August 19, 2004

• Disturbing Dreams, and a
  Seriously Disturbed Dreamer

  The
  latest was the second in a related series of dreams.  Both dreams
  involved a novel sport or form of entertainment.  The setting for
  each was a gun show.  In an auditorium off the main floor of the
  show, ticket holders( who brought their own [loaded] weapons) were
  allowed, on a signal, to shoot at the person on stage, who was shooting
  back at them.  The game ended when the audience had done in the
  volunteer “star” / victim.

  In the first dream of this series, I had brought a handgun, and along
  with Greyfox and some other friends in the audience, had done my share
  of the shooting.  When the signal to fire was given, we got off
  our chairs and started overturning them to use as shields.  This
  was a “show” in which you really wouldn’t want a front row seat. 
  The stage was just a raised platform at the front of the room, and some
  of the shooters in the back of the room were hitting other audience
  members up front instead of the man on the stage.

  This wasn’t cleaned-up or exaggerated movie violence or the stuff of
  cartoons.  There was blood, but not overmuch.  Effects were
  varied depending on the type of weapons used, the parts of bodies hit,
  etc.  Some exit wounds were big and hideous, some people just
  crumpled quietly to the floor, and there was a moderate amount of
  screaming, moaning, cursing, etc.  As the man onstage took shelter
  behind a lectern there, my companions and I split and crawled to
  opposite sides of the room, moving forward to get a clear shot at him,
  while most people just stayed behind their own overturned chairs and
  fired almost aimlessly.

  There was a general awareness among the crowd that this was something
  new in which we were participating.  People’s reactions after the
  man onstage went down varied from anticlimactic letdown to horror and
  nausea.  One person didn’t want the “fun” to end and turned his
  gun on others of us, until he found himself the focus of a ring of
  loaded guns aimed at him.  If he hadn’t dropped his, that
  crossfire would have been interesting to see.

  This dream this morning was set in the same place, a sort of seminar
  room off the immense hall where the trade show was being
  held.   I had brought a rifle this time, and the
  determination to end the shooting quickly with a head shot (presumably
  spoiling everyone else’s fun).  Ticket prices had gone up from $50
  the first time to $150 now, and there was a new wrinkle:  a form
  that had to be filled out certifying a number of things such as mental
  health (kinda laughable now that I reflect on it — what sane person
  would be applying for tickets to such an event?), with a legal waiver
  of liability attached.  Obviously, our little previous shakedown
  run had revealed a few flaws in the original plan.

  One major inconvenience was that the forms had to be turned in and
  tickets purchased at an office across town from the auditorium.  I
  set out walking and at first had no time pressure.  Then I
  encountered a young man, a stranger to me, who wanted to walk with
  me.  When I hesitated he said, “Don’t worry, I’m not a ladies’
  man.”  When I queried that, he just smiled and wouldn’t
  answer.  From his statement and mannerisms, I inferred that he was
  gay.  Along the way we encountered someone else, and this was
  someone I knew, although I don’t now know who he was.  The three
  of us experienced several delays along the way, until I realized that
  time was running short and I had to hurry if I was going to reach the
  office and get back to the gun show in time for the shooting.

  We had been walking on a sidewalk skirting a school’s athletic field,
  and I took off running diagonally across it, toward the office that was
  my destination.  I don’t run, have not been able to run more than
  a few steps for as long as I can recall.  It felt good, but soon I
  was winded and my companions caught up with me.  We conferred and
  checked our watches and agreed that it was already too late to get back
  before the shooting started, so we began a leisurely walk toward
  mid-town, to eventually swing back around toward the gun show on the
  outskirts of town.

  Along the way, on the edge of the downtown section which I recognized
  as San Jose, CA, I encountered a man I had known in Boulder, CO. 
  He was about to enter a storefront that turned out to be where he and
  several of my old friends from various counterculture revolutionary
  groups of the ‘sixties and early ‘seventies were living.  
  They invited us in.  The decor was typical Hip / revolution
  style:  India prints draped on walls and ceilings, cushions on the
  floors, hookahs and other drug paraphenalia openly displayed everywhere.

