There I was a homeless man on a trek to the pizza shop my only care in the world waiting at the intersection You pulled up passenger in a pickup truck in your beauty and your bright, blue eyes Am I worthy enough for a smile? and you gave me a smile and though it was the day after Thanksgiving it suddenly felt like Christmas and the snow seemed to be blowing around touching my nose and eyelashes and I could see you in a bonnet with the wind rushing through your skirts We must have been lovers once some kinda sisterly lovers warm underneath the blankets in our childhood but for you, your bed is the bed of a redneck And I’ll never understand you And yet you belong on that prairie with the unforgiving North Dakota winds foreboding a hard winter And I’ll never understand you with your hard, closed–minded man who don’t understand you You, wearing your red, fading handkerchief whose red never fades You, some kinda Josephine kidnapped from an aristocrat’s ball taken to some backwoods, backwards boonies where you are the only thing between hard–living and beauty And I’ll never understand you though I’m the only one who’d care to
I’m in a dorm room preparing for class. I find a rather cool touchpad device that I seems to be similar to my smartphone. It has a number of well-crafted, polished buttons all over it. I talk to a dorm-mate about it. He says it’s some ninja’s who in is our class. I hang out with some girl classmates. We are laying around, informally snuggling or napping next to one another. I’m attracted to them. I either snuggle or attack a girl. Rather that an attack, I find I’m pressing with concentration under her blouse on a mole on her sternum. This cures her of some shameful thing in her past. She’s says “it’s hard for a girl brought up as a Muslim slave to enter into the space program.”
I’m leaving the parking lot. There has been a huge accident. A sportscar has been totaled. The front of my car had been crushed as well. Someone must have drive perpendicular into these parked cars. I see some guys, college age. The caused the accident. They are nice guys; they apologize. They hand me an insurance address. No, it’s no insurance address; its the government agency they work for; they are uninsured. I’m not going to get coverage from them. I take this well, impervious to financial considerations, and talk convivially with them. One guy admires my shoes, which are getting warn. He says he’d love to have them. I tell him I was about to order some new ones for myself and he’s welcome to them.
I go into the building. There is a business party going on. A man’s face is begins to puff to ghastly proportions. I ram my hand into his face and cure him. He is gingerly grateful.
I go into the hall and see this very posh young man. This is the pyshcologist with the fancy touch device. I already have a therapist; I will see him anyway.
By the time I’m finished with this dream, I realize that it crafted created by remixing Simpson cartoons (not from Simpsons cartoons I’ve seen, though).
I’m an Indian boy who is in a fortress and am a slave to a sheik. At first, I try to impersonate an aide-de-camp. I can tell this is failing and before an mortal reprimand, I turn into a squirrel, a flying squirrel of sorts, because I grab hold of a delicate, purple scarf and use it like a parachute as I leap out of the tower and land lightly on to the cobbled city street. From here I become an academic ward of the state.
2nd Dream (This is sort of a meta-dream encapsulating the 1st)
A man who resembles Smithers, minus his obsequiousness (so, his alter ego), confidently dictates a story to a young woman through a long night. She becomes exhausted, but at the end it is a very nice story. Smithers tells her “that is the work of a virtuoso, my dear,” with mild romantic overtones.
There is an old-fashioned pocket watch pinned to wall in front of a bed. It’s time is behind. I see its minute hand go by like a second hand for a minute, advancing the hour hand quickly from 11 to 12. Then the watch starts spinning around the pin. After a moment of uncertainty and perplexity… ah, I think, this must be the spirits signaling me. I reach out to the watch to slow it down. My dream dissolves into consciousness.
A cute little girl with burnt orange hair and ponytails sits atop a rocket and breezily careens over the telephone pools and the forest. It’s very cartoony, like a young witch on a broom. She leans back and does a zero-degree loop.
I’m in a college class. It’s in a large and wide classroom.
I’ve brought my groceries. I accidentally drop a half carton of eggs on the floor. They are all smashed. I look under a seat; there is a homeless man living there. I think maybe I can cook the eggs and give them to him, but he his gone next time I check.
There is a washer in the front of the classroom. I go and put my dirty clothes in for a wash. The noise from the water pouring is disturbing the students. I think, maybe I should begin the wash when the teacher isn’t lecturing.
I’m driving late at night behind a utility truck. At the Gallows Road and Hummer intersection, the truck lifts up some low hanging wires. I realize there has been a power outage as I go through the intersection. Then, I realize I have my lights out. I turns my lights on, that doesn’t help much.
I see the road in infinitesimal detail. At this rate, I’ll never get home.
I’m in a small, quiet testing facility: something like a hospital room.
I’m the subject of a psychiatric evaluation. There is a young woman doctor administering the tests.
I press buttons on some radio. I listen to some jazz music. There is a button labeled “Jazz”. When I press it, it accentuates the bass in a pleasing way. Is it the button that does this, or is it just the song? No, it’s the button.
Disco music now plays.
Confidently, I approach her and begin to dance with her. It is alright? Yes, we are laughing at life.
She is so light and soft. I spin her round and round in my arms. She is so happy; we are carefree. We know, at one and the same time, how precious life is and how stifling circumstances make things, and we are putting that aside.
I’m at Pizza Hut, eating alone. Should I just leave? I get up to go to the bathroom. When I get up, I see my meal has been bussed.
I’m about to complain when some other people come in and make it hard for me to get a word in; they urgently need to have their order taken. I’m glad I didn’t say anything.
I see Dora. I’m glad to see her and her way. She is studying to be manager. She has packaged up my dinner; it’s just a couple slices of white pizza. I give her a couple reassuring words before I go.
Wild intuition foolishly sacrificing flesh and blood for heart, cow for beans; what will become of your progeny?