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A Boy and his Blog — LiveJournal

Tornadoes and tsunamis

At the beginning I was in a field with a bunch of friends (Louis, Oscar, Jonathan), and there were several tornadoes that were in the distance. They weren't very big, but maybe because they were in the distance. We found shelter in an old, torn down house.

Part two

There was a long street along the beachfront, and a downhill street going perpendicularly to it into the small town. On the left of the street was a building with a large glass window behind which was a buxom young woman, that we'll call Barbara. On the other side of the window were a bunch of young men including me, looking at her talk to us, kind of like a dressed-up peep show. On the other side of the street was the house where my sister and her family lived.

One of the young men was invited inside with Barbara, and they started dancing. I looked at the sea and saw a few large boats in the distance, tankers maybe, long boats. There were big brown clouds.

The young guy was dancing with Barbara but his attitude was wrong with her, he wasn't nice. At some point, he yanked her dress down and tore it off, we saw her breasts. She was mad at him and sent him away. She closed her window for a minute and people scattered away. She reopened it and just me and another guy - let's call him Billy, sticked around. We'd just look at her and talk to her. I looked at the sea and saw the biggest waves I have ever seen in my life; they were extremely long, and went higher up in the sky than I had ever thought a wave could be. I told Barbara to get out and ready to run down the street away from the sea. I ran to my sister's house to warn her to run away as well but only found her husband and he didn't seem scared.

I looked at the sea and the waves had crushed the tanker boats to bits that were floating at the surface. More mean waves were getting ready to hit.

Running back across the street, I met with Barbara and Billy and we ran down the street for a good 5 blocks.

We arrived in a small café that seemed to be out of range for the tsunami. We ordered a couple of drinks and sat inside. Inside the café was a cinema screen showing an old 70s/80s political satire film. For some reason, the director of the film had known me, and had, placed a joke in the film for me. In one scene, a fat bald actor was rolling around in bed with a few young women, and they were supposed to try out dildoes, all scattered on the bed around them, in their boxes, and on one of the boxes was a design with my name and the length on it (!). I thought this bit would impress Barbara.

At some point Barbara and Billy went to the bathroom and I went out in the street and saw yet another huge wave, far in the distance, that had risen above the horizon line and was getting ready to strike down the street and swallow everything.

I told the lady who ran the café but she wouldn't believe me. She kept looking in the wrong direction and I had to force her head to look in the right direction to make her realize what was going on. When she finally saw the wave, she went nuts. I counted on her to warn Barbara and Billy, and I ran away.

A few blocks further, with what I expected to be a sufficient advance on the unhinged events around me, I entered an old white building that seemed abandoned. I ran upstairs. Upstairs was just a small, square room, from which a large hallway branched out all the way to the end of the building. It was dim on the first floor, and the floor was covered with thick layers of dust that made me cough but at least I felt out of range from a wet and sudden death. I explored. On each side of the hallway, the walls had large crates in them, full of old objects from another era. It was like going to a rummage sale looking at these. I picked up a large metallic watch that had lost its band. It was dusty and probably didn't work anymore. I looked at other things. The hallway was dim but at the end of it was a large window, kind of like you'd have at the end of a bus.

I went back to the darker end of the hallway. A young woman was sitting there now. let's call her Lisa. She looked geeky and was looking at her computer. I didn't ask her if she was running away from the flood as well. I laid my backpack on a broken ironing board on the floor, slightly above all the dust. In the small square room atop of the stairs was an old fireplace, like the ones to make pizzas in. Behind Lisa, to the right, was an old vintage sign with large red plastic letters sticking out. I took a picture of it.

Walking back to the end of the hallway, I inspected more trinkets from the past laid out in the crates. There were bags with toys in them. I thought they looked fun, and picked a few of them and tried to open them. Lisa was looking at these with me. And there were other people I noticed behind me, a ground of people that had, maybe, walked in to find shelter as well. I wondered if we were out of trouble now. The only window was pointing in the wrong direction to tell.

I thought, "I'm far away from my backpack, I should go and get it". That was the end of the dream.

