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| everything waking, culminated into one dream
Last night, I have a dream - the first in a very long time. This lack of is due to my recently acquired habits of excessive drinking...and other undisclosed activities. So this is it:
I'm at the bar with Bennedetto, Jon, and two other anonymous girls. I overhear a conversation coming from this dye-darkredhead who looks very similar to the replacement of Miss Huckabees.
She's going on an on about this orange and white female cat. Later on, I overhear her say "Pixel". Then I figure out that it's my Pixel that she is talking about. I cannot believe it.
I look around and see Ramon sitting alone at a booth. Somehow, the conclusion/connection is made that this redheaded broad is Ramon's new girl. I am slightly jealous.
Then, I ask him why he gave this slut OUR cat??? I go ape-shit trying to defend my reasons to give her to me instead of this stranger.
Ramon has a journal there. In it, are cut-up easy read books. It's quite humorous how he selected the saddest parts to describe what he is going through. The text is accompanied by pencil line drawings colored in with primary color crayon.
I rip up the journal to bits, while frothing at the mouth, shouting obscenities and angry logic.
Everyone - Ramon, Benedetto, Jon, our two female guests, and the new skank - is calm. Except me.
The situation enrages me even more. | | |
| when i am awake i am sleeping,
and when i am sleeping i am awake
i've been so busy lately that i either get no sleep or too much. i'll remember something, not knowing whether it was a real-life occurance or a dream.
it's scary. | | |
| Oranges for breakfast
Earlier this morning, I gave Jon, Nozomi, Fred, and Jen the assignement to: disperse, sleep, dream, and write it all down when you wake up. Everyone thought it was a great idea, but I am unsure who actually did it. I did, or tried. I couldn't sleep much last night. What I do remember is:
- Driving on manicured lawns and achieving the affect that one gets when vaccumming on plush carpet. I was trying to park, but there was a lake. So I had to back it up.
- A messy peel apart poloroid of a come-back note from Ramon
- Sending a bunch of text messages
The reason for such splotchy sleep patterns was due in part to the 50 cent coffee. The other, the main, reason was because of Jon. He ended up either giving a girl a ride back home, or "giving her a ride back home". The ambiguity is like the signals we give each other.
Maybe it's all in my mind; I'll like bannanas one day and then eat an orange for breakfast...
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| Last night, I had a bad dream:
It is the day of the Entry Test for wannabe Photography majors. I go into this huge cafeteria like room with tons of people. (The amount of people is similar to when I took the SAT - so long long ago - in the cafeteria of Coranado High School.)
I recieve my test as I walk in. I sit down at a desk. I am simultaneously a little nervous and confident because I have been doing so well on the practice test for this test - which will determine my college course.
I finish quickly. I turn in my test. It is graded. I "fail" because I make an 80, where I needed a 90 or above to be even considered for the program.
I am so sad, but do not cry. I wander around in the light of setting sun. Over and over I wonder WHY? I didn't make a great score. So many times, I beg those in charge to please let me retake the test. They say they cannot.
Then I realize, that I never even checked over the test. I just rushed through, wanted to get it over with, and turned it in.
I wish to myself that I would have known this earlier so that I would not make the mistake of failing
And then I wake up. I wake up relieved that the real test is tomorrow and with the intention of studying my ass off.
update: i passed the test with a 100 | | |
| As an ambitious photographer, I am naturally going to school to study it. The other day, my Czech instructor Gaby showed the class how to tone our prints. The technique of toning involves noxious, fatal chemistry in order to produce a photograph that supposedly will last 1000 more years than a nomal black & white print. The correct environment to do such dastardly dangerous stuff is in a well-ventilated area wearing gloves and a ventilator mask. I really like the results, and debating whether I should tone my own prints. I does not help that I get these bad omens in my dreams, because that night I dreamt:
I am in Gaby's studio ready with my b&w photographs to tone. The chemistry is set up and I am anxious to start. I start the whole process like I would in the regular darkroom. Then this girl comes in with rubber gloves and gas mask. After initially thinking she is an overcatious freak, I realize that I am the unsafe vunerable stupid person who does not have any toxic chemical protection - not even an apron. I start freaking out because I believe I am going to die.
Then, suddenly, I wake with a bloody nose. | | |
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