I'm standing in an apartment.
My friend Stuart is there.
The apartment belongs to Mark Chester, a San Francisco photographer.
For some reason unknown to Stuart and I, we are visiting Mark.
We walk through the apartment and it is rather odd. Around the place are Mark's personal belongings, photography equipment and the like. However, the place itself is a strange construction.
The apartment is a kind of "loft" that takes up the whole top floor of a building. The building is in the shape of a "u".
The walls of the building are made of glass and we can see outside. In the middle of the "u" of the building is another "u" shaped building that is similar constructed and, inside that one, another smaller "u" shaped building. All have glass walls and I can stand in Mark's apartment and see into and through all the others.
I comment on the apartments and think they're interesting - they seem so open and there's so much light. I see inside the other apartments on the same floor as Mark's place and see some covered furniture, but they mostly look empty. I ask Mark if anyone lives there.
"They're away now," Mark says.
Stuart and I continue to walk around Mark's apartment as he tells us about the place. I wonder what he's doing with his photography now, but he doesn't seem to be interested in talking about that.
I look outside and it's getting to be late afternoon. Stuart and I are both feeling hungry, so we decide to go eat.
We say goodbye to Mark, open a door at one end of Mark's apartment and start walking down stairs.
Down and down we walk, around and around the stairway.
We pass by different apartments, which all have glass walls. The building must have thirty floors, but the whole place seems empty.
Outside, I see rolling hills and meadows.
I comment to Stuart that moving from San Francisco to Maine must have been a culture shock for Mark and Stuart laughs.
Soon, we reach the ground floor and open a door to the outside.
It's a beautiful place - lush grass, flowers - and it feels like Spring. There are a few birds chirping here and there.
As we walk, we pass by a field where there are about a half-dozen goats grazing. A couple of them bleat at us as we pass by.
The goats are blue.
Bright, primary-colored blue with white patches.
"I've never seen blue goats before," I comment.
"It's a special breed," Stuart says.
"You mean they're not painted or something?"
"No," Stuart says, "that's their natural coloring."
Soon we come to a small wood building under some trees.
A wood carved sign outside the place reads "Blue Goat Cafe".
We step inside and it's a kind of rustic place; it looks something like a log home on the inside with wood walls and a stone fireplace.
It's still a little early and the place hasn't opened or is getting ready to open for dinner. So we look for a menu as we wait for someone to show us to our table.
On a little stand, there's a thick box that looks something like a book. It contains the menu for the place. The cover is hand-crafted leather, dyed blue, similar to the goats.
I open the cover and see that the menu is some type of mechanical thing. I push a button in the lower right corner and it shows different meal options on little rotating banners, similar to the changeable signs they have at drive-through restaurants.
By reading the menu, I discover that we're on the campus of Glaxo Smith Kline Arts University in Maine and that the campus was formerly called the "University of Maine" until the company bought the naming rights to the school.
The menu is quite strange. Each week's menu is different. The food and options are chosen by a committee of art students at the school each week and work on a theme.
This weeks theme is "I Ran So Far Away: Cultural Constructions of War" and each meal you can get is designed to be a statement about the Iraq War.
The meals don't actually contain food - the idea is that you are seated at a table and brought some drinks and some type of artwork (sculptures, paintings, etc) as your "meal". One, for example, consisted entirely of Lego constructions - an appetizer of little figures representing Congresspeople having a hearing, an entree of an Iraq battle scene, and a dessert of little Lego coffins covered in flags.
Next week's theme was to be "Race, Gender and Identity in Glass Houses".
"This doesn't sound very good, Stuart," I said. "Do you want to see if there's a burger joint around."
Stuart peered through his reading glasses at the menu, smiled and laughed.
"Yeah," he said, "let's get a burger."
And then I woke up.
Showing posts with label landscapes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label landscapes. Show all posts
Monday, October 8, 2007
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Red Rum Bicycle Space Planet
I'm at work.
I'm not in my cubicle in the library or anything resembling the university where I work in real life. This place looks something like a hotel complex.
But it's not like a traditional building.
The walls, windows and floor have the contours of nature, almost as if this were a natural space. There are trees, foliage and grass, but spots might be filled in with an odd-shaped window or there might be a light fixture protruding from a boulder.
I am in a room that resembles the layout of a bar. I sit at the bar working on some paperwork.
My old friend from grade school, Scott, is sitting next to me.
We talk about old times. He's working for the university now.
Scott is now blind. He tells me a story about how he saw someone murdered at the university by a gunman on a bicycle. He describes the man - overweight, shaved head, acting somewhat retarded, riding a teenager's bicycle.
