- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 928
Driving out to an abandoned farmhouse with Bob Dylan, young Bob Dylan, and we're covering the car with brush, an old rust-colored Vega, he doesn't want to be found. We're going to hide out here for a few months...
...going up to the farmhouse, it's open, we go inside and there's an older woman in a bathrobe, maybe early 40's, the landlady, and I'm a little surprised, I thought we were breaking in, but he's made a deal to rent the place, she shows us around, it's dark inside, sparsely furnished with bad 70's furniture, Bob's disappeared and she lets drops her bathrobe, she's naked, full breasts and body, a golden plume of pubic hair, not my thing but she's beautiful and I reach out to touch her...
,,,she pushes my hand away, instead goes to a closet and gives me an old bullet-proof vest, she shows me the label inside "NYPD" it says, her ex-husband's, he used to be a cop...
Now, in the basement, there's a shop of sorts, we're milling aluminum bits of pipe to specific sizes, by 'we're" I mean me and a couple of other guys, not Bob, I can't see them, or see them only vaguely, there's calipers to check the size, there's shelves for every size of aluminum pipe and cube we've milled...
...we're done, it's early, I don't want to knock off early, but the guys behind me, they don't mind, and we go outside...
We're on a frozen lake, can see forever, walking, there's a couple of spots where the ice is melted, blood red water boiling up, a little sign marks the spot with a skull and crossbones, it's poisonous or something...
Walking, walking across the ice and it visibly grows thinner, wetter, and as I'm deciding not to walk on any further I fall through...
...the water, it's not as cold as it should be, I come back up, swim, then find the ground with my feet, struggle to shore, breaking the ice with my chest, when I'm on the shore I'm looking back, the other two are still out there, one of them, the taller one, he's fallen through the ice, in deeper water, but the shorter one is helping him, I don't need to go back and rescue them...
(A pattern to these dreams I'm noticing, there's some things that need addressing...)
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 915
I'm in the Philippines, coming out of a subway to overlook a railway track into a great marsh that disappears off into a distant mist. In the swamp there are piles of discarded hand grenades, some old, some new, and I want to pull one out, yank the pin and throw it, only I consider that it might set off a chain reaction, set off all the piles of hand-grenades that I see, and I realize that they are old, lying in the swamp, they might go off at any time, maybe even just picking one up would be enough, or they might not go off at all...
...now I've found my way to an old plaster or concrete apartment building in the marsh, empty apartments face onto a flooded courtyard that's bridged by a balcony, there are windows facing into the courtyard and out towards the marsh, discarded iron bedframes and bunk-beds in the rooms, on the balcony looking into the flooded pool I can see crocodiles, climbing out, great hooked feet allow them to crawl up the walls, snapping at me, and I'm wishing I'd picked up some of those hand-grenades now...
A***** from the old restaurant, the Italian waiter, not the nephew, is there, and I'm asking him if he's brought any weapons, a Kalishnikov, anything, he hasn't, he's quiet, watching the crocodiles climbing the walls, they could get into those windows, climb the beds, there's no place to hide here...
...from the roof there hangs an old chain, not too secure, precarious at best, and testing my weight on it I'm not sure it'll hold, the last thing I want is to fall into that pool below, I hang onto it, gingerly swing towards the crocodiles, hoping to kick them, or somehow knock them from the wall...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 905
...and it was on the news that there were shipwrecks washing up on the coast of Jordan and there were all sorts of treasures there, gold, bullion, only the King of Jordan had said no scavenging and I thought to myself that the coast is big and the beaches are long and my chances of being found out are small and it's not so far away and so I took my metal detector and went...
...on the beach, only I seem to have forgotten my metal detector, I have my cameras though, my phone, my HD little video camera, my tablet, and as the sun is setting all along the wharfs and piers are these white lobsters, they've come out of the water, are walking along, and as I get close to take a picture they slip away into the water...I'm holding my tablet, approaching one, it seems to be clutching a piece of plastic or something in it's claw to shield itself from me, trying to sneak up on it, get a picture, only my tablet now, its all broken up, shattered screen, loosely held together, I have to be gentle with it the shattered glass is falling apart, held together only by the wires behind, it's still working though...
...there are people coming down through the forest, it's night, and I try and slip away unobserved, I'm wondering what I'll do without the tablet, somebody beside me is complaining about it being broken, a red neck of sorts, real ass-hole...in a dimly lit apartment building lobby now, filled with bad paperback books, there's a crowd waiting for the elevator, I'm going onto it, strange people, all going up ...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 962
Vulcan, the blacksmith, in his forge, a sooty, greasy, black and white saturnine face I can almost recognize, wide, passed it on the highway to Nelson, now I've stopped, I want to grab my camera, he's hammering and twisting a piece of metal, and while he's huge he's using a small ordinary hammer, his arms aren't what I expect, and when I ask about the great hammers blacksmiths usually use he sighs, yes, but he doesn't any more, and he gets me to move the piece of twisted and flattened rod over to a large model of a plane, he wants it set on top, it will hold the windshield...
...Upstairs from the garage, a warm house, older, from an imagined childhood, a younger man, maybe 50, and his father, 70ish, and a child, running about, there's something wrong with the child, autistic, maybe, but he's taken to me, and they ask me if I speak English, well, I tell them, well enough, French? Not so Well, Italian? Only curses, and they confer among themselves, the little autistic kid is running around touching everything, looking for batteries, there are none, and I offer to drive him down to the local store, take him by his hand...
...wet, dark outside, leaving by the front door we walk over 2 big old doors set into the front stoop, root cellar, and I want to lift them, see what's downstairs, in the basement, the boy doesn't know, we carry on...drive down to Balfour, town, Balfour not Balfour, Balfour with a bunch of inviting cosy old restaurants on the top of a hill on this rainy Kootenay evening, people inside, we find the store-not-Balfour store, get him his battery, I want to go in to the restaurant, have a bite to eat, but I've got to get this kid home, I have a feeling they have a proposition for me, teach the kid English, better English, and maybe I can fill in the gaps in my finances...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 971
I'm with Alan Hale, the Skiooer, on Gilligan's Island, the older Gilligan's Island, the black and white one, and he's pointing to a low grainy island off in the sea and telling me that if we're going to get off the island we have to get there, and so we grab a small sailboat and set out...
...and it's not very far, not very far at all when everything turns to color and people are running around busy streets with their portable coffee mugs on their way to work and I realize that it's not such a far flung island after all, it's more the final spit on the end of an archipelago, we're not at all far from civilization, and there are two oddly dressed girls with big heads and short bodies and they're telling me that they're from the land of El Dorado, they just came here through a rift, on vacation, and I'm trying to show Alan Hale, look, look, we're saved, we're not lost at all, but he's just not seeing it...