Category: cars

Wednesday’s Wandering Thought

Rain was coming down. Black asphalt reflected the oncoming traffic’s lights. The speed limit was 35 MPH here but he guessed that the approaching SUV was doing closer to 50. He couldn’t identify what brand the big, silver SUV was, because its grill and front end were gone. As it went by — a Toyota, he noted — he saw that the young female driver was holding a cell phone on top of the steering wheel. Her jaw and mouth were moving like she was shouting at the phone.

He wondered what the story was behind the vehicle’s front-end damage.

2

Three Dreams

Seduction, destruction, confusion, and security. Short summaries of sharply remembered dreams where I felt these things.

My first remembered dream from last night’s slumbering had me being seduced. This woman and I were traveling with others. All of us then got in bed together. She turned to me and told me that she wanted to have sex with me and moved her hands along my body. She said, she’d thought about it, and I deserved it. I was eager and ready but, hello, there are other people in the bed. She said that she’d spoken with them and that they’d agreed. As she said that, the other three left the bed. I kissed her and she reciprocated.

Dream censored.

Second in the dream line was about destruction being wrought by an evil baby head.

I found myself in an empty old Victorian style home. Going through the rooms, I discovered a huge black trunk in a room upstairs by a window. I opened it. Line with gray inside, its only contents was a smaller black bag which reminded me of a bowling ball bag. As soon as I opened the bag, a baby’s head floated out. White but mottled, it had no body, a constant leer, and thin hair, and was alive. Dread emanated from it, soaking me. I was immediately dispirited. I quickly found it had master telepathic control of others and telekinesis as it threw boulders with its mind and created slaves of other people. Understanding that it had no good intentions, I managed to get behind it while it wasn’t paying attention and get it into the trunk. Slamming the lid shut, I locked it but realized that I could still hear it in my head. I realized it had been in that other black bag to block its thoughts and powers.

I fled, trying to get distance from the baby head, driving along old and narrow country roads, going up a mountain. I soon found myself lost with a black spirit. The baby’s voice was diminished but I felt its presence. Leaving the car to look around and figure out where I was, I decided that I needed to go back and destroy the baby’s head.

End of dream.

Finally, I had a dream about a wealthy old man. White, he was quite old and thin, and favored a monocle, black silk top hat, and a black walking cane topped with a diamond. Suited in a black suit with morning coat, he wore a white bow tie and traveled about in an all-black ‘car’. This car was essentially several rooms, like a narrow black land yacht with a design out of the 1930s. As said, extremely wealthy, he was in charge of everything, he declared, and he didn’t any changes. Large, serious expression men in black suits provided constant security.

I, a young man, was with him in this cluttered and narrow beast of a car. He’d chosen me to write his biography, so I was there to listen to him tell his life story and give me his wisdom so that I could compile it all. Like him, I was dressed in a white shirt and black suit, but with a black tie. His aide, an older man, was dressed as I was.

I was enjoying myself as others brought me tea and pastries while we drove around the city in the mechanical beast. Observing everyone, distraction set in, and I entertained myself by figuring out how the old man could be abducted, and then created a story concept around it. Pleased, I shared that with the old man.

Well, he was outraged, shouting, “Balderdash, that could never happen.” Then he stormed out of that section and into the car’s rear. I knew that he was upset because I’d pointed out a security vulnerability. The elderly aide chastised me in gentle, polite tones for upsetting the old man, who the aide revered. I explained to the aide how I was right, showing and demonstrating the car’s vulnerability on which I based my story. His expression told me that he knew I was right. He went off to comfort his boss.

Dream end.

Yes, I see how black dominates these dreams, as does power and desire.

0

A Complimentary Dream

I was working, just finishing a job. I don’t know any details of the work but it’d been administrative, computer stuff. My boss came over and said, “I just want to let you know that you’ve been doing really great work.” I liked, admired, and enjoyed him, so that really pleased me. Afterward, I went out with a few others. When I returned, I presented my boss with a gift of a bottle of red wine, which he happily accepted. Witnessing this, the company head loudly said, “You know, I like wine, too.” He repeated this a few times in a joshing way. We all laughed, and I told him that I got the message.

Leaving again, I entered my car and drove away. This was a car I once owned in RL, a black1993 Mazda RX-7. After driving some street roads, I entered the outskirts of a city where I picked up a friend to give him a ride.

He and I chatted away. Stopping at a traffic light, I looked over at the man in the car beside me. He was looking at me and my car. I immediately knew he was Korean, although I don’t know why that mattered.

