Love

Last night I dreamt I sat with some friends, and L., and some of her friends, around the same table. There were several conversations engaged, but of course, i was most interested on what she had to say. She and a girlfriend of hers were discussing something about drugs or a highly alcoholic cocktail; the other girl was too embarrassed to continue, but on my request, L. shared the recipe. (She claimed "I am not ashamed of knowing my history.") Then she sat closer to me, and we talked about Mexico, and more of her drug habits. At some point, she was so near that all I could see was a pendant in her necklace, something with silver and rubies, which she kept putting on and off. Then i looked up at her face, she said "Gosh, you're cute", and kissed my lips.

Everybody seemed to take the hint and they left with different excuses. We were in Vidreres, outside the house. Earlier that day, i had drawn a cartoon or a comic asking L. to go out with me; she was now drawing a reply on the same paper. I was quite sure her answer would be yes. I invited her inside.

We sat down in the living room. The TV was on. Her reply was in a closed envelope; we had decided that I was to read it in front of her, as though it was some sort of ceremony. This happened around midnight. My father told me to make sure I'd switch every light off when we went to bed, explaining every step, like he always does; i couldn't wait for him to leave. He did at last, but my mother came in then, and started checking the cupboards. My father, looking really ill, or demented, came back in his pajamas, carrying a backpack, and tried to climb up the wall, or something equally stupid. L. was growing impatient. Not to mention how I felt. The telephone rang. That was the last straw: my family has a history of mental illness; but dialing our number at midnight, that is insane; no one would do that. Obviously, my house was losing stability and falling into chaos, the weak fabric of order unraveling as I watched. I was dreaming.

I must state this: i knew i was dreaming, but i thought i could escape the dream taking L. with me. So we would be together.

There she was, sitting, pretending she was watching TV, her envelope waiting on the table, trying not to see the dream around. I called her. But I couldn't remember her name. Unbelievable. So I called her txà (/chah/), which I often do. I said, "Txà, let's go". We left.

We walked around the neighborhood. It was late night, but there was daylight around us; and too many people. But at least I still had her. We kept chatting. She was so nice. I remembered her name, but it wasn't L. anymore. It was A. She said a couple things about her, things I knew already, things she had told me already (like which side would she have chosen, had she lived in the American Civil War). She was not L. anymore. She was A.

[When I woke up, I didn't know how to feel. A. is nice too, I'd enjoy her company, but she'd reject me in real life, no doubt about it. And I really plan to keep aiming for L. and her rejection.]

Famosa

Last night I dreamt i finally went out with Anna.

Night had fallen, i had guided her through the northern neighborhood to some summit, we were enjoying the view and it was time to have some dinner. We took the first street downhill. There was a garbage truck near; buildings were old like churches in villages. I asked her what her real name was, and she said it was "Famosa". I asked her family names, but she gave me obvious fakes.

At this point of the street, as Borges wrote in 1944 and I read yesterday (because I'm sure this is how my subconscious understood it), "the city was torn into suburbs". I was planning to take her to the neighborhood on the left, but she headed for the one on the right. I thought it would make little difference and I didn't want to give the impression of having a planned route, so i followed her.

The place was holding its fiesta. There were no houses; just stacks, all of them empty. There was a bar labeled as "Similar to the Iris" in marker on the wall, but it was closed. We reached a round square or a deserted merry-go-round. Two latino guys warned us that the spot was dangerous, and said, "We'll watch your backs". On top of the central pillar, as we were walking around it, another man in a purple shirt told us not to listen to the first ones, and he added we should run if anyone pulled out a knife. I felt very uneasy. She seemed acquainted with this sort of environment; i wasn't, but i wouldn't say so.

Suddenly, two people pulled out knives. The guy in the purple shirt grabbed his own weapon. We were caught in the middle. She yelled me not to look at the blades; i couldn't look anywhere else. They settled their differences; the one in the purple shirt won, exactly when i realized that he was the one who would kill us. She and i ran in different directions; of course, i took the wrong choice. He flinged the knife at me.

