Dream 20021101, 7:25 AM:
I’m at the Kingwood house, and there are three black girls who are staying with us. They are some sort of musical act; it seems to me like they are some kind of pop act that I don’t know anything about. They have arrived very late, and I am showing them around the house and getting them set up to go to sleep. I feel frustrated because I get the feeling that they’re going to get my room and I’m going to sleep on the couch; I think that Richard ought to have to give up his room this time, but I look in and he’s already asleep in there. I follow the girls into the bathroom, showing them where to put their stuff, and try to talk to one of them about their music. I ask if they write their own stuff or have someone who writes for them; she explains that Shakira is the one who does all the writing. I show them into my bedroom, which is the green bedroom, although it seems larger now, and I walk back down the hallway toward the front of the house.
I look out the back door window, and it is daylight outside. I see a shallow concrete ditch behind the house, separating it from the house across the back yard by a short distance. I look at this again, and realize it’s not how the back yard of the Kingwood house is set up, and I think to myself this must be a dream. To check it out, I pick up my feet so that I’m hanging face-downward in the air. I laugh to myself, and decide to go off on a lucid adventure.
Without even a second thought to the guests in the house, I go out through the back door and fly into the sky. I seem to be just sort of floating in a current; I don’t have any particular sense of a plan, just want to experience sensations. It is chill and a little damp, as if it had rained in the night, and it seems dark out here off and on. Some of the time I remember being able to see clearly, but the sky being dark; other times, it seems like it’s day. I gambol around, and through an area full of trees. I reach out and grab a little dead branch from one of them, pausing for a moment next to it, and it snaps off in my hand. The branch is about the thickness of my thumb, and very brittle, as if it had gone punky. I wonder to myself for a moment if I’m actually able to break branches, because I’m dreaming, but then I look at my hand and see the broken twig, and decide that at least I’m able to dream that I broke it.
I fly around some more with no particular pattern or sense of direction, and I eventually find myself on the street a ways down from the Kingwood house. I land, and walk along. Looking up, I see an airplane in the sky; it seems like it’s on its way in to land, because it seems particularly close. Then, I look again, and realize that it looks odd – it’s upside down. It takes me a moment to process the fact that passenger jets can’t go upside down, and I fly up into the sky to see if I can get a closer look. Before I’ve gone very far at all, I realize that it’s not a real plane, it’s a little tiny one, about three feet or so long, hanging in the air not far above me. I reach up and take hold of it, and very gently turn it over so that it is right side up. I feel very concerned about the tiny people in the plane; I look in through the windows, trying to see if I can see them, and if they are all right from the roll-over. The windows seem like they have some condensation on them, and I can’t really see in.
I take the plane and set it on the ground, right by the edge of the driveway. I think that there ought to be some way I could push a button and trigger the emergency exits, so that the people could get out. I look at it, and there is a little button that says something about “Automatic Armpit” and I push that, and a big hatch opens up so that the rear end of the plane is open like a dollhouse, the top hinged up just in front of the wings so that about half of the passenger compartment is exposed. I look closely, and see the tiny people lined up walking to the rear escape hatch. Looking closer, though, I realize that they’re not real people, they’re little Lego-like dolls; they have little plugs for heads, and they don’t have legs, just a little thing that plugs into the floor. I realize that it’s a very elaborate toy.
Just as I’m thinking this, a man says a name; I think it’s the name of the toy company. It’s a long name beginning with an S. I look up, and it’s Chef from NY, and he’s standing against the mailbox, watching me. He’s wearing a sweater that is mostly shades of fuchsia, with bits of black and bright blues. I explain that the airplane had been hanging upside down in midair, and I thought there were real people inside. I then tell him that I’m dreaming, I’m actually here in a lucid dream. He raises an eyebrow, like he’s not quite sure if I’m telling him the truth. It seems like I see his face double, like my eyes are crossed. I close one eye and then the other, and the effect seems to fade.
I say, “And since I’m dreaming, let’s get you naked.” He looks at me with an expression somewhere between amused and surprised, and says, “Are you really *sure* you’re dreaming?” and I reply, “Yup, really sure. I’ve done all kinds of flying, and seen impossible things. This is a dream.” I reach over and pull up his sweater, and he reaches his hands down to help me.
Without apparent transition, we are inside the house, sitting on a chair that is where the speaker sits at the edge of the living room leading into the dining room. I hand him the airplane, and he leans over and places it on the kitchen table, and pulls his sweater off over his head. His chest and torso is very pale, but nicely muscled, and I run my hand over the skin feeling it. He says something that I think refers to a former boyfriend: “And you know what? He didn’t produce a *single* fucking clue-shot. It would have been fantastic.” [My sense when he says this is that he means “cum-shot” but I think the fact that the Nova Dreamer hasn’t cued me during this whole dream threw “clue” in there.] I lean down and start to nibble on his left nipple, the sensation of his skin against my face is very definite, but then I wake up.