04 December 08 Dream

On waking at 5.30 am I am very conscious of the dream and recount it to T. 

The most palpable part of the dream conerns being at work. The building is unusually set in a bush setting on the outskirts of the city. I have borrowed a motorbike from one of the people in the tenancy next to my office in real life. 

Its not as large a motorbike as I am used to – a 550 – but it has plenty of squirt.  I head down the gravel road on this bike and notice to the left some military aircraft – 4 x fighter/bomber jets painted black and a hercules transporter. They are vaguely hidden in the bush, but clearly visible from the road as I ride past. I save the prospect of looking at them a little more closely for later.

 

I reach a destination/waypoint. I’m at the foot of  a large eucalypt – something like a Tuart tree. From here the motorbike becomes a helicopter. I turn it vertical, or a part of it, and affix a small, apparently flimsy plastic propellor vane – its about 6 inches long, to a central propellor shaft.

I ascend quite naturally, and quickly. Its a flight motion that I am familiar with in my dreams. The helicopter simply gets me there faster, higher.

I notice that I am in danger of my back hitting the tree on the way up. I need to watch my back – I realise as I ascend. I also notice the planes I mentioned earlier, assembled on the ground below.

Soon I am what seems to be about 10000 feet in the air. Its very thin, and I can see the world below as if in Google Earth.

 

Suddenly I realise I am to high and begin to descend deliberately. This means that the rotor i going the opposite direction. As it proceeds to do so, it unwinds, and comes off!

I quickly realise hat I am plummeting, and see the flimsy rotor disappear from my reach. I have a moment of panic; clearly I am goint to fall rapidly! I have presence of mind to direct myself toward the rotor, and by manouvering like a sky diver in free fall I catch up with it and secure it back onto the shaft. Its a piece of crappy plastic, but none the less I make it fit.

Just in time – we have descended to about 1000 feet, and the rotor is arresting the rate of fall now. On terra firma, and relieved.

- return ride back

- discusion with bike owner about insurance

- meet greg smith, discussion about:

+ social network franchise opportunity/distribution master

+ ex mormon – his 6 wives

+ charles there

realisation that worknext door  is a front fro an online marketing agency – and they have the necessary capacity to leverage for the social network. girls in container doing facebook

- my map whihc has comercial value

- return to the planes – as plastic models

- a site visit/field trip. real life models in the environment a mixed reality ap

- going over models I have produced – challenge stadim, artworks in a park

- vsiting UWA

- a potential commision -offer of work – its like going back a step but with authority

- my blue tooth headset going off like a banshee – i realsie its social network coming alive, everyhere I go, someone knows me wants to stay in tocuh.

- the rain causes reception to breakdown

waking. reflecting.

Fri 23 Nov 2007

The day before the election. A time of transition. Starting backwards…Breaking down a camp. It seems I have been on a camp as a leader in training. There are a lot of men – no boys. Its like an MKP weekend. We are breaking down a solid wire fence. At the corner point the 12 gauge wire is sheathed with rubber tubing, like one of those “bras” protecting the front bumper of a car. Its a one piece kind of thing and the fence wires must all be release, rolled up before we can remove the rubber piece.

While other men take the wire apart, I decide to tackle “the business end”. This involves taking apart a kind of “latch” that is embedded in a timber post/rail even part of a truck’s wooden bumper bar. Its an involved and time consuming process as I only have a pair of pliers.

Eventually I get it done, dismantling the latch. It looks like a complicated affair to put back together however. I’m left with a bunch of parts; some old, some new.

Then I volunteer for another job with the white duck driving a a big truck rough and tumble through the grassy bush. Its a precarious journey across ditches not made for vehicles at angles which would normally tip over a truck. We are looking for a couple of objects left behind which I dont know about, but he does. I cant find them because I dont know what to look for. He finds something – then hands the truck to me. I’m left wondering what I should be looking for and find another fence. Actually I drive straight into it. And he says yes that’ll do. So having watched others and taken apart the latch I begin to roll up the wire myself. I’m exhausted. So before the trucking experience there has been a big food night. I dont recall the meal, but the cleaning up I do!