For some reason that isn't quite clear, Scott tells me that he felt a pain in his eyes and he hasn't been able to see since then. I feel sad for him.
Scott changes the subject, talking about a project we are working on.
The room was already crowded when I first found myself sitting at the bar. Now, it seems stifling - people keep coming into the room. They are everywhere.
There are more and more people trying to sit at the bar. Some people in the room sit in chairs with notepads in their lap; others stand, holding computers and talking on cell phones.
The cacophony and press of the people feels overwhelming.
I have to get out.
I push my way through the crowd, trying to move towards an exit.
Soon, I find myself in a corridor and another area that resembles a conference room, full of people. Then, I am in something like a large cafeteria, again, completely filled with people.
I look out a large window in the moss-covered rock walls. I long for the open space outside.
As I look, I notice that we were moving. The ocean surrounds us and there's a landmass in the distance.
As I listen to snatches of conversation, I begin to understand that my workplace is a kind of floating island - it must be five miles long. All of us have been placed on this "ship" to work for a period of a few months as the "ship" makes it's voyage.
I finally make my way towards a door and open it. The door closes behind me.
I am outside - it is steamy hot, the kind of humid tropical weather so typical of the South in late Summer. I smell the ocean. It is finally quiet; the only sound are the waves lapping against the side of the vessel.
I am on a path that leads to a tall building, just up the hill. I feel I need a walk and some time to think, so I start walking and follow the path.
Eventually, I come to the building and go inside.
It is the hospital side of the campus. There are large, roomy hallways and rooms. I walk and walk, not seeing any people in the building. It seems deserted. There are no windows in any of the rooms.
I think I should get back to work. I make a turn and find myself at two large double doors. Through windows in the door, I see the path that brought me to the building. But, outside, it is night - the sun was gone and there are two moons hanging high in the sky. It is snowing and some of the snow has drifted in the path.
I try opening the door, but it is locked.
"You shouldn't go out there, you know."
It hear a voice behind me.
I turn and see a woman, dressed in a nurse's uniform.
"This planet doesn't work like yours," she says.
There is a small compartment next to the door; the nurse opens it and takes out a space suit. She offers it to me.
"You'll need this," she says.
I take the space suit and look down at it, confused. I look up and the nurse is gone.
I put on the space suit, struggling to make it fit over my clothing and carefully placing the helmet on my head.
The helmet locks in place and some lights on the helmet and suit come on. I can hear the suit steadily pumping oxygen to me.
With the suit fully on, I try the door again and it opens.
I slowly and carefully walk outside.
It is difficult to walk - the gravity has changed and I have to struggle to take steps. If I move too quickly, I begin to float.
The wind blows hard and snow comes from somewhere. There are no clouds in the sky and I can clearly see the stars and the two moons.
Finally, I come to the building that I started from. I open two metal doors, step in and they close behind me.
I am in a tiny room, almost like a decompression chamber.
I take off the space suit and move forward through another set of doors.
I am back in the room that looks like a bar. It is still packed with people, but the room is dark and quiet - everyone is asleep on the floor, in chairs, or leaning over on the bar.
I quietly walk around the room, looking at the people and trying to understand.
Then, I see it - through the window.
There is a man with a shaved head, wearing a short sleeved t-shirt with large red and white stripes. He looks to be about forty. He acts as if he were retarded in some way. He is riding a teenager's "banana seat" bicycle on a path outside the window.
It is the murderer that Scott had seen.
I duck down, peeking out at him from the corner of the window.
He stops, looks in the window, and takes a rifle out of a pouch hanging from the handlebars of his bike.
He aims and shoots, breaking a hole in the thick glass of the window, the cold air rushs in. I turn and see a man that was sleeping at the bar; he has been shot and is dead. No one in the room moves or wakes up.
The man on the bicycle presses another button near the trigger of the rifle and a bright red light comes from the barrel of the gun - it is some kind of high-powered red laser.
On the moss covered rock wall, he slowly etches a message, letter by letter.
It reads "RED RUM".
He puts away the rifle and peddles away.
Then I woke up.
rand
Update, 7/30/2007: I told this dream to a friend last night who noted that it mixes up themes and images from three different Stanley Kubrick movies - "2001", "Clockwork Orange" and "The Shining". I hadn't noticed that...
I'm not in my cubicle in the library or anything resembling the university where I work in real life. This place looks something like a hotel complex.
But it's not like a traditional building.
The walls, windows and floor have the contours of nature, almost as if this were a natural space. There are trees, foliage and grass, but spots might be filled in with an odd-shaped window or there might be a light fixture protruding from a boulder.
