Dream scape

10-07-05

Ik bevind me met een hele boel mensen in een grote bus die met grote snelheid over een oneffen weg raast. Rajesh en Saidja zijn aanwezig. Rajesh ligt languit op een rolstoel. Zijn linkerbeen zit vastgepind in een metalen stanketsel. Zijn bovenbeen is nog zichtbaar misvormd en dun. Zo ook zijn onderbeen waar zijn kuit er slapjes bijhangt. Hans is mogelijk ook aanwezig maar dat kan ik niet met zekerheid zeggen.

Ik sta vooraan de bus als ze met matige snelheid tegen een grote metalen vuilbak botst. Op een of andere manier vang ik tussen bus en vuilbak deze botsing op zonder daar zelf veel pijn van te ondervinden. De ruimte tussen vuilbak en rand vd weg is zeer smal en de chauffeur vreest dat die berm het gewicht vd bus niet zal kunnen dragen. We spreken over tonnen en draagkracht ed. Uiteindelijk gaan we het gewicht vd bus verminderen doormiddel van een speelgoedhelikoptertje vastgebonden met draad aan de bus. Ik zal de afstandsbediening van de helikopter bedienen. Als we eraan beginnen breekt de draad echter en vliegt de helikopter weg. Dit tot ergernis van de eigenaar van deze.

Op een ander moment zijn we per auto onderweg naar een of andere bestemming. De vrouwelijke chauffeur baant zich nogal roekeloos een weg door een groepje allochtone families. Ik zie een wat oudere Marokkaan met lang grijs hippiehaar onder de groep en besluit dat dit een zeer progressieve groep betreft. Dit noopt tot enig optimisme aangaande integratie en sociale vooruitgang.

Aangekomen in het moderne gebouw betreden we de lift waar Kris Jaeken van Neerglabbeek me begroet. “Lang niet meer gezien”. Enzo.. De lift gaat eerst verkeerdelijk naar onder ipv naar boven. De versnelling van de lift is enorm.

Terug boven rijdt Rajesh binnen in rolstoel en gaan we naar boven.

Boven aangekomen vindt een Bisan vergadering plaats. Er worden stoelen bijgesleept en er is weinig plaats aan tafel. Er wordt frisdrank geschonken en ik kan niet beslissen wat ik wil drinken. Er is een of andere vreemdsoortige cola die ik niet wil.

11-07-05

I find myself in possession of the handgun of an Israeli soldier. At the next checkpoint I show it to the soldiers claiming it’s my gun. This seems to convince them. Afraid of being caught after (I’m suddenly on the lawn outside my parent’s house) I strip the gun and take the ammo out of the clip. All of the ammo is now in my pocket together with gunparts as I’m on the run. I decide it’s probably best to reassemble the thing in order to defend myself. There are too many bullets though and I cannot get them back into the clip. Next I find myself in a Belle Epoque house and family where I’m a guest. I find a bath room to change. There is a toilet, a bath tub and something that looks like a fifties design bidet. The state of this object strikes me as anomalous. Realizing I’m actually a contempory of it, it looks like really old. It’s retro yet it should be new as it’s not actually old. The looks of some women walking past in the hallway outside make me realize I’m half naked. I go back inside to change this. I’m in a bigger room now filled with paraphernalia of all sorts arranged like in a museum. An older lady comes in and hands me two different earrings for keeping. As I put them on a shelf between other earrings and jewels she stresses the importance of remembering exactly which earrings she gave me and to give those back to her after.

Next I’m in Gruitrode where something like a village wolf chase is going on. The wolf has disguised himself in a very cartoonish way by standing up, leaning against the wall offering directions to the hounds in the chase. One dog catches its scent though and goes after him…

13-07-05

I’m in the office of Bisan standing in front of Rahme’s desk. There seems to be some moving and construction going on. I briefly show her my penis but when she’s a bit startled I start to wonder whether this really is a dream. I start looking around for clues and I finally just ask her and from her answer I infer that it is just that; a dream. I take out my penis once more and present it to her to take into her mouth. She does this a couple of times quite to my enjoyment.