I think some parts of the dream were inspired by watching Inglourious Basterds last night, which features a film within a film scene. The peeping room might have to do with another film I recently saw called Lost River, in which there's a peep show.

I was recently thinking about the fim Twister, I can't remember when. Maybe even when I was falling asleep yesterday. I went to the beach last week, but the waves were okay.

We went to the Alameda Point Antique Faire last Sunday, which definitely helped influence all the sequences with old and dusty objects and the feeling of evolving amongst remainders of the past. The relief letters in the signage are influenced with many things I see here in the Bay Area. We walked into a brand new coffeehouse/bar yesterday, which had fire crates and might have inspired the bar scene.

As for the waitress in the cafe, I think there are a lot of people I would like to convince of my good intentions but can't always.

Lisa is someone I follow on Twitter, Barbara is someone I had a crush on at age 11, and Billy is a redhead classmate from 1994/5/6 not sure, who didn't have much of a personality or interest in girls.

I interpret this dream in many ways. I have often been a whistleblower against my will, just out of basic logic and decency. This has left people in the dark as I ran away from crappy situations. Or it could mean running away from death, and luring oneself into thinking the escape has been successful because the environment has changed. For a while there, you think you're out of trouble. And then you turn around and here are the angels who came to take you with them.

The people that I am in my dreams are not always me, and the people that are with me in these dreams are not these people either. First of all, the ages don't work. In my dreams I'm always 26 and the people around me are always at the age they were when I met them, not the age they would be now. They also don't take place now, but usually in a setting mostly inspired by past events and situations.

The place this dream takes place in could very well be Chatelaillon in France, or Santa Cruz in California.

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I was in Chatenay with my godfather. He was carrying a big TV set in his arms. Smoking his usual thin cigar.

It was nighttime. We decided to cut by the forest, straying away from the stirring noises of the city.

The forest is full of wintery trees, their branches covered in snow and not very much light. We walk silently among the black shapes of the trees.

We find a stream across our path that we have to cross. The water billows in darkness and seems deep. My godfather doesn't see bothered. "It's all right!" He walks towards the water and sinks in to the waist. The bottom of the TV set gets slightly dipped but it's just extra plastic so it should be fine. I follow him.

On the other side of the stream the ground welcomes us dryly. As we step forward on the path we hear the rustling of the city getting closer. The lights are back as are the sounds and feels of civilisation.

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I was walking in the street in Paris, in a very residential neighbourhood, no shops, tall white haussmanian buildings, such as the ones you see around Assemblée Nationale or in the 17th district.

There were a couple of people with me with which I had obligations. And as we walk in the street I run into dozens of large cardboard boxes full of old electronics, cameras, and art supplies and other stuff like that. And I mean, really interesting, first-grade stuff from the past.

I start digging in the top box and although it's trash, everything is super clean and in really good condition. The first box is full of 1970s to 1990s cameras and camcorders. Solid stuff, made to last, mostly Sony stuff with really interesting designs (that I was imagining as I was dreaming it). I was going through a whole  (imaginary) history of vintage photography and film equipment.

The design of a lot if the cameras was kind of bulky, made of thick textured plastic usually white and grey or beige. Of course I wanted to pick everything I would find interesting up, and take it with me not only to save it from destruction but to maybe use it myself or find out if there's data inside, etc.

So I started placing the best stuff in an empty cardboard box. Apologizing as I was going to the person with me (I don't remember who or what was going on at that point). Quickly, I get to the second box. More awesome stuff, pocket Super-8 mm cameras, beautiful wooden vintage boxes, large rolls of Super-8mm film that I was excited to find out what was recorded on. Third box, more electronics. High-end (by 1987 standards?) calculators in mint condition, and with every box, the more I dug, the more awesome the stuff I found was.

More boxes and this time it was art supplies. Large cigar boxes with amazing typography (typography!) and alphabets on them (that I thought at the "time" maybe were in the public domain and could be turned into fonts?), full of quills and vintage ink writing instruments. And I think "why are these people trashing this! All this combined is worth hundreds of thousands!".

