Dream 4/27

Interesting...

Roommate comes over to my side of the mountain and I'm expecting him to ask me to clean up the workshop - which I'm always suspicious he wants to ask. Instead asks me to come out, take look, and my opinion.

It seems that, while I'd been asleep. There was a great redecoration undertaken. And the room was now decidedly dark.

I'm like "uh....". He tells me it was all his girlfriend's idea. She seems proud of herself. I'm pretty sure I spent the rest of the dream trying to find a nice way to say, "please, put it back".


In other waking life news - I was told I'm too short to play a character debuted by an actors that is my height.

Producers & casting people, by and large, are clueless people enjoying a small sampling of power they've managed to alot.

Therefore: they're a pretty much like everyone else.

Lockturnal

Dream from a few nightmornings ago:

I'm in a barber chair, seemingly getting a line. When I get out I feel like there was more hair removed than was necessary for just a line. I frantically begin searching for a mirror, knowing that I told the barber to just line and not remembering him going any further.

So, frantically searching, finally find one, see that all is as it was.

Conclusion?

This is not the first hair dream I've had, but it seems the most definite:

I don't want to cut my hair.

Which likely means life is going to present me with an option based on doing just that. I suspect this will take place sometime between May and June.

Einstein Flies the Bird

So, ever since a trip out the Flushing Meadows a few weeks ago, I've been periodically websearching (which is a word that should be entered into the modern English lexicon) the two world's fairs that occurred there trying to get a picture of what it was like.

In doing so today, I found myself back at this website which, by 2012 standards, is quite quaint and unsophisticated in its presentation of information, but is probably the single best repository of it for the 1964 fair on the web. In fact it was just today that I figured out its design enough to go deeper into the attractions from the fair it documents.

I've been browsing for a few hours, trying to find out where the various exhibit spaces that were removed and re-purposed (yes, people moved whole, huge buildings from this thing - such was the excess greatness of the US mid-century and pre-Vietnam backlash). While doing so I came across the Westinghouse Pavilion section and started reading about the two Time Capsule buried after each fair. The NYWF64.com even has a downloadable pdf of the 1939 book of record that was sealed in the '39 capsule.

I started looking through it, curious how it would explain to people 5000 years in the future to decipher it (paradox, conundrum, effed-up situation, fruitless endeavour - you decide) and came across a section dedicated to "great minds" of the time. Assuming this would lead to some fine self-revelatory western civilization praise, I looked through a few. The third turned out to be my good friend whom I've never actually met Albert Einstein. It was in German. This was disappointing at first - particularly since great pains are taken in the section of the book before to explain English to future readers (??). I've read some of his writings on war and society and was piqued at what he would have decided to include in a capsule intended to be open 5000 years in the future. Fortunately and sensibly, the following page was a translation. Below is the scan of the actual page from the book of record. Peep it:



And now I am left to wonder....am I the only one who sees this as a delightfully bold exercise of subversion?

hm...

At the moment I'm thinking

that expression is the act of saying.

Communication is the act of saying to.

I was just in bed

feeling some obligation to read the Bible...not a burden, but some freeing responsibility.

I rose and walked to the bathroom, a mysterious vertical power lofting me up from below - stepping in front of the mirror, the familiar, already known source made visually evident, emphasized by the cotton legs of unders pushed incrementally up by the activity of dormancy.

I sit here aware of some power. I am wondering if it is from reading about modern mythic heroes while feeling the urge to sleep, to dream.

I dreamed that I returned Home to find an overnight renovation that also made the inside of my family home vast and manoral. In evening there was a party of due size, at which I discovered that someone had published these thought contained here as "journalism". This was somehow connected to suger-glittered gumdrop figures which I gathered held some value. At the discovering, indignant, I reclaimed my right to my words and noticed that all the trappings seemed to be leaving as well..at which point, like freed children, the vast space began to be used not for the things we'd always wanted to, but for the things we HAD used them. The last thing I saw was kneeling to the floor and releasing through tears the pressure built up in claiming one's own self.

I do not know how much connected this was to hearing of my sister's similar waking-life reclamation of self and my verdant hope that this time it sticks, but knowing that it takes a few tugs on the rope to get out of a really deep hole.

The Sun is out. Today I will stand uP.