they gave us our money back, and we played through... from the fifth hole where my dad had stopped golfer traffic in order to find me.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Am I Not Dreaming?
I have not had - or I don't remember having - a dream since the last time I played basketball... last Sunday, nearly a week ago.
Before then, I had been getting exercise pretty regularly, something intense every other day and at least stretching every day. I had also been dreaming. I wrote about a couple of them here. They were obviously decent vivid memorable dreams. But now I have been very busy sitting on my ass for five straight days. Mostly at the computer trying to get some photography favors done and feeling more and more pressured to find for work... (so they can get me outta the house. They could not want this more than I do.)
I cannot help but think that this lack of exercise is somehow related to my lack of dreams, and probably lack of imagination lately. But why? Is it simply because I haven't exercised and kept my body healthy? Is it because I've been cramming on things that "need" to get done, and stressing about them? Is it because I haven't played and released some of this stress? Is it because the blood circulating through my brain is stagnant?
I went swimming yesterday. I went out to the bar last night. Still I do not remember dreaming before I woke this morning. Maybe I need to do something that makes me sweat and think. Maybe I just really need to exercise both my body and my brain if I want to dream. From the sound of it, I think I do.
Before then, I had been getting exercise pretty regularly, something intense every other day and at least stretching every day. I had also been dreaming. I wrote about a couple of them here. They were obviously decent vivid memorable dreams. But now I have been very busy sitting on my ass for five straight days. Mostly at the computer trying to get some photography favors done and feeling more and more pressured to find for work... (so they can get me outta the house. They could not want this more than I do.)
I cannot help but think that this lack of exercise is somehow related to my lack of dreams, and probably lack of imagination lately. But why? Is it simply because I haven't exercised and kept my body healthy? Is it because I've been cramming on things that "need" to get done, and stressing about them? Is it because I haven't played and released some of this stress? Is it because the blood circulating through my brain is stagnant?
I went swimming yesterday. I went out to the bar last night. Still I do not remember dreaming before I woke this morning. Maybe I need to do something that makes me sweat and think. Maybe I just really need to exercise both my body and my brain if I want to dream. From the sound of it, I think I do.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
dream 4th of july?
it would seem waking is always inevitable too.
i'm glad i could cut that dream off. i wasn't even in it.
it was like some stupid-ass reality game challenge show being filmed. i was watching all this dumb bickering going down among a bunch of characters i never even met. talk about off the wall... i'm not sure this dream was ever even on it... the wall, that is.
i'll knock it up to too much junk food before bed. and call it a nightmare.
back to sleep.
i'm glad i could cut that dream off. i wasn't even in it.
it was like some stupid-ass reality game challenge show being filmed. i was watching all this dumb bickering going down among a bunch of characters i never even met. talk about off the wall... i'm not sure this dream was ever even on it... the wall, that is.
i'll knock it up to too much junk food before bed. and call it a nightmare.
back to sleep.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Dream 6.30.07
I thought I could use this forum to write about my dreams, considering I rarely remember them beyond breakfast, but not today.
It's not that I don't remember last night's dream; I definitely do. In fact, it's one I think I will remember for a while. Because it was something I had been thinking abou-
See. There I go saying too much.
Our dreams are representative of what is going on in our minds. They are imaginative fictions of our desires, our fears, our struggles.
Dreams can be symbolic, like my last one.
I have no idea what a road trip, Gatorade, underwear, and Jim Cogswell have to do with anything right now. (And I would have easily forgotten that dream if I hadn't told you about it.)
Or dreams can be literal, like the dream I had last night.
I can tell you it involved going on a trip again. I have been looking for work and opportunities abroad lately.
But, for now, the rest of the dream I will hold on to for myself. Because sometimes these literal dreams can garner real life consequences. Ones that I am not prepared to face... at least not yet.
It's not that I don't remember last night's dream; I definitely do. In fact, it's one I think I will remember for a while. Because it was something I had been thinking abou-
See. There I go saying too much.
Our dreams are representative of what is going on in our minds. They are imaginative fictions of our desires, our fears, our struggles.
Dreams can be symbolic, like my last one.
I have no idea what a road trip, Gatorade, underwear, and Jim Cogswell have to do with anything right now. (And I would have easily forgotten that dream if I hadn't told you about it.)
Or dreams can be literal, like the dream I had last night.
I can tell you it involved going on a trip again. I have been looking for work and opportunities abroad lately.
But, for now, the rest of the dream I will hold on to for myself. Because sometimes these literal dreams can garner real life consequences. Ones that I am not prepared to face... at least not yet.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Dream 6.29.07
I dreamt last night (or this morning) that I stopped at Ted&Paula's, a local liquor, store before a road trip. Some new management had turned it into a some kind of convenience store/flea market. All the stuff they were selling outside was just stacked in open cardboard boxes. Some of it was across the street.
I stopped to look for Gatorade and underwear, two essential road tripping items. First I checked "the clothing section" outside, but to my dismay, no underwear. They were sold out. Maybe there were a lot of road trippers today.
Annoyed I went inside to find a thirst quenching beverage. I remember I really wanted a blue one - specifically the baby blue one that says "Frost" on it. After what seemed like hours of searching in such a tiny store - it felt like dozens of people kept asking me questions like I worked there, and I was distracted by some imitation brand baseball caps - I finally located the Gatorade. Except the Gatorade was not in the freezer, but hanging on a rack in an aisle adjacent to the freezer. And not only was it out of place - at least in my opinion - but it was re-bottled... and all the bottles were filled to different levels... but they were genuine Gatorade bottles - with the labels torn off - priced at an expected Gatorade bottle price. Oh, and they didn't have baby blue.
Needless to say without finding new underwear or safe Gatorade, I spoke something smart-ass to the clerk/new management and swifted myself out of there.
As I made my way across the street to where I had parked near the underwear - or lack thereof - "display," I crossed a former art professor, Jim Gogswell. Coincidentally he was also there looking for underwear, and not having found it, he was on his inside to put up a fuss.
Then my cousin called and woke me up to ask me to make him an email address.
I stopped to look for Gatorade and underwear, two essential road tripping items. First I checked "the clothing section" outside, but to my dismay, no underwear. They were sold out. Maybe there were a lot of road trippers today.
Annoyed I went inside to find a thirst quenching beverage. I remember I really wanted a blue one - specifically the baby blue one that says "Frost" on it. After what seemed like hours of searching in such a tiny store - it felt like dozens of people kept asking me questions like I worked there, and I was distracted by some imitation brand baseball caps - I finally located the Gatorade. Except the Gatorade was not in the freezer, but hanging on a rack in an aisle adjacent to the freezer. And not only was it out of place - at least in my opinion - but it was re-bottled... and all the bottles were filled to different levels... but they were genuine Gatorade bottles - with the labels torn off - priced at an expected Gatorade bottle price. Oh, and they didn't have baby blue.
Needless to say without finding new underwear or safe Gatorade, I spoke something smart-ass to the clerk/new management and swifted myself out of there.
As I made my way across the street to where I had parked near the underwear - or lack thereof - "display," I crossed a former art professor, Jim Gogswell. Coincidentally he was also there looking for underwear, and not having found it, he was on his inside to put up a fuss.
Then my cousin called and woke me up to ask me to make him an email address.
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