  This storefront had been a bakery or pizza shop apparently.  There
  was a big brick oven in the middle of the one big room.  Its steel
  door was missing and had been plugged incongruously with a floor
  pillow.  My old friend Annie whom I’d met in Colorado and
  re-encountered after moving to Alaska, was baking something and we took
  turns pulling the pillow out to check the progress.  We had tea
  and they gave me some unidentified pills which I took, and then I woke
  up.

  My immediate thought upon awakening was:  “Dope dream!”  I
  felt relieved that it was a dream.  The relief focused on the
  drugs, and then I started thinking about how automatically and
  unthinkingly I had accepted the pills and swallowed them, just like the
  old days.  Then, I started reflecting on the violent images in the
  dreams, the sexual connotations, etc.  Dr. Jung, where are you
  when I need you?

  “Day off” update:
  Yeah, right…I took a day off yesterday, I said.  After I wrote
  that, I said to myself:  “I’ll just shelve some books, then I’ll
  sit down and sort socks.”  Then I happened to push some books off
  the open back of one shelf and in reaching behind the shelf to retrieve
  them I got my arm into a place I couldn’t easily get it out of. 
  Crouched in front of this tall bookcase that sits at an acute angle to
  one wall to allow access to a wall outlet behind it, I was
  trapped.  Doug was asleep, so calling for help was
  pointless.  I could envision myself pulling the whole load of
  books and bookcase over on myself, so first I paused to consider my
  options, then I swept everything off that open-backed shelf with the
  other hand, shifted my position a little and managed to drag my arm out at the cost of about three square inches of skin.

  After gathering the recent accumulation of unmatched socks from the
  laundry basket and the backroom niches where they’d landed, I reached
  overhead and took the big old wicker basket in which the older stash of
  odd socks was stored (along with the silks I’ve been saving for
  quilting and other crafts) off the top shelf.  Beside it, I
  noticed the wicker hamper and recalled that it held some of Doug’s
  extra underwear I’d stored away there before he had a room of his
  own.   I realized that if I had him go through that hamper
  and put away in his room the things that he wanted to keep, I could get
  rid of the rest and then separate the old socks and the silks and
  perhaps relieve the overflow situation in that open basket, that had
  occasionally dropped an odd sock or a silk shirt on the floor or on my
  head as I passed underneath.

   It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that the silks are all
  in the lopsided open basket and the socks in the covered hamper, I
  realize that I’ve lost a significant amount of storage space.  I’m
  going to take them both down again — some other day, one in which I
  don’t have to go to town — and stuff the socks in with the silks again
  and just put up with the overflow.  Then I’ll have the hamper for
  something else… maybe Greyfox’s off-season underwear or something.

   When Doug got up, I remembered that we needed to make a water run
  because what we had wouldn’t have lasted until Saturday and I probably
  won’t be fit to make a run tomorrow since I’m going to town later
  today.  So my busy day off ended with a trip to the spring, a stop
  at Elvenhurst to salvage more books and artworks, and a side-trip to
  the general store to rent Master and Commander.
  
  
  
  It’s
  Steve Brooks’s 59th birthday — Steven Emilio Aguinaldo Brooks,
  formerly of Kodiak, Alaska, my co-worker (in the 1970s) at Open Door
  Klinic in Anchorage who introduced me to Doug’s dad, pushed us
  together, a divine matchmaker.  Happy Birthday Steve, wherever you
  are.

  I’ve been collecting an accumulation of quizzes and questionnaires and
  I guess this is as good a time as any to post them.  Here goes….

