- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 1600
I'm at a cafe with (??) and we're being served by Sheryll. An old girlfriend, I didn't know she worked here but I'm pleasantly surprised, she's grown plumper, wearing a ridiculous white shirt with double bow ties hanging from the collar, we banter - momentarily - and then she tells me that if she'd wanted to she could have "sold out" or "sold herself" (I'm not sure which) a long time ago, then runs off to serve another table.
Now where we're sitting we can see the other waitresses, all dressed in fine lingerie, corsets and stockings, the way the restaurant is layed out they walk in circles, always away from us and so all I can see are their fine, plump asses wiggling as they walk on and around a corner...maybe this is what she means by 'sell out' - she's not wearing the uniform, I'm not sure...
This cafe, there are piles of books upon a rail just above the tables, and I can recognize many from my childhood...I read the author - Franklin W Dixon, and the titles, but the name of the series escapes me - one series by him entitled "The Good Samaritan" - that's not it, it's the Hardy brothers, or something like it - and as I look closer I can see that what I thought were the books of my childhood are simply books painted to look like the books of my childhood, although reading the titles brings back a flood of memories and I want to take some of them down and briefly relive them....
I'm making notes on this cafe, trying to describe it - "Probably targeting the Frat Boy set" I write, but everything I write comes out wrong, rude scribbles in my notebook that I can't decipher, it's as if I'm drunk and can't concentrate, focus...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 1749
She came in on a float plane, the plane landed safely enough but then something went wrong and she died.
I can't remember her face, or even how I knew her, only that I was honoring her last wishes when I stitched her up in white linen and floated her body in the harbour, and looking out I can see her body (seamless white linen) bobbing beside a rocky island...
Her family, they won't be happy, they had their own plans, but that was none of my business, my only concern was that I had done what she wanted....
Now it's the middle of the night and they're dropping candy firecrackers from the balcony into sugared watermelons, icing sugar confections, and the firecrackers explode and there candy fruit is reshaped into explosions and splashes. A woman somewhere is telling me that the girl I sewed up has floated down to a taxidermists, and I'm wondering if she means they will stuff her (surely they won't stuff her???)...
Behind the candy counter there are some people I used to know, work with 20 years ago, they're joking around, there's a pale flabby young guy in a pair of boxer tights and superhero cape and swimming goggles, apparently he's the next big thing in fighters, they're pushing him to the front (this candy store in the middle of nowhere, it's lit up like a stage, spotlight from an invisible above...), I'm a little skeptical of this new fighter, he doesn't look so good to me, but his companions seem sincere in their praise, I'm at the counter trying to find someone who will sell me some candy firecrackers for my daughter...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 1651
I'm at work (??) in a skyscraper downtown. I know I'm at work because of all the people from work I recognize there. But there's a problem, the roof has sprung a leak, huge sprays of water rain from the ceiling, intermittent, sometimes dripping, sometimes pouring, but it's clear we all have to get out, the building is in danger of collapse.
The owner, he's brought in a couple of people to repair things but they're cowboys, they're going to try and replace just a few jousts, meanwhile staff has all disappeared in their several directions, I'm back inside, looking up through a glass ceiling off to the side of the main building, wondering if it crashes down, when it crashes down, if I'll be trapped, squashed under the main bulk, ...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 2044
I'm listening to old music and making lists - hearing all sorts of songs I once loved at once and writing them down so I can find them later.
I wake up. I've left the list in the dream, can only remember Sting's "Dream of the Blue Turtles", I spend the next 30 minutes reliving it on YouTube.