7/19/10
In a deep, maternal redwood forest, upstate somewhere in mountainous New York, the Fordham grads and I were visiting John Shanley for an afternoon of celebration and brotherly sentiment. One of the first things I saw at his house was a mammoth rock wall in his backyard, menacing because of its supreme height and ornery problems, but also enticing. I left my friends in a sprint and leapt up that wall, scaling it with macho ease, swinging, shifting my weight appropriately, going for that hold just out of my reach…shooting my legs out in front of me…rolling my shoulder to its elastic limits…stretching my fingers out, and grabbing on. I was thankful for all that I had learned, about myself and my body’s athletic potential, at the Rock Club in New Rochelle. And I was pretty sure that I was impressing everyone stories below me.
Randeep decides to follow after me and, being a jackass, wants to throw me off the wall. He pulls at my shirt, shaking and jostling me, and I start to lose my grip, when all of the sudden I feel very solid and grounded, like the rock, and freeing one hand from the hold, I grab Randeep by the arm, and yank him of that wall and fling him down to the ground. This was a shock to everyone, as Randeep is way taller than me and occasionally has unnatural strength on his side. Unfortunately, he landed on his face, and wasn’t moving much. FUCK! I thought, I really hurt him badly! So I rushed down to see him, oh man he hasn’t moved yet, his face was just smushed into the earth and his eyes were squinted, and I asked if he was alright. “Yeah,” he responded, “I’m fine.” Ah, forgiveness. We’re friends, after all.
At that moment, I realized that if he hadn’t been the one to fall, I would have, and I would have smashed my face into the concrete or whatever it was, and so I figured that my self-defense was justified. I was simply playing fair. I mean, I could have just resisted pushing him off the rock face, and been peaceful, but since Randeep was antagonizing me then he should have been prepared for retaliation. Not really the best moral to a story, but a just one.
Afterwards, I was in a German-style beer-garden lodge, literally a log cabin, with an anonymous friend of mine (I drew no sort of association between this character and anyone I really know, but if I had to choose one person, it would be my cousin Erick). We were in the basement of the lodge, and I was aware that someone, a large German man, was tailing me, or spying on me. I went upstairs to get some food and a beer, but as a precaution I texted Erick the ominous message, “Someone is following me upstairs…I might die.” I figured that was warning enough.
Upstairs, I was waiting at the bar for my order to be taken, and the shady figure sidled up next to me and said something…a pleasantry maybe, while slowly unzipping a large…white…broad… confidently sinister smile from his hard face. I don’t think I responded, I just ordered a bratwurst with sauerkraut and relish (although I really meant caramelized onions, in retrospect).
Walking over to the dining area, away from the gentleman whom I wasn’t sure was still surveilling me, I took a moment to admire the beautiful Aryan girls all around me: one in particular caught my attention, a tall, dimpled mädchen with short, curly blond hair, parted behind her ear in a little, ivory clip. She was dressed in 1950’s garb, like a child of WWII, and closely resembled a celebrity. Like a cross between Scarlett Johansson and Nicole Kidman, she was gorgeous. And the way she pursed her lips when she smiled, leaving no wrinkle but only smooth, plush cheeks and two little red curls...beautiful.
For whatever reason, I last found myself in a dark warehouse full of hipsters. At first I mingled a bit, scanning the building for anything interesting, peeking into musky rooms with carpets, rooms without carpets, rooms with lights and those without, rooms with kids on dirty mattresses, and decided that my time would be better spent if I found a quiet spot to be along and transcribe a dream that I had the other night.* So I grabbed a plastic folding chair, walked down some old stairs to an empty garage/kitchen, sat next to the sink, and finally got around to writing the following dream…
…In which my dream self, in the kitchen where I now leave him, transcribes Dream 7, also known as “Many Upsets!”
Comment: I actually dreamt Dream 7 a few days before Dream 8, but I had been lazy about transcribing it. It was only until Dream 8 occurred, wherein my dream self took the initiative to perform what I had neglected, that I realized I no longer had an excuse to put off the task. I am pleased with my subconscious for being so responsible, for keeping my waking self motivated and focused.
In a way, then, Dream 7 actually follows Dream 8, both chronologically and thematically! Read both as if my dream self actually dreamt Dream 7 some time before visiting the hipster dump.
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