Not Only Cupcake Dreams
I was always fairly certain that the particular brand of mild emotional dysfunction from which I only moderately suffer was at least partly being played out in disturbing dreams. That I have for many years been unable to access my dreams I took as proof that the images being played out on the big screen of my sleep were simply not something I wanted to consider while awake. Lately, in NYC, I have been remembering dreams and I am at least comforted by the knowledge that I was right about the nature of them. They are not back dropped by daisies and sunshine.
Coming out of a small darkly lit back room of a small unfinished, unfurnished slum dwelling I see approaching from a shadowy entrance 30 feet away a very large gray rat that upon closer inspection is actually a diseased and partially hairless cat. When it crosses a ray of projected moon or street light the cat shows itself to be rubbed raw along its spine and while the short scene of this dream mostly consists only of the gray tones between black and white the raw spots are definitely red. Enter from the same ill-defined exit/entrance three pit bulls who then proceed to act as if I am not there while surveying the room for the object of their obvious interest. That object has slinked back to the room from which I began. Two of the dogs move directly back to that room while the third dog is acting a bit absurd and rambunctious. This third dog has something in its mouth, a piece of fabric maybe or a flap of something. The dog shakes its head violently and from its mouth or breaking free from the flap comes the euphonious sound of a small pebble, or in the dream I am thinking tooth, hitting the wood floor with a note all the more startling for being, start to finish, the only sound in the dream.
It is very clear to me that I am unclear about what I want to do, run, or go for help, but as they both require that I exit the scene, that is what I do. I did not however in any of the subsequent disturbing dreams of last night find my way back to the gray room, or the cat. Honestly though, despite the subject matter of many of this week's dreams I am quite grateful for the subconscious feedback. Even though I say I assumed I was dreaming, even without the recall, occasionally I have considered that maybe the projector was broken. But no, seems to be working fine.
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Cupcake Dreams And Business Modeling
Parked near Houston on Norfolk, NYC, sitting in the passenger seat of the Jeep, counting off now just the last eight minutes until it is clear that the street sweeper isn't coming today and then the all of us sitting here on this Tuesday and Friday side of the street, who have moved our cars from some neighboring Monday and Thursday side of the street, will exit our vehicles and go on with our lives. Five minutes now. I don't have any clear plans for my life though and am considering just staying in the Jeep and taking life as it comes to me here. For two days anyhow, until I have to move again to secure free parking. I'm picking up a little bit of a wireless signal here and so I could wile away the day conducting important business via the Internet if I had any business. I could start a business: Jeep Sitting Enterprises. It would be unclear what the company actually does but would attract venture capitalists for unknown reasons and go on to become yet another success story happening to someone other than you. Or I could retrofit the back seats by cutting out a hole all the way to the street, attach a construction garbage bag liner and top it off with a toilet seat so that I could sell bathroom privileges to tourists, homeless people, and methadone enthusiasts. If I sit here long enough I could come up with more ideas, maybe even better ones.
There is an enclosed market near here, on Essex, and in addition to quality looking meats and vegetables and cheeses there is a religious curio purveyor and at this place front and center or slightly off center to the right is a religious collection box about 12 inches by 16 inches by 2 feet tall, made of plexiglass or chicken wire, you are not allowed to take pictures of it so I have no supplement to my memory, but whatever it is made of you can see through it and thereby witness inside of it a small statue of Jesus on crutches, complete with all the bloody man made punctures that later go on to become stigmata. I was alerted to this curiosity by a Jewish friend, Jerome, who carries on knowledgeably about all manner of subjects but is perhaps least expert about religious matters, be they Jewish or Catholic or otherwise. I will sometimes out of boredom or pique engage in argumentative discussions with Jerome but even at my most adamant I know I am wrong and just killing time until I am forced to concede, my stupidity lacking even humorous value. But this is all to say, smart as he may be, Jerome is frankly on the verge of being dumbfounded by what is the meaning of Jesus on crutches. I could Google it I guess but I have chosen to move from my street office into a fifth floor enclosure and free wireless signals are more hit and miss here. And just in case you are thinking, oh, Lower East Side New York, artsy fartsy hedonistic reprobates all of them, that this is probably some sort of art piece, some sort of making fun of God for arts sake kind of thing--no, I don't think it is.
I saw Bernadette a minute ago and she was going out there, into that NYC underbelly, and I ask her if she would bring me back a cupcake but when she responded querulously as to my seriousness I demurred, uh no, but now that's all I can think about, cupcakes, cupcakes, bring me cupcakes.
Parked near Houston on Norfolk, NYC, sitting in the passenger seat of the Jeep, counting off now just the last eight minutes until it is clear that the street sweeper isn't coming today and then the all of us sitting here on this Tuesday and Friday side of the street, who have moved our cars from some neighboring Monday and Thursday side of the street, will exit our vehicles and go on with our lives. Five minutes now. I don't have any clear plans for my life though and am considering just staying in the Jeep and taking life as it comes to me here. For two days anyhow, until I have to move again to secure free parking. I'm picking up a little bit of a wireless signal here and so I could wile away the day conducting important business via the Internet if I had any business. I could start a business: Jeep Sitting Enterprises. It would be unclear what the company actually does but would attract venture capitalists for unknown reasons and go on to become yet another success story happening to someone other than you. Or I could retrofit the back seats by cutting out a hole all the way to the street, attach a construction garbage bag liner and top it off with a toilet seat so that I could sell bathroom privileges to tourists, homeless people, and methadone enthusiasts. If I sit here long enough I could come up with more ideas, maybe even better ones.
There is an enclosed market near here, on Essex, and in addition to quality looking meats and vegetables and cheeses there is a religious curio purveyor and at this place front and center or slightly off center to the right is a religious collection box about 12 inches by 16 inches by 2 feet tall, made of plexiglass or chicken wire, you are not allowed to take pictures of it so I have no supplement to my memory, but whatever it is made of you can see through it and thereby witness inside of it a small statue of Jesus on crutches, complete with all the bloody man made punctures that later go on to become stigmata. I was alerted to this curiosity by a Jewish friend, Jerome, who carries on knowledgeably about all manner of subjects but is perhaps least expert about religious matters, be they Jewish or Catholic or otherwise. I will sometimes out of boredom or pique engage in argumentative discussions with Jerome but even at my most adamant I know I am wrong and just killing time until I am forced to concede, my stupidity lacking even humorous value. But this is all to say, smart as he may be, Jerome is frankly on the verge of being dumbfounded by what is the meaning of Jesus on crutches. I could Google it I guess but I have chosen to move from my street office into a fifth floor enclosure and free wireless signals are more hit and miss here. And just in case you are thinking, oh, Lower East Side New York, artsy fartsy hedonistic reprobates all of them, that this is probably some sort of art piece, some sort of making fun of God for arts sake kind of thing--no, I don't think it is.
I saw Bernadette a minute ago and she was going out there, into that NYC underbelly, and I ask her if she would bring me back a cupcake but when she responded querulously as to my seriousness I demurred, uh no, but now that's all I can think about, cupcakes, cupcakes, bring me cupcakes.