I couldn't run anyway (dream block, you know), so i fell and lied there. I was given up for dead, though I was alive. She had made it out. Maybe the knife was still dug in my flesh, i could not feel it. The purple shirt guy and his boss were chatting after the battle. I fantasized with the idea of making hover the knife in the air, powered by my resentment, make it fly towards them and slash their eyes out.

Red and blue

Last night I dreamt I got killed.

The hero in the dream was another guy, one who was investigating a series of murders in my campus. Actually, only one person had been killed so far, but the case resembled a series of four murders committed long ago. I was the second victim in this second series. I had something to tell the hero and so he tried to take me into a safe place so i could tell him; i think we were in a rest room, or maybe it was a stall; anyway, I died. They split me in half. It didn't hurt, really. I bled red and blue blood. From the pool of blood, some kind of bird came out and flew out of the window. My soul leaving the body, i guess.

Later the same night (afternoon already), i dreamt zombies—lots of them. Some were using wheelchairs. I tied their wheelchairs together, and i guess my plan involved pushing them off a cliff.

CVENCA

Last night I dreamt i was traveling up a river through a city. I think i was helping illegal immigrants into Barcelona. We were not on a boat exactly; perhaps we were aboard a motor raft, but there were so many of us (black kids mostly, but also a cute girl, i seem to remember) that the raft was invisible below the surface. If i tried to sit or kneel on it, the water level would almost reach my nose, and a kid would try to lean on my back. So i chose to pretend to swim ahead, being actually pushed by the raft. This way i didn't get tired. The river was a wide one; there were many boats scattered around and small-sized orcas jumping and diving around us. They were all very friendly.

The rest of the trip was on foot, uphill, towards the northwestern summits of Barcelona. The black kids have vanished. There are some places i remember [i.e., i remember in the dream having been there awake]. Like a street called Damià Peira (or similar) that starts as a tunnel, then continues as a narrow channel under the shadow of an elevated boulevard, with the sunrays still reaching the old, red-painted doors. Or a ramp that zigzags upwards to connect a street with a higher level, and a roofless carousel that looks exactly like a rotating DNA double helix. (On the higher level i entered a small, dark grocery store where i bought me an Okey (˜ American Yoohoo) and a banana. I gave half of the banana to a midget old woman begging for food.) Another image i remember was that of the beginning of Cuenca street, a faraway corner ending in a circular building where you can read "CVENCA" and the sign of a bar named "Garaje". Cuenca St. continues up north from there, winding up the mountains.

Notes:

- I guess most of those places do not exist.

- This blog is now 5 YEARS OLD.

Lincoln

Last night I dreamt i was taking a history exam, and the teacher [N.G., from college—one whose famous tests consisted of one single question] simply asked "in which airport was president Lincoln murdered". He gave two options; i think one was something like "Heatherfield", and the other was "The Old Acton".

I didn't know. Someone whispered to me it was Heatherfield.

Burnt

Last night I dreamt we were having a terrible fire season in Vidreres. Yesterday we had one fire at home. It nearly killed two maids. These fire victims are burnt to the bone, paralyzed, apparently dead, but still blinking. We had our burnt maids lying on stretchers, strapped on, out in the porch.

Today, our neighbor, R., was almost killed by another fire. His son sends us for the ingredients of a medicine to get his father moving again. Back in my house, i am texting him a list of ingredients while the others (i'm living with people from the office, Oscar and Paula and some more) decide our next step. We agree at last that we don't want to stay in town for fear that the burnt will take revenge on us. (Fire victims tend to go homicidal.) I text A., R.'s son, to come in his car and get us as soon as possible. By popular decision, I am to text him again giving him only five minutes to try to wake up R. and leave him if he doesn't succeed. Deep inside, we're all praying for R. not to respond, because we don't want a burnt zombie in our escape car; however, we had to give A. the chance.