People around me start getting impatient, as they have interest in neither of these things and do not understand the immense historical and creative wealth of the find "we have to go to the restaurant... they're leaving tomorrow..." etc. I ask the person if their car is around, they say yes, but they converted it into a bed for the night. Useless. I'm looking at my boxes of amazing, incredible cool stuff by my feet, and I'm getting stressed out that I won't even be able to carry anything around. I slip some small stuff in my inside jacket pocket to be sure that at least this stays with me. And I tell the people with me this disturbing thing "you don't understand, this is one of my recurring dreams; to find really awesome stuff in the trash - and it's happening right now!".

The place we're going isn't actually very far from the amazing trash boxes. So I take one box of the best stuff, and go not whole-heartedly with the other person to the restaurant where we're expected to go, down a street and to the right - knowing and obsessed by the thought of all that I'm leaving behind. We apologize to the people there that had been waiting for us or whatever, we chat, we say polite stuff. And then I just can't deal with this, I run out of the restaurant and go back to the abandoned boxes. The trash compactor is here, and the guy that works for trash collecting is putting every box in the compactor one by one. I tell him to stop, ask to see inside the truck if some of my boxes that I can't see on the floor anymore, are in there. All I can see in the trash compactor are pieces of crap and newspaper bits flying around. I ask him to leave this pile here for now and he doesn't want to, I tell him it's all mine and I'll take it away.

He leaves. I look at all this amazing stuff, thinking about what a crime against technology it would be to let it go, and have not a clue what to do about this.

This dream was most probably inspired by a combination of feelings I get while visiting rummage sales, garage sales, antique shops, ebay listings, photography history and camera books, online photos of equipment.
Feelings of inventing and designing objects myself, either sketching them, modeling them in 3D, etc.
Feelings of the memory of experiencing design for the first time through everyday objects, such as the solid switch on the EUR version of the SNES or bulky office equipment from the 60s/70s/80s/ that I often found in my life and took apart or studied closely, such as old stuff that I find in the street or that rested at my father's house when I lived there shortly.
Feelings I have for the history of applied product design, obviously, and the fascination for creative tools of all sorts, and what they can or cannot do to express the ideas of the user faithfully or unfaithfully.
The feelings I have towards people who have spent their lives gathering equipment and creating, and whose stuff will just one day be on the street curb because they've just died, or died a long time ago, and no one cared or no one survived to care, or they didn't even die but stopped caring about this stuff because technology changes and things evolve.
The feelings I actually got when I ran into a pile of old belongings from a photographer in Paris, near Porte de Clichy, in 09, less interesting than the pile in this dream, but still somewhat fascinating and sad, all the more because a slight rain was starting to fall over these abandoned relics, this torn apart wunderkammer mixing intricately the life and the tools of a human being.
The feelings I get whenever I do run into great stuff in the street or in second-hand shops, the adrenalin to find something exciting, to learn something, to find new ways of expression, reinvent the old ones, etc.
The feelings I get when I'm around other people and they have a one-track mind that stays one-track (and on-track) no matter what is happening around them, or when things happen around them that do not matter for them as much as they matter for me, and the mutual incomprehension that can arise.
The feeling that my curiosity for creation and ways of expression is not quenchable, whereas I always know pretty much what to expect from non-creative or even some social situations.
The subsequent feeling of being totally cut off from others that I have when I feel I should delve into something unexpected that just showed up as I looked around me, an opportunity that presented itself, and that I am the only one to see as an opportunity, while people with a square mind about things expecting me to behave otherwise.

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I was slaying lots of zombies with a very sharp blade.
They would come from everywhere, when I didn't expect them but I slayed them each time.
At some point they were following me in a forest and coming out of the branches, I wasn't so sure I could beat them then.
I was driving a Lancia Stratos Zero, which was pretty nice.
Most of them were after a valuable artefact, a small, golden armadillo skeleton (that could also have been an ankylosaurus, as the bones were wide and flat).

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First part happened in a large book store and newsstand.

