Dry dreams

I think dreams are often quite interesting, but I rarely remember mine, perhaps because I sleep so damned much. So I'm going to write them down here when I can. These are mostly actual, REM-sleep type dreams, although some of them I'm not sure if I ever actually dreamed, they may be just figments of my fevered, vivid imagination and/or hyperactive teenage libido. Certainly they're all at least in small part my imagination, because of holes in them that I forgot and had to make up in order to make any kind of sense out of them.

• Gun fight dream: I had this dream some months ago, I don't know why I remember it in particular. I just got into my house after going to school at Cedarwood Sudbury school. As I'm coming in, some guys approach my house. They're all normal-looking, kind of jockish white and Hispanic guys in their late teens or early twenties. One of them asks to come in and change clothes in my bathroom. They look suspicious, so I tell them to fuck off, and I pull out a big handgun. The guy who talked to me says something like, "That's a nice gun you got there..." and pulls out a bigger one. I'm frozen in place until he shoots me through the right eye. I wake up at the instant I would've landed on the floor of my front hall.
  
  Interpretations: The obvious, Freudian interpretation of this dream is, that I'm insecure about my penis and about other guy's penises being bigger. But that doesn't make sense to me, because I'm really not concerned about my penis size (especially since I know the statistical average size, and it's smaller than mine). I think it's more literal: I'm just afraid of other guys wanting to hurt and victimize me, be it for their personal aggrandizement (for fun and to make themselves feel like big men) or for material gain, by robbing me. The gunplay represents my latent/passive-aggressive homicidal tendencies in self-defense (if someone picks a real fight with me, I don't just want to get out intact, I want to be the only one left standing; if someone is posing a serious threat to my safety, I want to end the threat by killing them. I'm not as aggressive as I have been before, but I honestly think that I could remorselessly kill another person if I needed to, if it was them or me).

• Sexual dream: I'm fucking Courtney Love, sitting on the bed with her in my lap in a fancy hotel room. Afterwards, she says something funny about my cock or something, I forget what. I'm not sure if this was an actual dream (as opposed to a product of my conscious imagination), but it has the fragmented recollection of most of my other dreams.
  
  Interpretation: I dunno.... this seems pretty direct. I do actually have some sort of interest in fucking Courtney Love: Not only is she really good looking considering her age and how much mileage she undoubtedly has on her, but I love her attitude. She behaves herself a little too well for me these days, but she still is basically a punker chick, and an opinionated loudmouth who says more or less whatever she likes. That's just the obvious interpretation though.
  
  It's also noteworthy that I'm a huge Kurt Cobain fan, and I wish I could be as cool as him: I wish I had that kind of intensity, and a powerful voice like he had. But I'll rave about him another time. The point is, what better way, to the irrational subconscious, to strive to that than to fuck his widow? I'm not defending any of these concepts, I'm just offering possible interpretations of the junk that spills over from my subconscious into my conscious memory.

• I think I had some weird dream a couple years ago that involved sleeping with (as in, actually going to bed and sleeping with, in addition to fucking) Elaine Benes. I later overhear her talking about how many times I made her come, and blush in front of my friends. (This is kind of embarrassing, because it was the character, not the actress: It was like I was a character on Seinfeld in the dream: I think I overheard her from somewhere inside Monk's Coffee Shop. Weird....)
  
  Interpretation: Beats the fuck out of me. I'm not even particularly attracted to her (I don't know if I was then, either). The only thing that has any resonance with my consciousness, is that I would be amused as hell to overhear a chick raving to her friends about what a good fuck I am.

• When I was like six, I dreamed about something like: I'm an archaeologist in some Mediterranean country, and I accidentally free a big monster that vaguely resembles a Medusa (a mythical Greek creature with snakes for hair). I vaguely recall that just before I found it, I saw an MTV-looking "exclusive" banner off in the corner of my vision. My recollections now seem chintzy-looking and stupid, but at the time it woke me up in the middle of the night, scared the living shit out of me. I think I had eaten some suspect frozen dinner or something earlier that night, and haven't touched it since.
  
  Interpretation: Again, beats the fuck out of me... Maybe it was a premonition that later in life, I would release a sort of monster in myself: I used be a really sweet, polite, innocent little kid. But later on when I became a teenager and hit puberty and whatnot, I've since completely lost that. At first I was just depressed and self-loathing and suicidal, but since I've matured into a walking ball of latent passive-aggressive homicidal rage and hatred towards humanity: I've gone from hating myself to hating everyone else. But that's just as likely a bunch of psychobabble bullshit.

• I've had a number of dreams that I cannot for the live of me remember, but they all were dangerous, and I end up falling a huge distance or stumbling into danger, and I'm too slow to save myself, and I wake up right before the block falls on my head, or I land on the ground, or whatever.
  
  Interpretation: Perhaps these dreams represent my fear of failure in the future when I can't rely on anyone else to catch me when I fuck up. For several years I've had occasional premonitions of growing up to be a spectacular failure: Most recently I've had premonitions of being kicked out of my parents house in the next few years, and not being able to make enough money and becoming homeless. Sleeping in doorways, being a scrawny, scroungy-looking young homeless guy bumming change off passersby, never eating more than once a day, and so on.