There are lots of left overs to besorted out from the dishes. As well, someone is keen on collecting the broken crockery. So this is a task I do – separate the food scraps from the broken plates. Before this, I am in a pub, which appears to be the Brass Monkey. We are following the course of a small fluffy pink bird. Its some kind of exotic animal that must be kept in the boundary of the pub. I’m monitoring its progress, as it is intent on escaping. A Japanese tourist, an older lady, unwittingly opens a door onto William St, where it takes the opportunity to escape and runs down a storm-water drain. I lift the drain to recapture it; its just out of reach, and begins to change colours, yellow, turquoise, white. I have to abandon all hope and let it go.

Returning into the pub, I’m accosted by a man in his 20′s – yellow t-shirt and ringlets of tight curly hair. He is quite aggressive and I am aggressive back with him – though mindful and assertive. I point out his aggression or rather my interpretation of it and he is somewhat contrite/apologetic. He didn’t mean to come on so strongly. So we chat and it turns out he is photographing some independent movie clip being made upstairs. Its like a music video clip with some stray young women in it.

He has this old camera – the first SLR – which may be a Pentax (Penta Prism). Its small and wouldn’t look out of place with other current digital compact cameras, but is an SLR. Its a heavy bronze colored metal.

I look through it at his chosen scene. The women are having a discussion. One of them reminds me of Ms M. They are wearing leather shorts and hats and it looks like some kind of 19th century period piece.

Earlier in the dream there was a scene involving T’s boss – a man of non-specific chracter. He was in a motocross race of some sort. A poster confirms this. Its done in a constructivist graphic style – red, grey and black . We recall some public spectacular race. Before that I forget…

Tue 20 November 07

A “rites of passage” dream. I am holed up in a hotel somewhere in the USA. Ist not what people expect it to be cracked up to be.

There is a sleeping bed-twin bed joined together in the impression of a king size bed and a large sofa on which I have decided to study sleep for all but the last day. On the last day, I think hell, why not sleep in, sleep through what ever subject it is I should be studying for. IRL its 6.30 am and I’m sure its later. G gets up early Tuesdays and Thursdays for Chinese, leaving at 7.30 am, whihc is about when I too must get up to cycle.

And today is MCM Tuesday and also a big 3 day meeting with some OS customers.

One scene – I’ve gobe to the beach – city beach with Mr B and his 3 year old son C. Though onlyMr B and I swim. Its a test of our manliness. We have to race into the water, where it is cold. Upon entry, the underwaterness is not at all familiar – its foreboding. Essentially, there are no weeds, just the sand and shells. This leaves the water quite lifeless. In addition someone (the government?) has added large vertabrae from unknown creatures (whales, dinosaurs) whihc are strewn and stackled on teh ocean floor and can be climbed upon. We can breathe freely underwater which defies logic IRL. I climb up a stack, several vertebrae high and find myself perched perhaps 20 feet or 2 storeys high. There is a woman below who is in some combination of a phone call (its free) and a bingo competition, which is irritating and impeding my progress.

Another scene vivid at the time concerns the recovery of a knife. This is a Mundial kitchen knife, given to me I reckon IRL as a 21st birthday present (though it may not have been). IRL its tip has been broken off accidentally, unthinkingly by my house mate Ms H.

In our kitchen she has inserted the knifde into a crack in the counter top and boiunced it, like a ruler ti make a funny boinging sound, whereupon its tip has cracked off. I get a sense of the end of my penis being cut off, after all this is a rites of passage flavoured dream. IRL she merely dropped it and its end snapped off.

I forced her to have the long 25 cm blade ground down into a stumpy 20 cm knife. It is still functional (short and thick does the trick) though not the sharpest knofe in my drawer.