I browsed the magazines and at some point had to stop and sleep there on a mattress in the middle of the books and magazines.

I remember a very tiny book the size of my thumb and many other fascinating printed things.

I discuss with two guys, one asks the other to write “CHAMPON” in Japanese on a piece of paper for him. The other guy does it, and writes it with just one symbol.

I say, nah, that’s not how you write CHAMPON, to write champon you need to write --M (then I think wait, how do you write “M”?) but they I realize I erased what the guy had done for the other guy and that I should have minded my own business because the first guy was very happy with the wrong way on his paper.

At some point the bookstore became more like a class, as someone walked in that was like an important person /teacher. I realized I didn’t study very well and didn’t read the book I was supposed to and wouldn’t be able to pass the test. So I was like “oh, well, I’ll do it next year”.

I asked the woman if she needed to hire a writer or a journalist. I can’t remember her answer.

Then a big storm (a bookstorm?) swept away the store and people were being pushed in all directions and so I walked out.

Once I was out I was in Paris 15 district, in the south of the district, between parks and streets. There was a bench with very old and has been French TV people and actors who seemed to gather there to hang as a ritual (Stéphane Collaro, Bernard Menez…). They would look around suspiciously, and make lame old jokes as people walked past them without recognizing them most of the time.

I was sitting on high stairs nearby, and then this couple was sitting near me.

The old people by the bench leave, and the woman talks to me and tells me where they’re going, and if I want to go see.

I say yeah sure why not. I follow her and all of a sudden get distracted: I am in a medieval neighbourhood, perfectly preserved as is for the most part. I have no idea where the woman went, but I walk around the neighbourhood and see a baby piglet on a leash with a sign:



The pig looks in bad health, all of the front of its face is crumpled together and seems sore.

There’s no one around so I keep walking.

I see a second pig on a leash a little further, this time looking a bit healthier but I can’t really tell if his eyes are ok, and with the same sign on him.

I unleash the pig and take it with me, wondering if it’s ok to have a pet pig where I am.

The pig having a variable size, I put him in my pocket on top of some paper towels, and start walking around.

I enter a bar, which is modern on the inside with a large round bar and the waiters standing inside in the middle.

I pull the pig out of my pocket, and put it on the bar. It is now the size of a big mouse, and isn’t moving very much. Its eyes are very small with a concave yellow dent in the middle and I am assuming it’s blind.

A lot of poop came out of the pig while it was in my pocket, which slightly grosses me out and worries me about its health more. Its poop looks like strands of poop, like an earthworm would do, and is all around its butt and on the paper towels.

It’s also not moving very much, and I wonder if it’s sick.

One of the waiters looks at my pig and tells me it shouldn’t be kept alive because it’s sick/dying/dirty/etc.

So he shows me a large wine bottle and tells me he would kill my pig for me, smacking the pig to its death with the bottom part of the bottle. I look at the bottle and see that it’s not flat, as most wine bottles, and express concern about the efficiency of the technique. He tells me he’ll take care of him and I don’t question it, but I go look for a place to wash my hands.

I am now outside in a sort of concrete path between two gardens and medieval sheds. I see a woman sitting between two sheds with a sign:



I think to myself, fuck that, I’m not paying 20 dollars just to wash my hands of pig’s poop.

So there’s another kind of beat down medieval brick house, I get inside and there’s a very old brick sink with a water hose above it. I think ok, that will do. So I run some water on my hands and think about when I had a pig.

Then I walk outside and there are many boxes on the floor, one of them says “(MY NAME) - DRAWINGS”. It feels more like I’m in my old high school now, built during Napoleon. I’m alarmed and surprised to see that here. I open the box and there are drawings inside that I made and also lots of bits of super-8mm film strips that are probably mine too.

Then I woke up.

I am not sure how to analyze this dream. I think maybe when I was a kid I had lots of sickly little animals, and people around me would suggest I kill them. My cat was like that too at some point during my teenage, which made me feel some of the highest levels of empathy I ever felt.