• Transparent dream: I'm transacting some kind of business at the ATM at the Wells Fargo bank on Winchester near Stevens Creek in San Jose. A bald, middle-aged guy that I used to work for comes up behind me, grabs me by the ears and throws me across the street. (This is transparent, because I was pissed at him for not giving me any warning before firing me. Also, the job was at the same telecommunications company my parents work for, so they both work with him a little, and I hear about something assholish he said now and then. When I worked for this guy, he bugged the shit out of me because he would interrupt my work, breaking my concentration, because he wanted me to do things in a manner that was not significantly different from the way I was doing them, but would take a lot of time to redo. Also, he was a big fucking poser: He's a porky, bald, middle-aged guy with a mustache with a boring, crappy corporate job, but he was ostensibly into Garbage and Black Flag. BLACK FUCKING FLAG. What a fuckwad.)
  
  Interpretation: The obvious interpretation of this dream, is that I'm pissed at my old boss for interrupting me and screwing with my hard work, and not respecting me and kind of subtly treating me like a stupidass kid. Though (I'm not sure, but this may be a Jungian interpretation) it may be more about my feelings toward "regular" jobs. I don't want to ever have to get another job where I sit at a desk and work on a computer, especially not repetitive tasks like those I was doing working for that guy. Also, it may be about my hatred of established wisdom about getting a stable career. That is, that you're supposed to do well in high school, so you can get into a good college, and get a desk job at a corporation that pays you well. I hate that, because it's so conformist. That kind of thing isn't for everyone, and it's not for me. Lots of people shouldn't bother with college: they're not intellectual enough, they should just go to trade school and learn to be plumbers or whatever. I doubt that I myself am intellectual enough either, and I consider myself not suited to suit-wearing corporate employment. I'm too much of a flaky, free-thinking artistic type. Of course, I think I would be more suited to being a rock'n'roll musician, or maybe a photographer or something like that. Something creative where I don't generally have to follow a dress code or keep regular hours. (As long as I'm pondering careers, I've also considered being an entrepreneur: opening a record store or a guitar shop or something: I love the idea of being my own boss, so I can yell at myself for slacking off).

• 7-26-99: I'm coming home from somewhere with my mom. She lets me stop at the Starving Musician. For some reason, they have comic books, including a "Marshall Mathers" (aka Eminem) comic book. After I leave, we're a few blocks from my house (the Starving Musician seems to be out of place, geographically) and she hits a middle-aged guy with her minivan. I think he went down, but then he's standing up and arguing loudly with my mother.

• 7-28-99: I'm on a big lawn or something, I'm outside. There about two dozen other people outside... it's like a Christian attempt at an orgy or something: everyone is going around kissing each other and shit, but no one is fucking or anything. I don't think I knew anyone there. A chick who looked exactly like Jennifer Aniston (It might have been her, who knows, it's a dream) thinks I have sexy arms or something like that.

• 8-1-99: My dad is being an asshole, and I'm literally ready to give him a severe beating. (This is interesting because although my dad pisses me off all the time, he's rarely an asshole to me.)

• 8-13-99: I'm in a studio, making a record. I thought my band was going to be there, but apparently I have to record vocals myself (although I think Butch Vig was in the control room in the producer's chair), and I don't know the words to any songs. So I start making up a song, and it ends up sounding funny even though I'm kind of angrily growling the words (think early Nirvana, like "Negative Creep"). I'm pretty sure Butch was cracking up at it by the end. I can't, for the life of me, remember any of the words to the song I made up though.

• 12-4-99: I forget most of this, but I remember dreaming about getting a nice letter or email or something from my second cousin Shana, whom I thought I had managed to alienate, like most people.

• 4-1-2000: I'm at Lizzie's house, just hanging out. I have the feeling her dad is gonna come home and kick my ass any minute, but she's like, "Chill". I see him coming outside, he waves and smiles at us, and I book my ass outta the house, just as he's coming in, and run like hell across the street to a hill, where I, for some idiot reason, run around in circles for awhile before getting bored and sitting down. While I'm sitting there, some guys dressed like a barbershop quartet offer me ice cream. I ask for a chocolate malt, and they give me some kind of chocolate thingie, like an eclair or a Dove bar or something, and a big hunk of brown sugar shaped like a heart. I'm sitting out there, Lizzie and her dad are in the doorway shouting at each other, and she comes over and sits next to me and tells me she got kicked out. When I woke up I think we were going somewhere more private to make out.

I can't think of any more yet. I find that my dreams are actually relatively meaningful and interpretable, if not directly. (The reason why none of the more recent ones are interpreted is because I have no clue what they might mean). If you're a psychology major or something, and have an interesting comment about these, feel free to e-mail me. If you write it intelligently and articulately, in an objective manner (don't just send something like "dood, u r fucked in the hed"), I'll probably even send you a nice response.