I am pleased I insisted taht she go through with it. (she is accountable for her actions)

And I bear no malice.

Monday 19 November 07

Assembled witha small crowd of 20 art/design/media dudes.
Its subdued evening light and we seem to be tucked in an urban space – abandoned part of the North wing of Royal Perth hospital like it was when I used to explore it in the early 80′s living nearby.

A pretty view over the Perth light industrial landscape/railway tracks (Mr H, T and I used to run up and down the hulk of this building early mornings/evenings)

There’s a natural or semi-intended amphitheatre in this space and we start projecting images on to the wall. I have sugggested we all chip in $50 each for a $1K projector and everyone agrees by putting up their hands. Later on we return to another building and have a full-on dance/DJ to the images and movies.

There is a new building project and a very thin aluminium and cable rope ladder to climb.

14 Nov, 2007

I’ve taken OB to an auction – he’s there to buy a small [powered truck – the size and style of a mini-bike. I’m not particularly impressed with his choice of lot to bid on. But we go. I find some Lego which I negotiate a good price for. It’s a council surplus auction . We see Mr A’s ex-partner Lee.

I arrange to go to a retreat-like place and learn the finer points of throat singing. She is there to have an operation to her throat to sing more effectively. I am part of the team encouraging her to go through with it. Mr D is also there. At some point the men get nude, to expose their common vulnerability in each others presence. We have a day together – Lee and I – we drive up the coastline of California and look over the sea. It’s a spectacular coast. Later we return to an urban café for the operation performed by Mr P the sound meditation guy.

I am drafted to do a ceremonial separation from her parents/brother. This is done by walking up a hill/mountainside

13 Nov 2007

I am dreaming of 33 Wellington St. A house I pass at least once a week. A constant reminder of the “golden years” of my life – tinged also with some darkness as it wasn’t always easy either.

In 1981 I lived there and in 1982 I met Tula and she moved in with me. I bought a big red Suzuki 750. I also got a disease from a woman I shall call Ms C.

This dream centred on going back to the house now and meeting the owner/occupier a woman in her 40′s called Cecilia. She was not “my type” in a physical way but I liked her personality she seemed reasonable. There was a discussion about renting 33 Wellington St as I declared I couldn’t afford to buy it (though I would if I had the spare cash) But that if she was selling to contact me as I was certain I could arrange finance. I end up finding several friends to co-fund the purchase, though not people I would immediately think of to co-share a place, the offer is for a quasi office/commercial use.

As I negotiate with Cecilia I find myself becoming entwined with her through our shared love of the house. She doesn’t really want to give it up. Part of me wants her to so I can have the place, but part of me wants her to stay so I don’t have the responsibility, but have the pleasure with having to live with her being an appealing prospect, though not a driven choice o my part.

It feels right. Meanwhile Mr S and Mr S have come over and I am part way through explaining the finances and it has become apparent to them there is a greater interest which they both interpret as sexual. I am happy for it to become and be seen as such, but in reality it isn’t so.

So the rental contract appears as if it might become a sale/purchase and I has stepped a notch. There had been a recent development with two girls – heirs from a previous owner who had been in jail, but whose prior rights had just come to light. Cecilia was in the position of being bound to sell to them first or give it back free of any charges.

But fro some reason this claim has appeared to have subsided. So I am in a rear bedroom making final plans , need to get dressed, get a lift with Cecilia to sign the documents at her place of work then move on to the daily grind. I can’t find a purple sock among the stuff on the floor, and Mr S is holding me up through small talk and his curiosity; waiting to know more about the situation.

Afterward I head downstairs and outside to get breakfast with Cecilia. We discuss the merits of ham and cheese croissant and opt for that.

