Another Serial Dream
I think I've mentioned that I am one of the few people I know who can dream, wake up, fall back to sleep and essentially begin dreaming again where the last one left off. Last night, I had another one.
But, before I get to that one, I should mention that I had another Mommyland dream as well. And, there was another celebrity esconced inside the house. It was Geoge W. Bush. For some reason, the former president moved to South Jamaica, Queens and was a regular part of our family.
It felt as if I was very young in this dream, much younger than I would actually have been after our move to Queens. And, maybe it wasn't Queens. Maybe, it was back in Buswick Brooklyn. I get the sense that the main action took place on an upper floor of some sort, possibly in an apartment. The ex-president was more like an uncle in relation to me. At some point, he was standing beside me and I was close enough to the ground to feel the bottom of his leg, like a toddler might touch a towering adult.
Beneath his pants leg, I could feel the upper portion of a boot and the president upon noticing my curiosity, proudly rolled up his pants cuff to reveal the full length of his cowboy boot. It was a beautiful combination of different colored leathers; I remember yellow and tan being the dominant colors. This may have triggered a chain reaction of "W" showing off different pairs of his boots to me.
End of that dream.
A few hours later, I was back somewhere in another dream. It could have been Bushwick; it could have been Mommyland. All I know is I was old enough to have a desk to work at and to have a collection of notebooks. Post-law school, I think. It could well have been my apartment in Park Slope which sort of coexisted with Mommyland.
Anyway, the first thing I am aware of is that I'm working at this desk that, as mine typically is in real-life, cluttered with mail and other paperwork. Suddenly, a strange young man enters the room and demands to know why I am at his desk and why am I making a mess of it with food stains (I was probably drinking coffee and munching on something?)
When I look down at the pile of paper on my desk, it's mostly composed of familiar items: long, handwritten classnotes from an old law school class; maybe, a letter or two dating from the 1970s. The weird part was thatthecloser I looked at any one item, there was always something slightly off about it - the handwriting, the artwork penned in the margins - that was just enough to mark it as belonging to someone else.
The artwork suddenly became a focal point of a confrontation with the young man who I quickly surmised was in his twenties, slim, with blonde hair. He wanted to collect his work and take it with him. The challenge was identifying what was his work and what was mine?
There was a row of tiny painted landscape studies that were close enough to my style that anyone else would have had troube distinguishing them. But, I knew that a majority of them were not my work and that the young man was entitled to them.
But, I couldn't help noticing how similar the work was and then how similar their creator was to me. We were both slim and narrow-jawed. We both had prominent foreheads. In fact, it felt like he was my doppelganger in every regard except one: he was white.
End of that dream.
I awoke feeling very amused by that dream as well as the one involving George W. Bush. By that point, I distinctly remember noticing a reddening of the sky in the East and must have fallen back asleep almost immediately.
Well, the slim, young stranger was still occupying my house or apartment (it still isn't clear what the venue actually was.) Only now, he has even more personality. He has become a bit of a flirt. He is clearly another gay man. And, not unattractive. He sort of reminds me of my last boyfriend, John Kudlak, who was also slim and blonde with a kind of a heart-shaped face.
But, that was where the similarity ended. This guy had much more self-confidence than John ever had and clearly did not have John's dependence on his conservative, Catholic family.
In fact, the longer the dream went on, the more details emerged about the way this stranger looked and, in fact, was different from anyone else I've ever met. To begin with the blonde of his hair was a dye. He had dark roots and a bit of a dark uni-brow.
The next thing was that he had clearly forgotten about the mess on his papers. He was prepared to move on and, what's more - was really into me. He had someplace to go and used that as a pretext to ask my opinion of how he looked. He was most proud of his butt and he pulled down his pants to prove its worth.
It was difficult to dispute butts with him. His was a doozy: curved but not too prominent. It looked tight, although I don't remember actually touching it.
He pulled up his pants then next unbuttoned his shirt. He spread it open just enough to reveal a flat stomach and chest topped by a small mat of dark hair, thus confirming his true coloring. It all happened so fast that I barely had time to register the fact that he really was into me.