  The Ultimate Politics Survey

  Describe your stance on:
  Abortion: Libertarian
  Affirmative Action: Liberal
  Age of Consent: should be on grounds of mental/emotional maturity, not age
  Animal Testing: better than some of the alternatives
  Death Penalty: might work if the system were not so cumbersome, faulty and corrupt
  Downloading Music/Movies: inevitable — the concept of intellectual property must change
  Drug Decriminalization: I’m for it.
  Factory Farming: nasty business
  Free Trade: Libertarian
  Funding of Arts: Liberal
  Gay Marriage: In a rational society, marriage would be obsolete.
  Gun Control: Those who handle firearms should definitely know how to control them.
  Immigration: I’m a One-Worlder — open borders or no borders at all
  Hardcore Pornography: What’s obscene to one person is just interesting to another.    Evil to him who evil thinks.
  Human Cloning: It can be done.  Someone’s going to do it.  Then we’ll find out what happens next.
  Miltary Draft: What if they held a war and nobody came?
  Minimum Wage: Libertarian
  Prostitution: ditto
  School Vouchers: nonsense
  Taxes: necessary evil
  United Nations: great concept, flawed execution
  Universal Health Care: not as long as “health” is a euphemism for “medical” and the medical profession is so fucked up
  War on Terrorism: bah humbug
  Welfare: Naaah, let the poor wretches beg in the streets.  :-p

  Take The Ultimate Politics Survey
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  I am The Moon The Moon is the light of the realm of the unknown – the world of shadow and night. Although this place is awesome, it does not have to be frightening. In the right circumstances, the Moon inspires and enchants. It holds out the promise that all you imagine can be yours. The Moon guides you to the unknown so you can allow the unusual into your life. For a full description of your card and other goodies, please visit LearnTarot.com

  What tarot card are you? Enter your birthdate. Month: Day: Year:

  The Ultimate Death Survey

  What do you think happens after you die?
  My essence goes on living and my body rots.

  Do you believe in heaven?
  no

  Do you believe in hell?
  no

  Do you think you will be judged after you die?
  The teachings I choose to accept say I will judge myself.

  How many people would attend your funeral?
  I hope my family will have the good sense not to hold a funeral for me.

  Would you rather that people cry or laugh at your funeral?
  irrelevant question — If possible, I would prefer to disappear from
  this life without being missed, causing no grief or loss to anyone.

  What’s better? A shot in the head or downing pills?
  Both suck.  Neither is sure death; both possibly only debilitating.

  What should be written on your tombstone?
  How ’bout my name and dates, if I must have a monument?

  Would you rather die childless or divorced?
  Irrelevant:  I already have great-grandchildren and half a dozen divorces.  None of that matters much.

  Do you want to die in the morning, afternoon, or night?
  Does it matter?

  If you had a million dollars to leave, who would you leave it to?
  My youngest son gets everything I leave.  My other descendants
  have their own lives, but he’s staying around to help old Mom.

  What kind of flowers do you want at your funeral?
  I DO NOT WANT A FUNERAL!!  That is just corpse-worshipping nonsense.

  On your deathbed, which moment will you most remember?
  How do I know?  Maybe that moment hasn’t happened yet.

  Have you ever watched someone die?
  Yes, yes, yes and more yesses.  In hypnotic past-life regressions, I’ve watched MYSELF die, too.

  What’s the most gruesome death you can imagine?
  “Gruesome” means “shivery” or “inspiring chills of horror”.  I refuse to try to horrify myself by imagining such things.

  How often do you think about death?
  Not much more often than someone else brings it up, usually, unless I’m
  extremely ill or doing a past-life regression.  Most of the time I
  focus on living.

  Is fear of dying your number one fear?
  not even close — Even before I started transcending fear, I did not fear dying.

  Do you believe in reincarnation?
  I don’t BELIEVE IN it; I recall my past lives.

  Have you ever wished someone you loved were dead?
  I did spend some time wishing an abusive husband were dead, but that’s not the same thing.

  Do you consider life short or long?
  neither

  Do you think you have a soul?
  I know it.

