i dream of frigid women
i've been having strange dreams
i don't know what it is
maybe it's the stars?
maybe it's my oversleeping?
i don't know what it is
i had some strange dreams last night. so this is the latest news from dream land:
a girl was over at my apartment. it was morning and she had slept in the tv room on the beanbags. after we woke up and i handed her breakfast in the morning she said you know you could have had me last night, insinuating sexual possabilities if only you had handed me a little toy replica of a monkey playing an accordian.
and in my dream, i was quite frusterated. last night, i was actualy flirting with the idea of having sex with her and i was trying to figure out how to do it. i had the toy monkey and i had the accordian. if only i had the brains to put two and two together! damnit!
barak came over later with all his books. he was studying his irish heratige. as aposed to his english heratige. actualy, he had this book called your irish VS english heratige. and it had pictures of sterreotypical irishmen and sterreotypical englishmen. the most memorable picture was of the irish and english babies who sported full grown stubbly beards. it was truly amazing.
then we started discussing the fermentation of alcohol. according to my dream, only a teaspoon of ingredients are required to brew a fifth of alcohol. the rest magicaly appears somewhere in the brewing process.
my parents came over. they took me downtown to see the new art exhibit. it was some sort of fountain that srayed water at people. it was all based on some mathematical equasion related t the socio-sexual observations of the artist.
in the museum, the artist had several panels on display, expressing her theories on sexual psychology.
there would be a grid of squares. and placed on the grid would be several arrangements of two cones that represented different kinds of sex. there was sort of a key next to the black and white artwork that explained everything. i sort of forgot most of the good stuff. all the definitions were simple. one word. all lower case. except for the word GOD, which was naturaly in caps. and ARTFUL which was naturaly in artistic crazy handwriting. artful sex was represented by a silly silver embroidered triangle that was bordered with studded diamonds.
when we were leaving, some stranger had to drive the family mini van around afew blocks. my dad was sitting in a middle seat. my mother was sitting in the passenger seat. and we didn't have much time to get moving or the traffic would overcome us, so the stranger had to hop in and steer the van around the block.
my dad was getting nervous because the stranger was driving with exagerated hand movements and grandiose steering circles. my dad made a comment like "if you turn the wheel less, you might not have to correct your steering so much."
"they're doing some construction on the side of the road," was his explination. "im sorry but the vibrations are shaking the car, making me drive like this."
there were people jack hammering all over the road. and occasionaly the big fountain would spray water at us.
in my dream, the new cool sport involved the fountain. people would stand around it in a field, anticipating the spray. in order to win, you must survive the full cycle without getting wet. of course, the cycle is always changing. because the sexual-psychology of america is always changing. it's quite the errotic game.
sid called me on my cell phone and asked me if i've seen the new tv show. it comes on daily at 7am and again at 4pm. and it's like three or four hours long. so, it takes up 8 hours of quality programing. i don't know. apparently it's real amazing.
there was another part in my dream that no longer makes much sense. i was in the navy. i payed a visit to my old house. then i went to an award ceremony.
at the award ceremony, i was trying desperatley to get laid. there were three females in perticular. they were wearing white dresses with dangling crystals. at some point i was explaining to a female officer that i was no longer in the navy and that we only existed in a dream. so we could have sex without fear of being charged with fraternization. and i think she bought into it.
of course, i think i remember a big fountain being the centerpiece of the award banquet hall of the ceremony.
i remember that at my house there was an issue of where the jr.seamen were going to lock up their stuff. my house was transformed into some sort of naval station and all the seamen were berting in the bonus room above the garage. a lot of the cupboards and things were transformed into lockers.
the navy has been re-entering my consciousness. it must be something to do with the solar cycle. i don't know. i can't think up a better explination.
two nights ago, i had a dream that i ran into someone i knew from bootcamp. we started talking about jaccobs, the division fuck up. right before we were all suposed to leave, jaccobs was fucking around and punched someone in the nose. it was an accident but so fucking retarded. how does someone accidentaly break someone's nose?
anyhow in my dream, he was somehow able to turn the whole situation around to his beenefit. some doctor took a look at him and realised that jacobs was just a misplaced genius. and in my dream, jaccobs was a math genius. and he had some top secret security clearence job.
i burst into tears. i just started crying. and i think it was sam that came out of nowhere to comfort me. we were sitting in the bonus room of my old house on vashon. and i just cried and cried and cried.
anyhow. that's the news from dreamland.
last night, i blew it. as i was leaving work, about 4 girls were oggling over my car. they said "we like your car!" and those girls were so cute, i could have taken them all home with me. i should have said something. done something. but i just thanked them and drove away. and they watched me until i was gone.
when i got home marty was still awake. we stayed up until 2am drinking beers and listening to music. fran was passed out on the bed. apparently she came over, smoked a bowl and passed out. shes 33 years old and just smoked pot for the first time.
"shes got it real good," marty said. "she doesn't do shit for me, but there isn't anything that i wouldn't do for that girl. isn't that fucked up?"
i will never forget marty.