Leaning over, he looked in my car’s open window. He complimented the car’s condition and took out a small brown cardboard box. Inside were two small white pieces. (Awakening, the pieces reminded me of the microwave pieces I’d used to fix it.) Saying, “I know these cars, and although yours is in excellent condition, you’ll need these parts to keep it going,” the man reached into the car and put the box into a small alcove in the dash that doesn’t exist in the real car.

The dream’s end found me in my little black RX-7 with my wife and the guy I was giving a ride. Three in that small sports car isn’t a pragmatic expectation but it worked in the dream. We were driving asses to elbows through city traffic under a cloudless sky. I was telling her about the Korean man and the parts he’d given me. Then I said to my wife, “Oh, damn, I forgot my new uniform.”

Dream end.

0

A String of Short Dreams

My Dad and I were together. Both younger than RL, we were out hanging out, talking and walking by a wide, busy road.

We ended up at string of used car lots. That pushed us into reminiscing about cars which we’d owned, Porsches, Mercedes, Cadillacs, Chevies, Corvettes, BMWs, and so on.

We came across a red C4 Corvette, a series produced in the 1980s and 90s. The car was on display, hood and doors open. Dad had a blue one of those, so he chatted about it. Somehow, he talked himself into buying it for my older sister, Debby, because he thought she would like it. Well, it was a car and a Vette, and in excellent condition, so she probably would, I agreed, though I didn’t think it a car she’d buy for herself, a grandmother with three children and seven grandchildren.

I met with Debby later and asked if she liked her car. She didn’t know what I was talking about. Thinking that I might be spilling a surprise, I tried not saying anything but finally confessed that I’d been with Dad when he bought her a red Corvette. Then I gave her giving some details about the car. She laughed as I spoke, asking, “A Corvette? Why did he do that?”

I told her, “I don’t know. It was a whim. He thought you’d like it.”

She just laughed.

Dream end.

The next dream found me in a house. The large and luxurious house was mine but not from my RL existence. My wife and I, younger than RL, were home when the power went out. I went downstairs to the garage to check the circuit breakers. As I entered the garage, the power came back on, so I went back up. Then I thought I heard a noise from the garage and went back downstairs. I found some doors open. At that point, the power went off again, but I heard the circuit breakers being thrown. Someone is messing with me, I decided, and called the police.

The police immediately arrived. Angry at that point, I told them what transpired and they looked around. Nothing was found and they left. I then installed an alarm. It immediately went off. I didn’t know if I’d installed it wrong or it was due to an intruder, so I went into the garage to investigate. Someone ran out through the back door when I walked in. I ran over but it was night, they were in black, and I couldn’t see them. Cursing them and muttering about security, I closed and locked the door.

A third dream found me worrying about cats. Outside, in a patchy lawn by an old house, I’d see a kitten and then go try to find it. Most were tabbies but there was also one black kitten. Sometimes I saw them and chased them around. Frustration and irritation joining hands and skipping through me, I said, “Screw this, I give up.” With that, I sat down on a block of white cement. I’d tried, I told myself.

As I sat there, the kittens emerged. Coming to me, they climbed my legs and settled in my lap. Then they looked up and meowed at me, which is where the dream terminated.

The final remembered dream had me at a relative’s house. They were people I didn’t know but some of my family was there. I was a young man in my early twenties, home on leave from the military.

More relatives who I didn’t know arrived. I went downstairs into a small family room. Newcomers followed me down. Male and female, they ranged in ages from around five to seventeen. I don’t know how many were there. Intensely curious about me, they peppered me with questions. Trying to distract and entertain them, I suggested we listen to music. I then showed them a stereo system. I told them, “This is my old system. I replaced it so I brought it here and installed it so that they could use it.” It was the actual system which I now own.

I played a song from Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon album, “Wish You Were Here”. The oldest male told me that they also had a stereo system there and showed it to me, located exactly opposite mine, and I hadn’t seen it. He then played an AC/DC song, “Highway to Hell”. As this played and we talked about music, I realized that there were four stereo systems in the room, which I thought was funny and amusing.

They were still asking me questions, like they were interviewing me. I sprawled out on a sofa and answered. One of the young girls asked if she could lay on me, then did so without me answering. I was uncomfortable with this, shifting my body away from her. She put her head on my chest and said, “I can hear your heartbeat.”

The dream ended.

Overall, it was a busy night of dreams.