I am in a room that resembles the layout of a bar. I sit at the bar working on some paperwork.
My old friend from grade school, Scott, is sitting next to me.
We talk about old times. He's working for the university now.
Scott is now blind. He tells me a story about how he saw someone murdered at the university by a gunman on a bicycle. He describes the man - overweight, shaved head, acting somewhat retarded, riding a teenager's bicycle.
For some reason that isn't quite clear, Scott tells me that he felt a pain in his eyes and he hasn't been able to see since then. I feel sad for him.
Scott changes the subject, talking about a project we are working on.
The room was already crowded when I first found myself sitting at the bar. Now, it seems stifling - people keep coming into the room. They are everywhere.
There are more and more people trying to sit at the bar. Some people in the room sit in chairs with notepads in their lap; others stand, holding computers and talking on cell phones.
The cacophony and press of the people feels overwhelming.
I have to get out.
I push my way through the crowd, trying to move towards an exit.
Soon, I find myself in a corridor and another area that resembles a conference room, full of people. Then, I am in something like a large cafeteria, again, completely filled with people.
I look out a large window in the moss-covered rock walls. I long for the open space outside.
As I look, I notice that we were moving. The ocean surrounds us and there's a landmass in the distance.
As I listen to snatches of conversation, I begin to understand that my workplace is a kind of floating island - it must be five miles long. All of us have been placed on this "ship" to work for a period of a few months as the "ship" makes it's voyage.
I finally make my way towards a door and open it. The door closes behind me.
I am outside - it is steamy hot, the kind of humid tropical weather so typical of the South in late Summer. I smell the ocean. It is finally quiet; the only sound are the waves lapping against the side of the vessel.
I am on a path that leads to a tall building, just up the hill. I feel I need a walk and some time to think, so I start walking and follow the path.
Eventually, I come to the building and go inside.
It is the hospital side of the campus. There are large, roomy hallways and rooms. I walk and walk, not seeing any people in the building. It seems deserted. There are no windows in any of the rooms.
I think I should get back to work. I make a turn and find myself at two large double doors. Through windows in the door, I see the path that brought me to the building. But, outside, it is night - the sun was gone and there are two moons hanging high in the sky. It is snowing and some of the snow has drifted in the path.
I try opening the door, but it is locked.
"You shouldn't go out there, you know."
It hear a voice behind me.
I turn and see a woman, dressed in a nurse's uniform.
"This planet doesn't work like yours," she says.
There is a small compartment next to the door; the nurse opens it and takes out a space suit. She offers it to me.
"You'll need this," she says.
I take the space suit and look down at it, confused. I look up and the nurse is gone.
I put on the space suit, struggling to make it fit over my clothing and carefully placing the helmet on my head.
The helmet locks in place and some lights on the helmet and suit come on. I can hear the suit steadily pumping oxygen to me.
With the suit fully on, I try the door again and it opens.
I slowly and carefully walk outside.
It is difficult to walk - the gravity has changed and I have to struggle to take steps. If I move too quickly, I begin to float.
The wind blows hard and snow comes from somewhere. There are no clouds in the sky and I can clearly see the stars and the two moons.
Finally, I come to the building that I started from. I open two metal doors, step in and they close behind me.
I am in a tiny room, almost like a decompression chamber.
I take off the space suit and move forward through another set of doors.
I am back in the room that looks like a bar. It is still packed with people, but the room is dark and quiet - everyone is asleep on the floor, in chairs, or leaning over on the bar.
I quietly walk around the room, looking at the people and trying to understand.
Then, I see it - through the window.
There is a man with a shaved head, wearing a short sleeved t-shirt with large red and white stripes. He looks to be about forty. He acts as if he were retarded in some way. He is riding a teenager's "banana seat" bicycle on a path outside the window.
It is the murderer that Scott had seen.
I duck down, peeking out at him from the corner of the window.
He stops, looks in the window, and takes a rifle out of a pouch hanging from the handlebars of his bike.
He aims and shoots, breaking a hole in the thick glass of the window, the cold air rushs in. I turn and see a man that was sleeping at the bar; he has been shot and is dead. No one in the room moves or wakes up.
The man on the bicycle presses another button near the trigger of the rifle and a bright red light comes from the barrel of the gun - it is some kind of high-powered red laser.
On the moss covered rock wall, he slowly etches a message, letter by letter.
It reads "RED RUM".
He puts away the rifle and peddles away.
Then I woke up.
rand
Update, 7/30/2007: I told this dream to a friend last night who noted that it mixes up themes and images from three different Stanley Kubrick movies - "2001", "Clockwork Orange" and "The Shining". I hadn't noticed that...
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