by phil on Monday Aug 25, 2003 11:07 AM
(Progress on my attempts at lucid dreaming (LD). You're reading in reverse order. WILD == Wake-Induced Lucid Dreaming. Also, attempting to find creative and more appropriate ways to relate dreams--i.e. stories and narratives aren't exactly fitting, esp. given the large deficit of clarity)
After writing down the previous dream around 9AM, I tried again with the same techniques, same position, same everything. And, as would be fitting of repetition, I got the same results, no WILD, but still, a dream that I could recall
The back of the kitchen area was damp and grey. Two steps and a guard-rail provided the stage for Steve, or Jose, or a generic Mexican. He was handling girls, guys, bus-boys, workers in a jovial manner and seemed likeable. People would go, "Aye Steve" in the way that they likeable people tend to get.
I thought he was retarded. No really, I did. You never know these days. He was happy, but possibly too happy. He had on the happiness that one could only get if they enjoyed the legend of "ignorant bliss."
He wasn't retarded. Or rather, he wasn't as retarded as I expected, but still relatively dumb. His mental incapacities and capacities seemed to arrive and depart like the disturbance and calm of a secluded pond.
I left this corridor for the sunny day. Next stop was a cafeteria bench with my best friend from high school, Chris Khosravi. Chris was like the opposite of a politician. So, to refresh your memory, a politician is like the social frat-guy in college who says, "yeah, yeah, yeah, totally let's meet up" and never follows through. Chris was the opposite in that he would rarely smile, or look you in the eye, but would help you out if you needed it or support you in times of distress.
Sitting next to an anti-politician, then, reverses the order of feelings one gets around a politician. At first, I sit there, appraise Chris's poker demeanor, as he fails to look at me, and feel frustrated that there sits my best friend. This is how one feels after realizing the politician was just putting on a show. Then, after I start talking to him, I feel comfortable and calm and realize that indeed, all is well, and that Chris is solid. Following with the reverse order of a politician, this would be the feeling you get from seeing Joe Senator's glowing initial "hello."
I leave and come back, and then Chris tosses onto the table a plastic bag of what looks like wet clothes. The bag lays there and oozes into a flatter shape like I assume a bag of fish would do. I ask him what is this show, this package. He says, "Here's the stuff I borrowed."
"Ugh" my interior monologue goes. It's kind of disgusting. Is this my underwear, shirts, and pants that Chris borrowed that he is returning back to me all nasty and sweaty. Yuck. Well, that's Chris for you.