The next moment I’m in a train traveling from Brussels to some other place I think. Not sure. Tom Peeters is also on it and I have quite some bags with me. At stops people get off and I also step out briefly to make way for streams of people pouring in and out. Suddenly though, while I’m outside the carriage waiting to re-embark, I lose sight of my train and I find myself a bit lost. Still inside the station there is some sort of amateur train race going on. Contenders are big trains, smaller ones and even one-person go-cart-like contraptions that race along the tracks. One of’em has two passengers where one hangs out to one side like in a side-car race in order to change tracks.

Next things become a bit fuzzy with some woman following me around the station. It percolates that she was killed together with her father and mother in a train accident in this station a couple of years earlier. Was I also in this crash? Am I a wandering ghost as well? And what is the purpose of my/our presence there and then? Some unfinished business?

Next I’m in the shopping mall arcades above the station where a bully has it in for me. I get beaten the shit out of but manage to escape by bike. Turns out my bully is the fastest runner ever and it takes all the difficulty in the world to outrun him. I ride up and down stairs, whizzing through crowds, scarcely avoiding collision on numerous occasions. The multi-storey mall seems to have an awful lot of convenient ramps for me to ride up and down of. Eventually I manage to take an elevator up and run inside a jewelry store to call the police. The lady present indicates that she in fact is police and that therefore I am safe now. I sit there telling my story crying my guts out, totally exhausted from my predicament. Then a number of associates of my bully come into the store to check me out. They pretend to be on all kinds of errands such as needing to take a whiz or whatever..

14-07-05

I’m a famous society psychiatrist in West Coast U.S.A.. Due to a scandal where I allow my son to sit in the drivers seat of the car, thus compromising safety, I become embroiled in a custody battle. It’s a high media profile case and a lot of big names in a range of professions come to my defense in the witness stand. Even after showing up at a cocktail party wearing rather gay-looking sports clothes holding some other guy’s hand who’s wearing the same kind of outfit, it still seems the case in going my way. Then I fall in love with my beautiful black assistant. This is when the trouble starts.

She’s tall and classy. We’re seen at the same party holding hands as she leads me upstairs where we kiss. When the mess deepens the perspective changes and I watch the lawyer from a third-person view. Fed up with people’s racism he utters some arcane Jiddish warning to her. She asks what it means and he implies that he might leave her over this.

30-03-06

A basketball match is in progress. I’m a player and some kind of epic showdown is on, much like in the movies where everything depends on a last minute slam-dunk or long distance shot. It’s not clear who the participants are or who’s in fact watching.

I’m on the ball a couple of times but I don’t seem to be the central figure in this drama. Someone from my team finally comes roaring toward the ring but he misses it, which surprises me. It’s somehow not the way it goes and I know it.

Some tools are discovered in the trunk of a car that’s parked on the playing field.

It’s not quite clear what these tools are but they’re not allowed, at least not there. A scuffle and a verbal fight erupts. The main culprit is soon identified. He’s inside the car which I start throwing about, in a bid to kill its occupant. The car is miniaturized to a scale of 1/2. I’m in my parent’s garage now, slamming the car into the ground. It gratifies me somehow to see it get mangled and banged up. It turns into a bicycle eventually and I use another bike to damage it as much as I can. I’m vaguely aware of my dad or even multiple family members being there.

3-08-06

There is a large aquarium. Someone is inside and I watch it much like you watch a documentary. This one is about a daredevil that captures sharks in some kind of half-open underwater cage or net. He then goes in, diving, to attack and kill the creature using some kind of electric prod. The shark is electrocuted in a flickering horror of sparks and suffering. Next, I am the diver. I hold the prod, which has the shape of a large shell. It’s used by simply holding out the unevenly protruding edge of it against the shark.

I’m out of the aquarium. People stand outside under an awning. I sit on some kind of platform that’s elevated off the ground under it.

Next I’m carrying out the dead shark’s carcass. It’s been emptied of bones, pieces of it are ripped off. Apparently some kind of scavenger fish or animal has been nibbling away at it. This is explained by some narrative voice in the background of me.

I carry the carcass out. I walk out of the aquarium, which is empty of water now, debris-strewn. Back up on my platform I carry the shark for all to see, and it’s impressive.

I briefly contemplate the fact that I’m not an animal killer, not a person that harms sea-life, not a fish-eater. The thought is overshadowed by the thought that this fish is going to provide food for a lot of people. Man is more important than fish.

