I guess I’ll go ahead and revive another aspect of my Journal: the Dream Log. People say that dreams are boring to everyone but the person who dreamed them, but I’ve always enjoyed listening to and talking about dreams, since back when I was a little kid. Medicated as I am, some of my dreams nowadays get pretty freaky. I’ll detail a few recent ones here.
Last night I dreamed that I was meeting with Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran to discuss dismantling that country’s nuclear program. For some reason, though, it wasn’t really him — my Dad was playing the role of the USA’s current arch-nemesis. We had several in-depth discussions when suddenly I somehow stumbled into the room of Ahmadinejad’s wife, where she was lying naked on the floor. I profusely apologized to him, but she got up off the floor and started hitting me saying, “Apologize to me, damnit! I’m the one you should be apologizing to!” Finally Mahmoud ushered her out of the room, talking in hushed tones.
Eventually he came back after dismissing everyone in his Palace or Presidential Suite or whatever it was he lives in. I remember thinking I was in an increasingly dangerous position because I had humiliated his wife. He brought me some DVDs on his country and said, “Now we can get down to the serious business.” He relaxed on a couch. I asked him where all his generals, religious authorities, and so forth had gone. He explained that “They’re off discussing troop movements or religious mysteries, for now it is just us.” I kept thinking to myself that I was about to be killed. I explained that even though he was really my Dad and this was all just pretend, my trust for Mahmoud Ahmadinejad was so low that I wasn’t going to remain here with him alone. Then I woke up.
In another dream, it was the 70’s and I spent all my time hanging out in dance clubs. Somehow, I was responsible for the light shows at all the dance parties. The way it worked, I would get on stage and begin dancing and cause geometric arrangements of spheres and symmetrical shapes to emanate from my body throughout the club. I vaguely remember getting sick and being unable to perform. Somebody else took over, but they weren’t as accomplished at generating the shapes as I was.
In another dream, I was playing some kind of 3-D virtual reality MMORPG and people kept asking me if I wanted to be an orc. I said no repeatedly, and they would insist, “Don’t you really want to be an orc?” Fially I agreed, but for some reason in this game “orc” meant “globule of eyeballs.” I was transformed into a lumpy assortment of eyeballs and grouped in a room with other globs, most of which were asymmetric: big eyeballs poking out here and there, little ones tucked on the inside, misshapen ones curving around the rest. Weird eerie music started to play and we were given the task of killing the “hero” of the game — but all we could do was float slowly toward him. I joined the others in this “mysterious floating attack,” but nothing ever came of it.
That’s all I’ve got for now. I don’t have as many details on these dreams as usual because I’m writing them several days after the fact and they have faded from my memory. I’ll try to capture future dreams just after I wake from them.