0

The Family Help Dream

Dreamed I was writing a book. Sitting at a small, ancient personal computer, beige and tall, I wore a tee shirt and shorts and worked at tiny desk, just me in a chair by a tall and narrow window.

But I was being helped. I learned through my elderly uncle (my father’s younger brother and alive) that many family members were helping me with it. That list included some who passed on. As I typed, I could see them elsewhere, arranging and editing. Sometimes I could see some of their work and the changes they made because it was in bold.

I was working on a deadline. My uncle knew this and would come by to tell me what was transpiring with the other group and check on me. As I finished, I told them that they needed to finish as well. They did, dropping off the work with my uncle. They left without saying anything to me.

Finishing, I collected my work and went to say bye to my uncle. He presented what the others had prepared. I was grateful and thanked him. Then I hastily changed clothes and got into a small, light green sedan, something older made by BMW. I drove once around the block, which was tree lined, with old trees, and well-paved streets. I saw the others and waved to them, laughing as they waved back. I called out my thanks and they shouted back, “You’re welcome.” Then I drove on.

Weirdly, as this dream fell away, I heard the Thompson Twins singing “Hold Me Now.” The song stayed in my head when I awoke, along with the shadows from the dream.

0

Traveling Alone Dream

My wife and I had been traveling together but stopping to stay in a town, I went off on my own to visit with friends.

Now I was returning at dawn. I was staggering with exhaustion, having been up all night driving and walking.

I was a little lost. Things looked somewhat familiar but each turn had me pause to frown and figure out where to go.

At last I was in a little blue car. I came out a parking lot and began turning right. A huge red pickup truck went by, just missing me. A second came by and almost hit with both of us swerving at the same time. Both of those vehicles had been on the wrong side of the road. Quick as that, as I’m cursing the other drivers, I remember, this is a one-way street, and it goes that-away. I snap the wheel around to go in the right way, grateful there weren’t more cars coming because that could have been disastrous. Parking behind the two trucks, who simply pulled off, I walk up to apologize to the drivers. The second truck’s driver is a large elderly man, a white fellow with short silver hair, wearing a light blue short-sleeved flannel shirt. He’s walking up to the red truck. Its windows are all blacked out. I can’t see its driver.

I shrug off apologizing. I’ve reached the hotel where my wife and I are staying. I traverse a little alley and enter the rear of an aircraft to cut through to the hotel. People have spread mattresses and blankets across the aisles, and they’re sleeping. There’s also a huge Great Dane sleeping under one blanket. It wakes, sees me, and gets up and moves out of my way. The sleeping people and another little dog, small and white, awaken and see me, and laugh at the situation. I carefully get up on the mattresses and pick my way to the other end of the plane, out and into the lobby.

It’s a light blue lobby, with a coffee shop to one side. A middle-aged dark-haired woman with short black hair and brown hair greets me. I’m exhausted. I ask for coffee and then go to use the restroom. In there, I see myself in the mirror. My hair is dark brown, full and thick, matching my beard and mustache. I look like a wildman who just returned from living in the jungle. I’m wearing pale blue shorts. They’re not mine. I check my pockets for my wallet; it’s there. Finding a brush, I style my hair, beard, and mustache. That instantly transforms me into a really good-looking guy.

Okay, back out at the counter, light blue Formica, I find a glass mug. It has thin brown fluid in it, which might be weak tea, along with ice and a lemon. I sip some as a woman comes up. I realize it must be hers and apologize for drinking her drink but figure, I’ll continue, since I started. I ask for coffee to add to it.

Leaving there, I head for my room. It’s either 126 or 124. I can’t remember and chastise myself for not asking at the desk. The rooms are like little cottages but they’re stacked side by side.

I pull a key out of my pocket. It’s a bizarre skeleton key. I have no idea what it’ll fit, but it’s not a room key. It has a square, almost baroque wire design, with a short skinny portion for the lock. WTH? I have no idea where it came from so I return it to my pocket and then continue to look for the room where we’re staying.

Dream end.

0

A Weird Car Trip Dream

Friends and I were awakening from sleep in a darkly cluttered place. Three or four others were there, including one friend from RL forty years ago. The others were dream friends but not anyone from this RL. As the sun rose, an old stage, perhaps once part of a high school but now outside, gained substance.