Five minutes elapse. We sigh with relief, within our impatience, because this means A. will come alone, having failed to wake his father.

Ten minutes elapse. I receive a text message from A: "Oh, I thought that was a long ingredient" ('come in your car to get us and let's flee the town'). Shit. We'll have to wait some more. The sky is getting darker and darker. A storm is approaching.

Ten minutes later, another text message: "Okay, I'll try to wake him up for five minutes."

We fear we might be taking the killer with us. The car arrives. We run downstairs.

[I can't remember the rest.]

Tobacco spiders

Last night i dreamt a new species of Arachnids.

Tobacco spiders are bone-white in color, with darker reddish brown stripes on the legs. Males are not bigger than 5 cm in legspan; females may range from 10 to 15 cm. They are frequent in tobacco drying barns, hence the name.

Tobacco spiders may be kept as pets, much like silkworms. A male and female must be kept together in a closed box with no light source, filled with dried tobacco leaves. The male will act as a female's servant, cutting the tobacco into a thin floss curled into little balls. Each one of these can be smoked in a cigar. The female stays in a corner of the box, lying on (or hanging upside down from) a very thick silk bed. She is specially revolting.

They are all your children

Last night I dreamt some movie scenes. [When i woke up (by accidentally pulling the bedside lamp to fall on my head while asleep), i was going through this scene by the second time. And i had gone through several others in the previous pass.]

Photo by jarsyl.

A man who has just lost his job is walking past a mall in the middle of the night, when he is somehow lured inside. He enters, then reaches a room where the lights are on. It is filled with wooden mannequins, perfectly aligned. They're not some ventriloquist's puppets, but toy dolls representing natural-sized, sad-looking, ten-year-old boys.

The man comes in doing some kind of magic trick to amuse his wooden audience, like crawling through the ceiling instead of walking. Then he throws another doll at them—one he was carrying with him as a present. The mannequins don't move (of course). He retrieves the doll by pulling an invisible string attached to his hand. Much to his surprise, however, once the doll is back into his arms, it hugs him and starts to silently cry with joy. Small chips of paint snow down from its face onto the man's shirt. I've even dreamt the soft guitar music in this scene, but i wouldn't know how to put it down.

The man is puzzled. He stands up and tries to leave, only to find that all the mannequins are "pulled" towards him, as though moved by invisible strings attached to his hand without him knowing. He finds them all hugging him and crying noiselessly, while a voice through a speaker says, "they are all your children".

Oceanica

Last night I dreamt a series of scenes where i was near Claudia in some way, but she either ignored or despised me, and i didn't do much to be nice to her either, although deep within me all i wanted was to get some attention from her. The closest i was to her was in one scene in my room in Vidreres. There was four of us. She had just joined us and i was quitting what i was doing so that we could go together somewhere, though more likely we were planning to split in pairs and she was not coming with me, for she never spoke to me; but she did observe me as i finished a page where i had painted three caracters at the top and then i wrote in pencil: "I'll finish this once i've become an inhabitant of Oceanica".

[Loving someone sucks. Most of the time.]

Baixador

Last night I dreamt i was ascending to Vallvidrera on foot up the north side of Collserola, not the south side, where Barcelona lies.

After climbing for quite long, i reached a building in the middle of the woods which seemed to be the Catalan railroad unstaffed station of Vallvidrera on this side of the mountain. It looked just like in the picture — a large, brown brick building with three phone booths on one side. I took a photo of this building with my cell phone camera, but i was too tired to keep my hand from shaking, and the picture came out all blurry.

From here, i came across some other tourists on my way up. One of them was a very fat man with his wife; he was looking for a studio in the neighborhood where he had just been hired as a designer; i heard him asking other people for directions.

Finally, i reached Vallvidrera at Carrer de les Alberes. Not far from there i found a grocery store where i could recover my strength after the long trek.

[When I woke up, i knew this store does not exist. I'd be lucky to find a single open shop there now, so i gave up the idea of going up there today.]