Then, the dream ended.
But, before I get to that one, I should mention that I had another Mommyland dream as well. And, there was another celebrity esconced inside the house. It was Geoge W. Bush. For some reason, the former president moved to South Jamaica, Queens and was a regular part of our family.
It felt as if I was very young in this dream, much younger than I would actually have been after our move to Queens. And, maybe it wasn't Queens. Maybe, it was back in Buswick Brooklyn. I get the sense that the main action took place on an upper floor of some sort, possibly in an apartment. The ex-president was more like an uncle in relation to me. At some point, he was standing beside me and I was close enough to the ground to feel the bottom of his leg, like a toddler might touch a towering adult.
Beneath his pants leg, I could feel the upper portion of a boot and the president upon noticing my curiosity, proudly rolled up his pants cuff to reveal the full length of his cowboy boot. It was a beautiful combination of different colored leathers; I remember yellow and tan being the dominant colors. This may have triggered a chain reaction of "W" showing off different pairs of his boots to me.
End of that dream.
A few hours later, I was back somewhere in another dream. It could have been Bushwick; it could have been Mommyland. All I know is I was old enough to have a desk to work at and to have a collection of notebooks. Post-law school, I think. It could well have been my apartment in Park Slope which sort of coexisted with Mommyland.
Anyway, the first thing I am aware of is that I'm working at this desk that, as mine typically is in real-life, cluttered with mail and other paperwork. Suddenly, a strange young man enters the room and demands to know why I am at his desk and why am I making a mess of it with food stains (I was probably drinking coffee and munching on something?)
When I look down at the pile of paper on my desk, it's mostly composed of familiar items: long, handwritten classnotes from an old law school class; maybe, a letter or two dating from the 1970s. The weird part was thatthecloser I looked at any one item, there was always something slightly off about it - the handwriting, the artwork penned in the margins - that was just enough to mark it as belonging to someone else.
The artwork suddenly became a focal point of a confrontation with the young man who I quickly surmised was in his twenties, slim, with blonde hair. He wanted to collect his work and take it with him. The challenge was identifying what was his work and what was mine?
There was a row of tiny painted landscape studies that were close enough to my style that anyone else would have had troube distinguishing them. But, I knew that a majority of them were not my work and that the young man was entitled to them.
But, I couldn't help noticing how similar the work was and then how similar their creator was to me. We were both slim and narrow-jawed. We both had prominent foreheads. In fact, it felt like he was my doppelganger in every regard except one: he was white.
End of that dream.
I awoke feeling very amused by that dream as well as the one involving George W. Bush. By that point, I distinctly remember noticing a reddening of the sky in the East and must have fallen back asleep almost immediately.
Well, the slim, young stranger was still occupying my house or apartment (it still isn't clear what the venue actually was.) Only now, he has even more personality. He has become a bit of a flirt. He is clearly another gay man. And, not unattractive. He sort of reminds me of my last boyfriend, John Kudlak, who was also slim and blonde with a kind of a heart-shaped face.
But, that was where the similarity ended. This guy had much more self-confidence than John ever had and clearly did not have John's dependence on his conservative, Catholic family.
In fact, the longer the dream went on, the more details emerged about the way this stranger looked and, in fact, was different from anyone else I've ever met. To begin with the blonde of his hair was a dye. He had dark roots and a bit of a dark uni-brow.
The next thing was that he had clearly forgotten about the mess on his papers. He was prepared to move on and, what's more - was really into me. He had someplace to go and used that as a pretext to ask my opinion of how he looked. He was most proud of his butt and he pulled down his pants to prove its worth.
It was difficult to dispute butts with him. His was a doozy: curved but not too prominent. It looked tight, although I don't remember actually touching it.
He pulled up his pants then next unbuttoned his shirt. He spread it open just enough to reveal a flat stomach and chest topped by a small mat of dark hair, thus confirming his true coloring. It all happened so fast that I barely had time to register the fact that he really was into me.
Then, the dream ended.