This bed is a ship

This bed is a ship is a sporadically updated internet journal, 
a home for odd scraps of writing.

dreamlog 12/29/2012

Dream: my father and I at a swimming pool at night, pushing a tiny boat across the water while sitting in our coats on the edge of the concrete. In the boat, which is tiny but completely technically accurate, just in miniature, is a hamster or a gerbil, curled up comfortably in some little nook. He is enjoying the waves. I have the feeling something very important is happening nearby, possibly something dangerous, but I keep pushing the little boat back and forth. There are voices in the distance.

Dream: There’s a war going on, I think, but I’m in a treehouse library with a man who stops me just before I kiss him to tell me that he’s married. I’m running through a building full of wood paneling, or maybe it’s a barn, or a very large boat. It’s a barn, and for a moment the group of us believe we are safe in some back room, start planning our defenses, when I am lifted up into the air by my neck. I can only see the wisps of invisible threads, feel a cold hand. Someone holds up a mirror and everyone starts fighting. Creatures that can only be seen in their reflection, silver and hard, like ghosts made of ice.

Dream: The front door of my apartment is made of a single thick sheet of glass, and someone has kicked it in and robbed me. But not just the appliances, the valuables, but everything. They have taken my Christmas tree, the paint from the walls, the dust from the floor. My bedroom is completely intact, and I walk back and forth between the two over and over. It’s like someone has transplanted this one room into a different building. I wake up unsure if this has really happened, and lie there a long time, trying not to wake the stranger next to me, trying to remember what was real.

Sid BrancadreamsComment