I also often feel closer to animals than to humans in my dreams, not sure why. And I love pigs, I find that they’re closer to humans than most animals. One of my favourite films ever (the black cauldron) is about a boy in medieval times who has a pig he cares for.

I also went to high school in a very old high school built under Napoleonian times. Lots of places I knew as a kid were built in medieval times; stables, farms, churches, lavoirs; old stones, dirt, absence of modern comfort are a large part of my subconscious perception of the world. Or maybe these dream elements pop-up in my brain because of a more atavistic reason, as if all the dreams and all the lives of my ancestors were written in my DNA and I am exploring them with each new dream, sometimes merging them with my own experience…

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There was a Tom Bunk exhibition, people were waiting in line throughout several quite empty rooms in a modern and colorful building.
People got to talk to him and ask him to draw for them. I asked him to make an animated film and he made one.
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I discovered a great library, owned by David Lynch, all the material inside the library, books, DVDs, etc, was related to his personal collection and his films.
The place was really nice, it was a building by the water, and at the end of the main room, you could stand on a peer-like terrace over the water.
I was hired there to digitize 35mm prints, so I would take a roll of 35mm films, put it in the projector and film the projection while it’s being played. Each film was 2 hours, and someone told me I had three more films to digitize before I could go home so I calculated this in my head, and found out that I would only be home at 4 A.M. so I thought that was really late.
David Lynch had a daughter that worked there with long hair and glasses, she was kind of my boss.
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I forget who these people were, but we were looking for a place to hide because of several tornadoes coming our way.
We found a cave that we could hide under, kind of like a horizontal cave with a roof, and we would see the tornadoes pretty well, and I even got to film them and take pictures of them, and when they would move over us, we would all crouch in a protective gesture, and we were fine until another one came.
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In the first dream I was in France and ran into friends from Chatenay, the mom, the dad and the youngest son were going on holidays and told me I could tag along.
Then we were in an old castle that they had either bought or rented.
Some of its rooms were very small, like 1 meter high. I went into one of them to take a shower but it was like torture because I couldn’t stand up and did’t know where to put my legs, etc, so I came back out.
Outside they were sitting around garden tables enjoying drinks near the castle.
Then there was a little black cat walking around, very tiny, very cute, he climbed on top of a little mound at the base of a tree.
A big dog came after him, sniffing his trail and arriving under the mound the cat was on.
The cat became immediately very scary, puffing his tail, opening wide yellow eyes, and opening a mouth full of very sharp and rather long teeth. The dog, scared, walked away.
In the second dream, I was sitting in a classroom, and some of my friends were too although I don’t know which ones. The teacher was my old boss the film producer, and somewhere around was his assistant. He was teaching film production I think. Students would take turns to fill up the coffee machine (like would employees in a previous job I had), and I came to help two girls that didn’t really want to do it. I put lots of coffee into a metal box with a handle, a lot of it fell to the table below, so I swiped it into the trash and I was done. I made a remark for the teacher and his assistant about how it was easier to make coffee in the previous places we worked at together.
Then I left the class, almost forgetting to say bye to my friends on the way out.
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A street with shops. I walk into a restaurant because I'm hungry and they show me a bag of pasta they can cook for me that has a price label on it of 25$. But they wouldn't even cook the whole thing for me, they would just cook a few pasta and wrap it in a very small leaf.
The man shows me a carved bamboo piece with leaves i side of it and asks me to chose the one I will eat with the cooked pasta inside of it. I start thinking that it makes no sense and that they're probably going to ask me a lot of money for something minuscule that won't stop my hunger. I say no.
Later, in the restaurant, I talk with the waitress who looks like one of my coworkers when I worked in the Eiffel Tower. She's looking out the window at a tree that grew all the way up to the window in a straight line.
As it often happens in my dreams, I start floating like a balloon until I reach the corner of the ceiling. Then I wait to be able to get down.

In the second dream, there was a woman that painted with graphite. In her art supplies case, she had a compartment with weird round spikey fruits (or rocks?) and she would rub her brush against it and then when she painted on the canvas it would be like graphite.
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