explaining the inexplicable

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When H. disappeared in waking life, he began to appear in my dreams. In the more common variant, I would run into him unexpectedly in some public place and he would explain why he had gone missing. These explanations never made any sense upon waking but they left me with an evanescent comfort. In the less common variant, he and I were doing things together as friends but something hung silently between us, his unmentioned, unexplained absence. These dreams became rare as time went by with no contact from him but resurfaced after he ignored my letter. Finally, in a dream, he offered an explanation for his rancour that was intelligible, though not applicable in any obvious way to our waking life: in the dream, H. was an orphan and was upset at me because I knew¬†information about his birth family. Despite some effort, I can’t recall whether he was incensed that I had revealed or withheld said information.

Miss Piggy

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In the dream, I am in a shared setting with MV–a workplace, perhaps? She is a shape-shifter who can assume the form of a pig. In her human form, she doesn’t pay much attention to me, but as a pig she nuzzles affectionately in my arms. I conclude that she doesn’t realise I am aware of her dual identity. I think it has something to do with her drug habit.

don’t talk to strangers

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In the dream, I’m back at my high school, even though it looks nothing like it did in waking life. For some reason, I need to reach the gymnasium, but find it is very far away. I stop a passing automobile to ask for a ride. It turns out that Jorge E. is at the wheel and agrees to take me. I’m not sure if he recognises me but for some reason, I choose not to identify myself. I expect him to just drop me off when we reach the gymnasium but he parks his vehicle and enters along with me. ¬†I find the person I need to talk to while Jorge begins to grill some meat, which I will eventually partake of. He loudly calls out a string of names, including my father’s full name and several others that are unknown to me, so I wonder again if he realises who I am.

There’s a transition to another location. I’m in my flat (not one I’ve ever seen in waking life). My room has balcony along two of its sides and I see a lot of people outside. Someone comes in to apologise to me for an accident he and I were involved in. I move toward the balcony and the many people there greet me in turn. From their looks, they seem to be from the region where I live now. Although everyone is very polite, I am displeased by their presence and wish they would disappear.

new places

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  In the first part of the dream, I’m
visiting a modern city with mum–not one I’ve seen in waking life. A policeman
in a futuristic armour (Roboccop?) instructs me to lie down to perform some
medical examination on me, attaching a tube to my neck. (In retrospect, it
would make more sense for it to be a drug test but that doesn’t cross my mind
while I’m dreaming.)

  
Then I’m inside a large residence where the IQ and many others live.
Typically, I can’t find her. But I enter a long, well-lit room where
people go to expiate their faults. There are large, thick boulders,
almost as high as a man. Each penitent, with a string around his waist,
walks up to the boulder, hugs it and then a trapdoor opens beneath him
and man and boulder fall–I don’t see what’s below. My old teacher L.T.
is there. He tells me he has undergone this ritual several times but I
don’t remember what he says of his motivation for doing so.

long distance black magic

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  I’m living with my parents
in a somewhat dilapidated area–not exactly a slum, but more squalid
than our waking-life ‘hood. In the dream, I have a cousin who is an
Indian witch. Although our relation is not antagonistic, bad things
start to happen while I speak with her on the phone. The one I remember
most clearly is that my friend Dave, who must have been visiting, gets
sucked down the bathtub drain, leaving something that looks like a
dried up tree.

a mouthful

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  I think the dream begins
when I’m in a car with Santiago and another person driving toward a
library in a stately citadel. The narrow roads are brimming with cars
and people and we make very slow progress. I don’t remember what we do
in the library. All I remember is a scene too striking to forget: I
feel something soft moving in my mouth and spit out a bright red
scorpion. It lands on the floor and immediately scurries off to hide.

a midsummer night’s dream

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  My first memories of tonight’s dreams are very indistinct–something about a man who cheats on his wife using hi-tech.
  Then I’m kissing … someone who sporadically reads this
dreamlog. She grows and shrinks before my eyes, rather like Dr. Hank
Pym, although not by as many orders of magnitude.
  Then I’m running through a public place that is crowded (but
obviously not enough to preclude running). At one point, I realize my
course will bring me within strinking distance of a tall, thin, dark
man. On a perverse impulse, without slowing at all, I reach out and
strike his jaw. Before I go too far, I look back and see him standing
still, nursing his jaw. I feel guilty and go over to him to apologise
and ask if I can do anything for him to make it up to him. He assures
me he is okay, flashing a smile that shows his teeth intact. But he
wants to take me up on my offer to do something for him: he asks me to
accompany him to Oslo immediately. I object that it would be
inconsiderate to leave without giving my parents any notice but he
insists it will be okay. I feel somewhat put upon but agree to go
along. Somehow we board a flight–I don’t recall any trip to the
airport. En route, my companion’s manner becomes unpleasant. He leaves
it unclear whether we are actually heading to Oslo or to Praga. After a
surprisingly short flight, we land at an unidentified destination. We
sit down at a small shop/caf

proscenium

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  My first fragmentary
recollection is of being in my dad’s office and hiding away some secret
information in his briefcase.

  Then I enter a vast
auditorium (a leit motif of my dreams lately) and take a seat near the
front. Ahead, on a platform is Professor K., an analytic bigot who
dismissed me from my old school. Here, however, she is acting contrary
to form, imparting mythic wisdom. She asks about the lost continent. I
raise my hand and mention Atlantis but it turns out the allusion is not
to Plato but to another text. Then she tells us about someone, again,
not the canonical, not Odysseus, who spent years wandering in the
Badlands away from home. She points out on the map terrain where he
wandered, calling attention to the forbidding, arid, mountainous
topography. Then it is time for a performance. But in this hall, the
performers occupy the seats rather than the stage. To my right, I
notice Lind__oo and it seems to me she is singing rather badly.

away on a jaunt

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  I’m visiting an unfamiliar
city with MV; I marvel at her presence. (Why will my psyche vouchsafe
such a dream of her but not of the IQ?) We’re in an underground level
of a building when we decide to split up; I agree to phone her later to
meet up. I board the lift, ascend to ground level, exit and begin
walking. The landscape, however, is quite unlike a city: I’m walking
along an arcade between a continuous row of buildings and what appears
to be a boundless garden. Occasionally I pass what appear to be
entrances to subway stations, the only confirmation of the premise that
I’m in a city. At some points the corridors of the arcade are
enclosed–almost all light is blocked out and I become disoriented in
the darkness. Then I am no longer in the arcade but simply walking in
front of houses. In front of one of them is a gathering performing what
seems to be some kind of dance. They are distributed in small
groups–in one instance, a group of one, a woman who is the only one
who catches my attention. None of the groups seem to pay attention to
the others but they are well synchronized in spite of that. Their
motion seems simple and repetitive, rhythmically advancing and
retreating.

  Then, I’m in bed in a room
not my own, looking out the window at a darkening or brightening sky,
sunrise or sunset and think I should call MV. I choose the pseudonym
Charlie Skasz and then a voice says something (or I think a voice says
something) about a skeleton key unlocking things in my subconscious.

the visitor

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  In last night’s dream, I
walk into some kind of seminar room, large but not overly crowded. I
discover there is a guest speaker, the IQ. There is a saintly aura
about her, her voice is mellifluous, her demeanor gentle. Quite a
change from past dreams, not to mention waking life! I don’t recall
what she is talking about but the audience seems to regard her words as
authoritative. I realize she’s blind and is in some sense beyond strife
or whatever it is may have lain between us.

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