The platform is full of burned jumbled stuff. I recognize a charred human foot, and soon, to my lacking horror, there are more body parts. All burned.

1-9-06

Apocalyptica

I stand on a terrace, which sits high up against the side of a large apartment building. Tom Donne is there too, along with some other people that hover about.

I notice an erratic star that jumbles and jumps about the expanse. It describes a wild curve drawn by a rogue scientist on crack. Tom Donne notices it too and we both realize this must be –it can’t be anything but- an extra-terrestrial vehicle. Could it?

Then, small supernovas, diminutive explosions like beginner fireworks, appear. Awe strikes us like a hammer. What’s going on? The explosions grow bigger and soon space itself seems to ripple above our heads. The other people flock from the party inside to come look at all the celestial ruckus. A sense of doom is coupled with wonder and even more question marks. This is the end of something. Or is it a beginning?

The tower is pronounced a settlement. It means an additional roll-back, a lesser status from the Israeli presence on Palestinian land. Are we talking about Jerusalem?

The details of it are far from clear but the gist of what happens is that the end of occupation is in sight.

Anna Steinel is a monster. Or so it’s inferred at some point. Some magnificent danger is loose in the same building. I hide on the ground floor, accompanied by dogs, kind dogs. The protect me in some undescribed manner. When Anna comes, I try to climb to a higher ground, thinking it will bring me safety. She can’t climb you know.

But she can. And she does, but when she approaches at long last, nothing but kindness radiates. We exchange some jokes. Nonetheless. These are end days. Something is abrew.

1-11-06

I’m in some kind of large control tower. It is the editing room of a TV news studio, lined with screens and fat, clog-veined men. I am not a part of what’s going on. I merely observe. The men seem to be highly at risk of cardiac trouble. This is in fact what they’re saying to each other, half-jokingly but still.

The all of a sudden, it’s the end the world. Is there an extraterrestrial ploy at hand? Fact of the matter however is a giant tsunami washing away over the whole earth. From the vantage of the tower one sees the liquid horror approaching. Somehow there is no panic though. One character, also a tv director sits outside at sort of a bank at the foot of the tower. The one thing that he relishes to lose is his spoiled wife.

Somehow though at the eleventh hour she manages to drive her drop-top mini up to the embankment and is saved. The water kills everyone on the planet save those at the tower.

Next, the wife stands on a glass promontory, underneath which washes the lethal water.

From that same viewpoint (underneath) I see cracks appearing in the transparent platform. The tv director perceives it too but keeps quiet. Will he tell her or not?

Eventually he does pull her off the dangerous ledge and saves her.

18-02-07

I find myself in some ground floor veranda-like room with friends, only it’s much bigger than a veranda and the whole abode has the look and feel of a holiday bungalow. There’s a large table. I believe Smita is there. In fact, I believe it’s more or less the crowd at that party of hers.

I’m having a conversation with Sheila or Elizabeth (in either case we’re talking “chubby Canadian woman”) and for an unapparent reason what began as pleasant banter soon spirals down into nasty remarks thrown back and forth; accusations and reproach, mostly coming at me. The general tide of allegiance has in fact turned against me and everyone present dislike or even hate me now. The Canadian girl refers to a comment I made about her in something I wrote and I wonder how come she knows this, as it isn’t published anywhere. The reference is made in a short outline of a story –nothing that’s grown into anything significant, so I’m not yet very alarmed. There’s a short exchange between her and me about how long exactly the piece of writing in question is, as if it measures somehow the gravity of my alleged transgression against her. At some point I tell her “I plain don’t like you, so just fuck off. There I said it.” (this is an approximation of my words). “I’m leaving.” I get off my seat, looking about me to collect my laptop. Suddenly it appears that I’m not the only one that owns an aluminum Powerbook. Two computers are on the table but I can easily spot which laptop it is not because one has a whole range of engravings (or stickers?) and embellishments –the glittery kind that you could find on teenagers’ mobile phones just a few years ago.

I’m ready to put mine, selected by default, in the bag but upon closer inspection a horrific fact that this also is not my computer reveals itself. Some minor markings on the keyboard give the ploy away; my computer isn’t there at all. This is where the atmosphere takes a nasty turn. I cry out to those present that I want my machine back, “I’m onto you guys. Why would you want to take this from me?” I scream. “I want it back.”