Sat 10 Nov, 2007

A bright early sort of morning. Many vignettes in this dream – no logical story. Living in a house on a big street. It’s a two story house built right to the street front. A drab grey-brown cement render. Below there are shops, so it’s a shop-top apartment I guess. Across the road and down to the left, but visible from our place there is a greasy mechanics/garage.  The bloke who runs it is rough, but with a good heart. I’m over there having a chat getting something fixed up, when I talk to him about this would make a great cheap restaurant. Authentic atmosphere on top of the garage. Meals $10-20 changing menu, simple dishes.

 

I’m persuading Mr C to become a partner. He is up for it in a casual nonchalant way.

 

Later in the evening I am in the street outside the house and there is a rogue gunman on the loose. He is in a video store on a killing spree, with a gun, also threatening to kill himself. I don’t recognise him. He’s a blonde youth – Martin Bryant-like. I am talking to him, trying to persuade him to stop his mission but he is insistent. So I smother him in an attempt to reduce the impact and give people a chance to get away.

 

He keeps on shooting but not killing. A bloke near me gets it in the leg and I see blood ooze from a neat bullet hole. I also feel a stinging sensation somewhere in my leg.

 

Later there is a party, gathering at the house/garage where I wan to do the restaurant. T and some of her friends have taken an interest in remodelling the building. I have a plan though they have a different architect in mind (one of her friends) with a different point of view.

 

Later that evening there is a party. We are eating and playing some sort of card game.

6.30 am Wed 27 Feb 2008

There has been a Christmas function planned at work. It’s a fairly economical affair this year. Normally we try a new restaurant, but this year we have chartered a bus.

I have to first go across the park to visit Mr B and his team at another government led think-tank. I take a bottle of red wine and a pair of thongs for some reason in a brown paper bag.

Upon arrival, they are having drinks and I stay for one, conscious that I really need to return to my party. I don’t want to miss the bus, or cause any unnecessary delay.

Mr B has been confined to walking sticks. His legs are somewhat frozen up. He hobbles around as if on his knees.

I have a drink and nibble on some food. As I make my way back to the main party, I find myself in a suburban shopping centre. There is an old ramshackle stair well, neglected and unsafe, and a number of us are scaling it via the handrails. For some reason its not practical to climb the actual stairs.

I see a couple of short cuts – gaps in the queue – and take advantage, leaping across the stairs at hand rail height. This hastens my progress back to the party.

On the way at the top floor, a concourse with driveway and car park – there are tables of more food, as if to distract me. I pick up a couple of pieces of some kind of slice. There are savour and sweet parts. The savoury version is basically layers of lasagne pasta separated with mustard. The sweet one is a crumbly apple slice.

I make it back to the bus to be one of the last boarders. When on I notice that a number of the passengers are Russian, in addition to my colleagues.

We move out and its apparent we are heading to some kind of boot camp. Its not clear to me whether we are new conscripts or prisoners.

When we arrive, I can see from the windows, an enormous complex of unusual buildings – all architecturally interesting. Folded aluminium or stainless steel in appearance. It looks like a designers holiday camp, with guns.

We leave the bus, and I am now with essentially the people on the bus, joined by hundreds of other me waiting to discover their fate. It seems we are being processed, and make small talk. Plans are discussed, and rumours circulate via some of the older hands, about the hardship we can expect – the limits we must endure.

There is a small canal, narrow but deep. Some men are swimming and taking a welcome dunk after the long bus ride. As expected, it is near freezing, so I don’t stay immersed for long.

The savoury mustard slice from before has morphed into a stash of contraband. It has assumed the status of drugs. I’m busily hiding the last piece I have in a large box of matches. I have secreted this first in a brown paper bag in my small kit of belongings then up on a shelf, so as to keep it away form me if I’m searched.

A joint has been passed around earlier, and now a large Russian guard is poking through our belongings, so my idea to secret the mustard slice came in handy.

I find a 4 litre tin of used paint solvent. I throw this into the bay of a passing military vehicle. Something like a troupe carrier, that is filled with rubbish, a combination of wet and dry. Indescribable stuff. Something is smouldering in the rubbish. I throw the can in and wait for it to ignite, and cause a diversion.