"i'm a bad man," he would say. "don't do what i do, do what i say. don't turn out like me. i'm a bad man."
he's 55 years old, but he's got the same energy and lust for life as an 18 year old boy. and with fran passed out on his bed, you'd think he'd take advantage of her completley. but no. even with all the shit he's seen and all the shit he's done and all the shit she's put him thru, he is noble. and he takes care of the girl.
we drank thru the night. and we sang our woes about women thru the night.
i don't know what it is
maybe it's the stars?
maybe it's my oversleeping?
i don't know what it is
i had some strange dreams last night. so this is the latest news from dream land:
a girl was over at my apartment. it was morning and she had slept in the tv room on the beanbags. after we woke up and i handed her breakfast in the morning she said you know you could have had me last night, insinuating sexual possabilities if only you had handed me a little toy replica of a monkey playing an accordian.
and in my dream, i was quite frusterated. last night, i was actualy flirting with the idea of having sex with her and i was trying to figure out how to do it. i had the toy monkey and i had the accordian. if only i had the brains to put two and two together! damnit!
barak came over later with all his books. he was studying his irish heratige. as aposed to his english heratige. actualy, he had this book called your irish VS english heratige. and it had pictures of sterreotypical irishmen and sterreotypical englishmen. the most memorable picture was of the irish and english babies who sported full grown stubbly beards. it was truly amazing.
then we started discussing the fermentation of alcohol. according to my dream, only a teaspoon of ingredients are required to brew a fifth of alcohol. the rest magicaly appears somewhere in the brewing process.
my parents came over. they took me downtown to see the new art exhibit. it was some sort of fountain that srayed water at people. it was all based on some mathematical equasion related t the socio-sexual observations of the artist.
in the museum, the artist had several panels on display, expressing her theories on sexual psychology.
there would be a grid of squares. and placed on the grid would be several arrangements of two cones that represented different kinds of sex. there was sort of a key next to the black and white artwork that explained everything. i sort of forgot most of the good stuff. all the definitions were simple. one word. all lower case. except for the word GOD, which was naturaly in caps. and ARTFUL which was naturaly in artistic crazy handwriting. artful sex was represented by a silly silver embroidered triangle that was bordered with studded diamonds.
when we were leaving, some stranger had to drive the family mini van around afew blocks. my dad was sitting in a middle seat. my mother was sitting in the passenger seat. and we didn't have much time to get moving or the traffic would overcome us, so the stranger had to hop in and steer the van around the block.
my dad was getting nervous because the stranger was driving with exagerated hand movements and grandiose steering circles. my dad made a comment like "if you turn the wheel less, you might not have to correct your steering so much."
"they're doing some construction on the side of the road," was his explination. "im sorry but the vibrations are shaking the car, making me drive like this."
there were people jack hammering all over the road. and occasionaly the big fountain would spray water at us.
in my dream, the new cool sport involved the fountain. people would stand around it in a field, anticipating the spray. in order to win, you must survive the full cycle without getting wet. of course, the cycle is always changing. because the sexual-psychology of america is always changing. it's quite the errotic game.
sid called me on my cell phone and asked me if i've seen the new tv show. it comes on daily at 7am and again at 4pm. and it's like three or four hours long. so, it takes up 8 hours of quality programing. i don't know. apparently it's real amazing.
there was another part in my dream that no longer makes much sense. i was in the navy. i payed a visit to my old house. then i went to an award ceremony.
at the award ceremony, i was trying desperatley to get laid. there were three females in perticular. they were wearing white dresses with dangling crystals. at some point i was explaining to a female officer that i was no longer in the navy and that we only existed in a dream. so we could have sex without fear of being charged with fraternization. and i think she bought into it.
of course, i think i remember a big fountain being the centerpiece of the award banquet hall of the ceremony.
i remember that at my house there was an issue of where the jr.seamen were going to lock up their stuff. my house was transformed into some sort of naval station and all the seamen were berting in the bonus room above the garage. a lot of the cupboards and things were transformed into lockers.
the navy has been re-entering my consciousness. it must be something to do with the solar cycle. i don't know. i can't think up a better explination.
two nights ago, i had a dream that i ran into someone i knew from bootcamp. we started talking about jaccobs, the division fuck up. right before we were all suposed to leave, jaccobs was fucking around and punched someone in the nose. it was an accident but so fucking retarded. how does someone accidentaly break someone's nose?
anyhow in my dream, he was somehow able to turn the whole situation around to his beenefit. some doctor took a look at him and realised that jacobs was just a misplaced genius. and in my dream, jaccobs was a math genius. and he had some top secret security clearence job.
i burst into tears. i just started crying. and i think it was sam that came out of nowhere to comfort me. we were sitting in the bonus room of my old house on vashon. and i just cried and cried and cried.
anyhow. that's the news from dreamland.
last night, i blew it. as i was leaving work, about 4 girls were oggling over my car. they said "we like your car!" and those girls were so cute, i could have taken them all home with me. i should have said something. done something. but i just thanked them and drove away. and they watched me until i was gone.
when i got home marty was still awake. we stayed up until 2am drinking beers and listening to music. fran was passed out on the bed. apparently she came over, smoked a bowl and passed out. shes 33 years old and just smoked pot for the first time.
"shes got it real good," marty said. "she doesn't do shit for me, but there isn't anything that i wouldn't do for that girl. isn't that fucked up?"
i will never forget marty.
"i'm a bad man," he would say. "don't do what i do, do what i say. don't turn out like me. i'm a bad man."
he's 55 years old, but he's got the same energy and lust for life as an 18 year old boy. and with fran passed out on his bed, you'd think he'd take advantage of her completley. but no. even with all the shit he's seen and all the shit he's done and all the shit she's put him thru, he is noble. and he takes care of the girl.
we drank thru the night. and we sang our woes about women thru the night.