Smita replies that I can’t get it back because the person who has it is not there and won’t be back until so and so. In sheer unbridled rage I start to throw things about the room; ashtrays, bowls, chairs (these I’m swinging at actual people, hitting them, though it’s not clear if anyone is getting hurt). This impinges some urgency on my foes and Smita gets on the phone and yes, the laptop will be brought by Roberto. He just needed to take it on the internet, they tell me, to crack the access code to it.

I freak out, because this will be the biggest disaster ever. It contains not only all my writing and the incriminating nature of what is written, but also the fact in itself that so much of it is there that it seems inevitable to conclude that I really haven’t done any serious work at my job at all.

The room is filling up with more people, all ducking and evading the objects I sent hurtling about, crashing into and braking vases and lamps and other things made of glass. The broken glass is spread everywhere on the floor and a member of the hostile throng points this out to me, as I am barefooted. “I don’t give a shit,” I say, “this will not hurt me.”

The ugly scene continues unabated outside (the multitude around me). I’m in a park?

Roberto comes carrying my laptop. I believe I ask him “et tu Roberto?” finding it hard to believe that he too has turned against me.

He starts telling me about some interesting comments about him that he found inside the computer, and he goes over some titles of other writing too.

I turn to the posse, shouting, in a fuming fit, asking them why all of this is happening, why I am hated so much, so suddenly? The guys in the crowd of jeering opponents (it’s an all-out witch-hunt) take a backseat now and I’m surrounded by all-women. “Why are you all doing this?” I ask again.

One after the other they throw grievances at me, citing various instances and naming girls that I’ve deviously hurt. I have through subterfuge and evil cunning taken advantage and hurt a long list of women, and the women present have taken up their case and decided to teach me a lesson. Kirsty is among them. She’s crying. It’s not exactly clear if I’ve hurt her or someone else that she knows. The woman from Nazareth (Imogen) is mentioned as my most blatant transgression (in real life we met once and exchanged phone numbers; I later called her and was quite rudely rebuffed). But in the dream I am infused with guilt, and I start a feeble effort to explain my motives and behavior, reprehensible though, I too am convinced, they are. I’m on my knees in the wet grass at this point and the group can’t seem to decide whether to listen, or dismiss me, claiming I’m insincere and even at that moment unrepentingly trying to subvert them with disingenuous trickery.

I am a woman-abusing bastard whose uppance has come, it appears.

My best friend Tom shows up. He asks me what this is all about. “It’s a fucking nightmare,” I tell him.

Kirsty then pleads in my favor and sways the group to at least hear me out. It is unclear how this is resolved, for the next moment I’m edging closer to a building; perhaps my home or hotel. In any case there is refuge in there from the hostile crowd. The guys that had earlier receded to the back plan are picketing in front of the entrance.

I’m making my way over to it and the angry mass has now taken up two rows on either side of me. The atmosphere, abruptly, is pierced by the loud yelp of an ambulance. At this point all those present assume the red overalls and hats of formula 1 pit-stop mechanics and race officials. The hostility ebbs away at the same time, turning into lauding and admiration, and I am able to enter the hotel (this is what it now clearly turns out to be). I go to the check-in desk where I open my computer. Am I checking it in? Am I checking myself into the hotel?

When I turn around I see that an ambulance has parked in front of the entrance and a stretcher is rolled in. What lies on top; small and completely covered in a white sheet, I first believe to be a dead body (from a race accident?) but a second look gives a different impression; the doctor or rescue worker that pushes the cart huddles over and protectively embraces something small and fragile that is still alive, wrapped in the white sheet but not bigger than a small shoebox. I wonder if this is an emergency delivery of some donor organ, whose recipient lies somewhere in the hotel/hospital? waiting for this precious gift. Then from the other side the stretcher is met by another stretcher, coming from the elevator on which, attached to all kinds of medical tubes and apparati, lies a human arm (not connected to a body but alive). It is outstretched and ready to meet what on the first stretcher turns out to be a human hand. They meet up and lock in a firm, friendly grip.

Witnessing this produces a feeling of great relief in me and the conviction that my ordeal is finally over.