59 — M’s Grave

December 14, 2008


From E.

I dreamt that my good friend “M” died by falling down a flight of narrow stairs. But apparently he had a quick funeral and burial because the next day he was in the ground with grass regrown and I was at a job interview on this interview i was walking with my interviewer and we ended up at the cemetery at M’s grave and I just kept walking even though this was when I first learned of my friend’s death……I woke in shock

35 — Lava Sidewalk

December 1, 2008

ja_1941From J.  I dreamed that my two brothers,my dad, and I were leaving my grandmother’s house. Only instead of a sidewalk, it was a elevated walkway that snaked back and forth above what appeared to be lava. My brothers and I walked in a single file line holding the backs of each others shirts. My brother in front of me walked off the edge and the brother behind me and I fell, as I was still holding the fallen one’s shirt. But I knew I couldn’t pull him up without pulling all of us down. So I let him go.

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29, 30, 31, 32– Four Short Dreams

December 1, 2008

From L.  I dreamed my vagina was a lobster and it snapped at everyone.  No one would come near me.  Maybe this is a natural product of being a 23 year old Virgin.


From B.  I dreamed Britney Spears was Santa Claus.


From L.  In my dream last night I had hot sex with Jamie Lee Curtis.  She was a hermaphrodite.  


From P.  I had a nightmare that noone came to my funeral.  Like Eleanor Rigby.  I was in my coffin and I was so mad to be alone at my funeral.

4 — I Don’t Care

November 19, 2008

From M:


My dream last night:


The dream is in black and white. I’m at the house that I grew up in, but I’m locked out. I go around to the backyard and into that alley. There’s a person standing there facing north, wearing a yellow hazmat suit (it’s the only colored thing in my dream). I go up to the person, and they’re holding a gun in their left hand.


They raise the gun up, and shoot me in the chest. It hurts, but doesn’t kill me. I walk back to the front of the the house and go next door. I ask the neighbor if I could use her phone and I call my mom. I tell her I was shot, and she says, “I don’t care”.

3 — Dating/Being Patrick Bateman

November 19, 2008

From S:


A realm in the variance of perspective:


I’m in an elevator to the top floor of my new executive position job to meet my new boss, hoping to charm him with my charisma and sweet smile. I meet him in his suit; his partner is Christian Bale as Patrick Bateman from the movie of Ellis’s book “American Psycho.” I have personal romantic relations with Christian (or Patrick) at first, but leave him for the top honcho who is the most attractive man I have never seen in my life. Christian/Patrick is not surprised. A little tiffed and pissy like large family youngest children get, but not surprised. We remain friends. In both relationships; flashes of sweet frolicking bed smitten type cuddling. No hot sex; but it’s implied that we’ve been intimate many times before. Lying in bed with the handsome new man I’ve won over, the perspective changes. 


I am Patrick Bateman in my suit walking underneath a muddy bridge, shoes sticking and getting sucked by mud. I find two girls in wheelbarrows on the verge of death, naked, barely breathing. It’s implied that these girls ended up there by a drought; there had been no rain and they were dying of thirst; mermaids, with feet. I walk up to the first girl, a pale brunette, mouth something spiteful to her feeling angry, cut her throat with a razor, one long clean line from one end of her neck to the other. A bright red showers her gray chest, her perfect breasts, blood pouring out of her throat as she makes a final gasp, unmoving, a small twitch, a jerk, eyes glazed, open. I stare at her as she bleeds–hating her. I walk to the other girl in a wheelbarrow, legs dangling, just a few feet away: a blonde, staring at nothing, unblinking, breathing shallow. I tell the girl it’s her lucky day; that she’ll be spared; that I feel merciful. I fetch a dirty wet rag and wring it above her mouth, water grazing her lips as her throat constricts gestures of swallowing. I tell her she should tell people I spared her. 


The perspective changes, I’m walking towards a lunch bistro to have cocktails with my work associates, I see them waving, smoking cigarettes and chatting over scotch and barely touched plates of food. I sit down and have a martini before returning to work. I am no longer angry. I feel nothing.

1 — The McDonalds Pregnancy Test

November 19, 2008

From K.

Last night I dreamt I took a pregnancy test and found out I was dying. I peed on the stick in the bathroom stall at McDonalds. I could hear the kids playing in the playground outside while I waited. They were really loud. Instead of a plus or minus the test came back black– I called customer service on my cell phone and they said it meant I was dying. I got excited because I thought it meant everyone would pay attention to me. But I called all my friends and no one even felt sorry for me. They all told me to stop being so self-centered and that they were really dissapointed. I called everyone in my phone. I dropped my phone down the toilet and left the bathroom. I went and laid down in the ball pit in the playground and sank. I was really comfortable and I didn’t want to wake up.