We talked about news while sitting up, rubbing sleep out of our faces, and stretching. One was complaining that people didn’t understand the news and headlines. Someone suggested that we should do plays where we would just read headlines and stories and then explain them. Sounded good to me. Someone else said that we needed to clean the area up but I asked why because the stage with its clutter and junk seemed like a meta statement about our world. As this conversation went on, the sun rose, daylight came up, papers were dropped off on the stage and people became walking past. We’d been rolling up our sleeping bags, putting other shirts on, and making coffee. Now one guy picked up a newspaper and started reading it aloud. People going past stopped to listen.

I went down steps, out the back, and met my cousin. He and I went off to collect our clothing, which was somewhere else, because we needed to get ready to go. He kept talking about what he was going to wear and asking my opinion of his ideas, but I wasn’t deeply invested in that and didn’t respond much. Reaching a building, we went upstairs and found our open suitcases. This wasn’t the clothes we wanted; that was at Mom’s house, my cousin thought, suggesting that we go there. I told my wife where we were going. She decided to come with us.

We entered a large white vehicle with a thick black stripe down each side. The inside was flat and wide, with a thin, gray carpet on the floor. Windows were on every side, giving great visibility. Some gray folding chairs were set up in it in the front, but we would need more. I set up some chairs that I found, dubbing one in the second row by the window as ‘mine’. Two people were already seated in the front row, where three chairs were set up. One of those was my SIL, who was waiting to leave as well, which startled me. For some reason, I didn’t expect her there.

My cousin had disappeared, and so had my wife. I went out to Mom’s home and found the clothes which I wanted, and put on a green shirt to wear while I traveled. Going back outside I saw cars pulling up and parking on the lush green lawn. “They’re not going to like that,” I told others several times, talking about the people who lived in this housing area. “They’re proud of their lawn. They should move their cars before they’re found.”

Everyone ignored me. I found my cousin back inside Mom’s house. Mom was talking to him as he complained that his clothes weren’t there. I looked and discovered that the suitcase holding his clothes had been emptied. I told him that he would just need to go in what he was wearing, which really upset him.

I returned to the white car. Nobody had set up any more chairs. The driver was present, adjusting his folding chair as a seat, along with my SIL, who was still in her seat. My wife was in the seat which I’d designated for myself. I complained about that with her; she ignored me. Exasperated, I set up another chair behind my SIL. I asked her where she was going, and she answered, “The same place as you.”

I responded, “I’m going back to school.”

She answered, “So am I.”

The car rocked with movement. Going to a window and looking out, I discovered that the car was tall and much larger than expected. We seemed to be twenty feet off the ground. I didn’t know how that was possible.

Dreams ends as the car moves forward with me looking out the window and others talking behind me.

0

The Messenger Dream

I’d been selected to be a messenger. Don’t know who chose me, nor the message.

I was waiting to get the message in my place, a small apartment in a large high-rise building. Few windows let in light but natural sources outside were diminished by storms. Friends and acquaintances visited. Several noticed that I had four model cars in a case. These were Formula 1 cars from the 1970s and 1980s, 1/12 scale. People bent down to look into the black case to see them. As they began commenting, I turned on the case lights so they could see them. Up front on the right was the Ferrar 312 T which Lauda drove to championships. Behind it a little was a Mclaren MP4/4, a model driven by Senna and Prost, with the markings and settings for Prost’s vehicle. I explained these things to everyone, but then, the time for me to act as messenger arrived.

The message was given on a slip of paper. I went out and delivered it, no problem, despite a deluge. Coming back, I descended a long, steep hill on an asphalt path. Left of me was busy thoroughfare, twelve lanes of newly paved road, packed with cars. At the bottom of the hill was an intersection where a wide new road came down from the right. I needed to cross that wide road. My building was on the other side. I could see its parking lot.

Rain still poured as thunder rumbled. I stepped onto the road into the crosswalk, then looked back and left to ensure the cars turning right from the main road were letting me pass. They were stopped and waiting, so I waved thanks and proceeded. Mind shifting to the traffic coming on the road which I crossed, I saw a huge tanker truck approaching, going way too fast for conditions. I stopped to await the outcome.

The long truck, a blue tractor with a silver trailer, was rushing toward the intersection, sliding with his brakes locked. As he passed me, the truck entered a slow jack knife and then fell over onto its side and slid more, stopping just after entering the intersection. Everyone saw it coming and stopped. No one hit it and it sat on its own, alone in the intersection.

A young Black man on a blue bike had been riding down the hill toward the intersection. When the truck arrived and jack knifed, the bike guy braked hard, slid, lost control and was thrown from the bike.

