Dream Journal, estimated on 8/7/2019

Two dreams. The first one is simple, I am in an apartment and there is water everywhere, pooling all around. I try to soak it up with towels and buckets. I’m not sure where it’s coming from, maybe a broken pipe, but it’s everywhere.

It wasn’t this bad and the apartment wasn’t this tacky, but oh well.

Second dream is much more involved. In a WWI-style trench warfare environment, a war hero’s M60 machine gun is recovered after his death in combat. A blacksmith is brought to the battlefield to retrieve the weapon and ordered by the Papacy to restore it as a way to commemorate the war hero and other war dead. Everyone is vaguely Italian. The blacksmith is a pacifist, though, so he empties the gun of all its ammunition before taking it back to his pacifist community on a mule. The Papacy orders a greasy/unsavory inspector type to make sure that the weapon is functioning again or at least restored. The blacksmith and his daughter bring the inspector up a flight of stone stairs to a small stone hill. All around them in the shallow water young men and boys are playing and practicing gymnastics. The daughter retrieves the restored weapon from a platform in the water and presents it to the inspector with a smile. The inspector lays the weapon down and begins to load it with ammunition to test fire it, firing directly into the crowds of young men and boys, whose bodies burst open with blood and everyone is screaming and crying out. The inspector is exacting payback upon the pacifist community for them not participating in the war. The dream ends with the blacksmith taking his tool and striking the inspector down in shock and rage, breaking his pacifist vows.

An M60 machine gun

Commentary: Water is a component of many of my dreams. The Pacifist story sounds interesting, hopefully I can turn it into a short film.

Dream Journal – 7/31/2019 or thereabouts

I still dream about my grandparents; my grandma passed away in 2015 and my grandfather just passed away this March. But sometimes my dreams of them are distorted, not exactly the same face that I knew, but some variation that I still recognize. This happens a lot in my dreams, the “recognizing” of people’s faces that aren’t their true images.

Anyway, I haven’t been remembering my dreams very well recently, so this dream is a little fuzzy to me, even though I recorded it right after I woke up around 3 or 4 am.

I have friends who do bad things a la the movie Trainspotting, or A Clockwork Orange, though not as extreme as the latter. They are picking on someone and I vomit (or some substance) on my shoe. Then I am picking up a prescription at a pharmacy (Walgreens?) when they ask for my credit limit and I tell them. My mother, who is there, says don’t tell anyone who isn’t us. I fly away and see a a building and gardens and fountains down the side of a sloping hill similar to gardens I saw in Florence. I feel sad and am crying because the gardens are beautiful, but small and aging, but the groundskeepers have tried to keep it in good condition, but it still looks a little run-down.

There was a building at the top of the hill, a fountain and hedges beneath it arranged in a line

I continue flying down the hill until I see a level area with many Balinese-inspired stone figures, statues, monuments, fountains, and an empty stage made of stone with red/pinkish curtains. There is a monument or statue that circulates ashes (probably human ashes) throughout the stone edifice. I am flying to a hallway where I am faced with yearbook-like photos of young women (like my high school) whose faces transform into or are superimposed with cat and dog faces. Then I am by the sea, by a salesman I used to know, trying to make sales myself. There is a Japanese restaurant with a job board and employee in front of it. I ask if there is an opening and how to apply, she tells me I have to be a shareholder(?) or part of some Japanese scheme that I am not in and it would be difficult to enter.

Ubud, Bali, Indonesia

Analysis: I interpret flying dreams to be good. The stage beckons me even in my dreams. The ashes are probably those of my grandparents, who we buried in Westfield New Jersey (where they lived for a long time) last week. The transforming faces sound a lot like Deep Dream, but probably also influenced by one of me co-workers talking about her puppy at work. I keep thinking if I should switch over to a more BD client-facing role, and maybe the last bit represents how hard it is to find a job overseas (and the Japanese in general).