I wake up.

Sat 03 Nov, 2007

Morning of Red Bull Air Race. 6.45 am. I am also to meet Mr S from MKP NWTA later this day. My first meeting with a fellow initiate, and I’m pretty excited about that.

Working backwards…

At a huge gathering like a born-again Christian church, among current and new friends.

Ms and Mr K and their daughter M arrive and I’m pleased to see them. I want to share my recent experience with them. In particular with Mr K to offer him the gift, and to concede with Ms K, my collective consciousness experience.

Ms A is wearing a large trench coast with somewhat padded shoulders. Its an animal print – like a leopard or a cheetah.

T is there and I say M is coming which sparks her interest. For some reason she is flipping through a “futile women’s magazine” to look for an item that would appeal to or is about M. I cant see the point but just let it be. A big hug with Ms K and I proclaim to her that I am Cheeky Baboon and that we have an animal common theme.

So I take the moment to persuade Mr K that the MKP weekend is for him. But he holds back – he already has his own man worked out. This tells me more about myself on reflection – how I don’t need to do Mr and Ms K’s way because I have found MKP – which right now is a good fit. The inner challenge – integrating this work with Pathways. A little sad with the realisation I will inevitably dilute one or the other – how much energy has a man got? Another way of thinking – the gross and net energy is actually bigger through my involvement with both Pathways and MKP.

A picture (to be inserted) is worth 1000 words…

Previously in the dream…

We are seated looking around tables in a conference room-like setting. Think: ballroom at a hotel. The microphone isn’t working properly and I can’t hear the speaker. IRL I have a shocking earache/reduced hearing as a result of an infection, so this may be a reference to my inability to hear the speaker without the microphone.
The next speaker, after the first on I can’t hear is Di Ryall, former GM of Apple Australia. I heard she was unwell but know little of her fate. She appeared to me as a reluctant leader who became sick through the weight/burden of her work. That is my judgment. I wonder where she is now…

Friday evening 7.30pm 09 Nov, 2007

A late waking after an early night.

I thought I would get up early as did Tula. But my ear is not letting me sleep. A relapse of the infection.
In this dream we are moving house into North Perth on Fitzgerald St. An old house, partly furnished and with lots of junk out the back, like engines and what at first glance appears to be a coffee machine, but on closer inspection turns out to be a cylinder head.

Oddly we are sharing this house with the M family. It’s a test of my patience and tolerance as they are also having a housewarming party the day we are moving in. We are sorting out beds etc when I go to a music shop to check out a very strange instrument. It is made of very thin strips of bamboo – somewhat like a blind. This is then stretched in 2 dimensions to become a bowl.

A piece of nylon fishing line is drawn around and through the bowl to become a vibrating element like a guitar string. This is plucked like a Japanese koto while at the same time, I sing into the bowl that has now become a resonator.

The whole thing collapses into a sheet of bamboo liked a blind that folds/rolls up.

Insert pic…

It’s a demo model which has a couple of imperfections. I have added another.

The shop keeper wants $645 for it but I offer $500 which he needs to consider. There is another fellow observing Mr B from MKP. I flag him as a protégé of Lindsay Vickery (who is actually a sax teacher/player) though he doesn’t reveal this to me, even though I know about it.

Later I travel home from the music store and bump into Mr B and Ms M and a few friends of theirs. There is a impromptu concert, acoustic and Split Enz have appeared, resplendent with Noel Cromby on spoons! His first appearance, and they are an ornate collection of bakelite spoons. Among the tunes are “She’ll be coming round the mountain” and several other tunes I can play on my teeth IRL.

Ms M is in disbelief about the spoons. We pass some men in a park it is evidently an MKP I-group and very moving. An example for Ms M, as Mr B is soon to do the MKP weekend.