I rushed to help, recognizing that he was also a messenger. He was conscious but dazed, sitting on the roadway, his twisted bike to one side, rain drenching him. Others came to help him, too. I told them to call for an ambulance. Someone suggested helping the truck driver, but I disdained that; he’d brought that on himself, I thought, and others were undoubtably going to help him. A glance that way confirmed that people were at the truck.

I asked the bike rider, “Are you a messenger?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. People went to help him up. “No,” I said. “He had a big tumble. There may be injuries which we don’t know. Wait for the EMT.”

Then I asked him, “Where does your message go? I’ll take it for you.”

Dream end.

0

A Cat Dream

My wife and I were traveling in the gray Toyopet Publica which we had during our Okinawa residence back in the early 1980s. Two cats, Boo and Quinn (deceased in real life in the last two years) accompanied us. A whim took us on a visit to a ramshackle and primitive roadside tourist trap. Small cabins painted light blue with dark blue trim pressed in alongside a small store, tiny café with deck, and peeling white picnic tables and a zoo.  

Boo and Quinn were acting strange, pulling my attention to them. I was worried about where they were and what was going to happen to them. I kept mentioning this to my wife. Meanwhile, she was walking around, trying to see things.

I ended up going to the end of the main building. Bushes to the left over remnants of a cinder block wall pinched the path into a narrow passage at that point. As I checked on the cats, I heard noises. Turning, I discovered a large horned animal on the path back by the building. It seemed to be having a fit but moving our way. I grabbed my wife, who hadn’t noticed, and said, “Come on, we need to move.” Then I took her around to the café deck. I find us seats but many people were using the ramp beside us and kept bumping into me. Annoyed, I decided to move. A man beside me said, “Thank you to the man with the green hat on for moving.” I was wearing my green Tilly hat so I knew he meant me. I didn’t know if he was being sarcastic but went on.

Searching for my cats in different places, I encountered a wild little red cat throwing a fit. I realized that it was located where the other animal was having a fit and guessed there might be something wrong with the air there or something. The increased my concern for my cats. I sped up my search and found the two. Both were almost comatose. I took them back to the car and revived them, and then called to my wife to leave.

0

A Writing Dream

It’s a disheveled dream, with a complicated cast and strange twists. I start out in a parking lot, a young man. My wife drives up in her gray Honda Civic, the one driven in yesteryears. I tell her to park and to make sure she locks the car. I point out a parking slot and she drives away.

Others are met. I tell them I’m waiting for my wife to park, but I’ll see them inside. I’m by my car of yesteryear, my first RX-7, a light blue vehicle that we bought brand new. My wife comes up. I ask her to park the RX-7 for me and tell her where. As she gets into the car, closes the door and drives away, I walk off toward a building. I pass her car; she’s left the door open. I’m dismayed, asking myself, what’s wrong with her? Her seatbelt is hanging out of the door, so I theorize that its position prevented her from closing the door and she didn’t notice. I fix all that, and then head on to building, a multi-story, long, white modern edifice with black windows, one of those places seen in business parks across the U.S. As I walk the loaded parking lot, I see my parked Mazda. Its door is open. What is wrong with my wife that she’s left doors open and unlocked in two cars?

In the building, I enter an apartment. Mom is there, along with her boyfriend, Frank. She waves hello to me. I find my wife in the kitchen preparing food and tell her that she left the doors open and unlocked on both cars. She mutters something defensive back. I answer, “That’d be fine if it was one car, but it was two. You have a problem.” I walk off.

Someone comes by to give me the book I’m working on. It’s a big, clumsy book, totally unfamiliar. When I open it, I discover nonsensical words and phrases written in a large, sloppy style using crayons. I recognize that it’s Frank’s book. I protest, “This isn’t my book. Where is my book?”

I go through the house to find my book. As I search, I find sandwiches overfilled with meat, cheese, and lettuce. No one else is there so I wonder aloud but to myself, “What’s with all of these sandwiches.” I continue going through, looking for the book, confounded, picking up a sandwich and eating it as I go. I begin noticing piles of coins on end tables, coffee tables, window sills, and the floor. Someone else is walking through the room. I turn and ask, “What’s with all these coins?” They reply, “I don’t know, you left them there.”

“I left them?” I ask back, but I’m alone. I realize that I’ve eaten my sandwich. It’s gone but there are plenty more. There’s also many more piles of money that I didn’t see before. They’re everywhere, growing taller and wider, filling with silver coins.

Dream end.

0

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