  Assisted suicide for a terminally ill person is:
  one option — euthanasia is another, as is stoic endurance or joyous, productive survival for as long as possible.

  If you were cremated, where would you like your ashes?
  wherever they won’t cause a problem

  Would you choose to be immortal, if you could be?
  My essence is already immortal.  Bodies, by nature, break down and need to be replaced occasionally.

  
  Take The Ultimate Death Survey
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  You Know You’re From Alaska When…

  “Vacation” means driving to Chitina to dip net. You measure distance in hours. Down south to you means Anchorage. You know several people who have hit a moose. Your school classes aren’t canceled because of cold. Your school classes were canceled because of ice. You think of the major four food groups as moose, caribou, berries, and squaw candy. You think that moose season is a national holiday. You know what a real sockeye is, and have a recipe for candy ones. You know if another Alaskan is from the city or the village as soon as they open their mouth. You can spell words like Chatanika, Ninilchik, and Tuntutuliak. [interestingly enough, when I found this thing, they had misspelled Chitina, above.] You’ve had cabin fever. You own moose nugget earrings. Mosquito dope is a part of your daily attire. You think the song Breaking Up is Hard to Do is about spring time. Travel luggage consists of ice coolers (or fish boxes) wrapped with duct tape. A seven course meal is a sixpack and a can of SPAM. You answer the phone and it’s a wrong number, but you know the number of the person they were trying to call off the top of your head. You have bigger tires on your plane than on your car. Someone mentions “super cub” and you do not envision a tiny bear wearing blue tights and a red cap. Your relatives/friends think you live too far away for them to come visit you, but keep asking you to come see them more often. October is the month of your highest income. The reason you don’t own a poodle is because an eagle ate the last one. Kids catch the schoolbus in the dark and get off it in the dark.   [Doug did, for thirteen years.] You know why they named it Chicken, Alaska.  [Nobody in town knew how to spell Ptarmigan.] You know that road flares will start a nice bon fire. You take the door off the outhouse to see the aurora. Your idea of taking a load off is emptying the firewood out of the back of the truck. You know a tail-dragger is an airplane, not a bad day at the office. You know that a Spenard Divorce involves a .357 magnum, not a lawyer. You like your neighbors. You know at least one pot grower. You put up with the pain of a toothache until the Permanent Fund Dividend checks come out in October. You know going “outside” involves a whole lot more than opening a door and walking into the yard. You know Bunny Boots aren’t worn by bunnies or made out of bunnies. You know the meaning of the word “baleen” and it has nothing to do with making hay into large cubes. You take off your shirt and your arms are as pale as your legs all the way to your wrists. You don’t know anyone who doesn’t own a 4-wheeler. You’ve washed your car while there was still snow on the ground. You know a honey bucket is really a bucket, but it’s not really full of honey. You know that the Rat Net is not a rodent catching device. You learned to swim indoors. Your bedroom windows are covered in aluminum foil. Your monthly veterinarian bill is more than your own medical bill. You know a “white out” has to do with winter conditions not correcting fluid for typos. You think it’s normal for a town to put all the businesses on one side of the road.  [You mean it isn't??] Your local golf course has “happy hour” between 1:00 and 2:00 am. [only in summertime] The seat in your outhouse is lined with styrofoam so your butt won’t freeze to it when you have to sit down for a certain amount of time.  [Ours is.] You’ve had to set your alarm every three hours to go start your car and let it run for 20 minutes so hopefully it will start in the morning so you can go to work. Instead of plugging in your freezer, you just move it to the front porch! You open your freezer to take out something for dinner, and are faced with many choices, Pink Salmon, Silver Salmon, Red Salmon, King Salmon, Smoked Salmon, or Halibut! You can play road hockey on skates. You see signs saying Do or do NOT _____ but you never see any law enforcement people. You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from Alaska.  [or wherever]

  Get Your Own “You Know You’re From” Meme Here

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  • 5:24 pm
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