a dream I had about living with people and a caged bird

I don’t know whose house it was, but I’d been staying there for what seemed like days; not because I’d been evicted from my place or anything like that, but on good terms; when I suddenly noticed what looked like a macaw parrot in a cage on the floor. I don’t know if it was my first time realizing it was there or if seeing it reminded me it was there, but there it was; a thicker wider version of what may as well have been Toucan Sam. When it noticed me looking down at it in that little cage, it began squawking and fluttering about as if it was desperately trying to tell me something. “Awww,” I thought and probably said aloud, “It’s hungry.”

“Starving” may have actually been the word as I got the impression that it hadn’t eaten, or drank, in days. I don’t know what made me think that. Its behavior may have been because it simply wanted me to set it free from the cage and there may have been food pellets or at least a water bottle among the light clutter, what looked like toys and other things it could play with, in the cage. I figure I figured it hadn’t had food or water because I hadn’t seen it eat or drink since I’d been there. Everyone; I was there with at least a few other people; seemed to completely ignore it. Part of the reason for that is because it was so damn quiet. Well, until I approached it.

Though I wished I’d noticed it sooner, I’m glad I noticed it at all. And if no one else in the house, which could have actually been a large apartment, cared about it, I did and I wasn’t going to let it suffer. So I began looking for food. The room it was in seemed like the kitchen anyway and there was a loaf of bread on the table or counter top, but it was molded. So I walked around the place, at one point passing a room with a girl who looked like a cross between Dawn Robinson from En Vogue and YouTuber Tasha Green; with a more protuberant brow ridge, nose and lips; sitting on a bed, but she and everyone else said to just give it the moldy bread.

I wasn’t going to do that though. I considered the fact that birds typically have a stronger tolerance for fungi than humans and the bread may not have harmed it, but I didn’t want to take that chance. I just wanted to help the poor thing, especially when what at first seemed like a squawk became a pitiful yelp. I was convinced it was starving, and dehydrated, and I wasn’t going to do nothing about it. Neither was I going to feed it moldy bread. I was going to get it fresh water and good food, even if I had to go buy it. I’d made up my mind. Why do people have pets if they’re going to neglect them, I thought, as I prepared to go to the store.

2018 ( September 02 )

a dream I had about walking to a college campus and teleporting back home to get my car

I had already walked pass my old high school or at least the student parking lot, where I imagined how much easier it would have been to get to and from school if I had a car, or at least a driver’s license, when I went there. There were feelings of nostalgia, but I didn’t stay around long for fear of being arrested for trespassing or something worse. There were plenty of teenage girls there, after all, and it seems I’m finding myself more and more living in a society in which a guy even looking at a girl from afar can be deemed sexual “harassment”. Besides, my main destination was the college, apparently Wayne State University, just up the street.

It took a matter of minutes to walk there from the high school and what an inviting scene it was. It was a warm spring or fall, maybe even summer, day; the weather was gorgeous or at least unassuming enough not to cause me any problems; and there were people, mostly students, many of them sexy young women, talking and walking about. It was fairly crowded, not only because of classes but in anticipation for what seemed to be some sort of social event, like some sort of big club party, starting later that day. I wanted to be there, if only to get video of it, but figured it would go on late into the night, which meant I didn’t want to be walking home in the dark.

With that in mind; and here’s the crazy part of the dream; I walked out from the campus area to the sidewalk near the main street, which seemed like Woodward Avenue, put my stuff (bags) down and bent down into a sitting position to see if I could “conjure” my car, which was at home, by closing my eyes and concentrating hard enough. I thought I had. But when I opened my eyes, I could see I was at home in bed; I think I looked up at my ceiling fan in real life; and could simply walk outside to my car and drive back to the school, which is what I prepared to do; I remember trying to remember whether or not I took a shower; before waking up for real.

2018 ( August 25 )

a dream I had about 500 girls at a hotel

I was outside at the entrance of the hotel, or at least the entrance of the parking lot, as I overheard some of the staff; two unattractively-normal-looking black women in their 40s or 50s; mention that “500 girls” were coming. They meant that 500 girls had been booked at once and were on their way to the building. The women didn’t seem to know the reason, but the implication was clear. They figured it had something to do with sex, which naturally peaked my interest. Exactly what was going on everyone seemed to wonder as the word spread around the premise. At one point, I mentioned it to what seemed like a random stranger. Was it for a TV commerical? A song video? Porn? No one seemed to know. But I planned to stay and find out.

I don’t know if I actually booked a room or what, but soon I was in the building; a hall section apparently connected to the lobby. It was the area where the elevators were as I stood near the right of what looked like a petite Asian woman who was waiting for hers to arrive and take her up to her room. A little further down, further to the left of the woman, sat a man; seemingly foreign also; on a leathered bench. There was a screen, a video monitor, almost directly in front of him; on the wall we all faced, but more to his right and the woman’s left. Suddenly it started showing a live stream of what was happening elsewhere in the hotel; a girl and a guy having sex. Fucking is a more appropriate way to put it. It was like a hardcore porn.

I figured the guy sitting on the bench had heard about the “500 girls” and was secretly excited about it, like me, but the video had no sound and he wasn’t looking up at the screen. He had his head down, reading a book or doing something on his phone, so I tried to get his attention by waving at him discreetly enough so that the woman wouldn’t notice out of the corner of her eye as she faced the elevator door she had been waiting to open. She noticed. I figured she’d also noticed the video but had been trying to ignore it because, without even looking over at the screen, she exploded in anger by violently throwing something at the guy as if to say, “Hey pervert! This other pervert is trying to get you to look at the perverts on the screen!”

It didn’t hurt him. It was something small she’d had in her hand. But it got his attention. The next thing I knew, he was fucking one of the girls just like the guy in the video. My first reaction was to laugh; he was pounding the shit out of this girl; as I pulled out my own camera and started recording. The woman either ran into the elevator or ran away in disgust as the video on the screen cut to other people, guests and staff, having sex in the hotel. It was a huge orgy that quickly had the whole building shaking as if there was a major earthquake. I wasn’t scared though. Neither was I concerned about getting dizzy as I would’ve been in real life. I just smiled and aimed my camera at the guy and the girl fucking frantically on the bench.

If the building wasn’t shaking so bad, I probably would’ve been looking for a girl of my own. They were apparently porn girls; the fakey overdramatic kind that typically turn me off; but the ones I’d seen thus far looked gorgeously attractive and it seemed anyone could just walk up and start having sex with any of them. I started to worry about the probability of the building collapsing though, World Trade Center style, all the while smiling and recording, as I ran to get into one of the elevator doors to the left of me. I stopped myself before going in. “Fuck this,” I might have said out loud, “I’m taking the stairs.” I figured it was too much of a risk. Being trapped in a broken elevator, with no girls, would’ve been a worse-case scenario.

2018 ( April 26 )