Waking Finnegan

“We are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our whole life is rounded with a sleep” ~ Shakespeare

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Location: zurich, Switzerland

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Joyce Dream

In and around gallery rooms, some empty, others vast, Mom's tug-rolling a sad old red rustysqueaky Radio Flyer wagon from Bellevue and I'm feeling guilty about it and try gently taking the handle from her but then a dressed-up-in-Sargeant-Pepper-red security guard slaps my hand away and Mom says 'Why don't you hop in?' She's much younger 30'ish, and I'm watching her elbows thinking how dark and wrinkled they look---she's asking me about my artwork; wondering which room they're in. And me I remain seated patiently while squeaking along; guard's paw on my shoulder, which is keeping me-loaded wagon from tipping when we turn corners---He keeps looking over at me; is he watching me, or watching out? We roll through boxy spaces---dim corridors---on and on forever but finally ending at a long bank of rope-suspended enameled sinktubs---bigger than human-sized---Sargeant Pepper gone and so no more with the shoulder clamp but tipsy now and so I'm straddling the wagon feet splayed on the floor sos not to tip. Mom says 'We've gotta clean up' and suddenly pulls on dangling rope sticking out of one tubbasin. Big jerkiing pulls and then plop. A wadded clump of funky rags lands heavily splooshing dinge water all over my bare feet and cuffs---where are my shoes? Mom telling me 'These are the better-made 'Nihonjin' dishrags, so they'll sop up no problem' and sniggers and we're telepathically jumping thoughts about a trip to Japan long ago...deja vu.

Joyce is back from the dead and speaking hush-hush with Mom. I try listening in but Joyce keeps eyeing me warily, then pauses. Now she marches up to me saing: 'This is none of your business and so start cleaning the floor!'---I'm astonished because she's dead but here and now. I'm scared because of vague premonitions about Mom. I want Joyce to leave. Go back. Bad vibes. Who sent her?

I'm trying to untangle plopped moppups foul and fetid from ancient boggy swamp drain hole---can't untangle and disgusted because some stink splash-jumps on me, on my lips, and I'm spitting and jump up to wash but the tap rinse water all rustmuddy---Mr. Pepper there again standing guard but not the same guy---morphed into service station attendant decked out in 1950's old fashioned blueworker duds now kindly smiling and willing to help 'clean up'. Pulling on the oversize tap and then a groaning rattle, and suddenly pppfffppttfffpp...POW! Big spiggot kerpow and a comical series of spattering scaldrhythms cannonfire against the basin like little boys pinch-pissing. Big Steam; now I can't make out through the fog...no sinks, people...but the groaning pipes. P.A. voice now yelling: 'Everybody, this is an emergency. Please proceed to the front of the building!' I shuffle around looking for Mom and Joyce but they're gone. Hsssss.

Same building and I'm showing Peter some collage tricks. He's grilling me about glues, varnishes, oil, waxes, masking---shopping lists---I tell him 'slow down; you've gotta learn in stages'---He's antsy eager and much smaller than in real life long drink of water self. 'He's a lad, I'm thinking'. I pick up a pair of pinking shears heavy and two-handed huge. I try cutting through a large long paperboard but can't manage this boat-anchor-for-shears...getting heavier....Peter jumps in and we right the ship and all is smooth sailing through the long cardboard surface. He's pleased; happy now because I've shown him such a cool trick and I dub it 'long-cut zig-zags'.

Now building a gaming arena---Las Vegas-like casino---Is this an 'art exhibition'? People playing slots but not just for coin-drop lever pulling idiots---no these requiring pachinko-skills only---dials, flippers, buttons---accordion complexities with oompah hurdy gurdy sounds wheezing in and out half alive breathing...scary.

Same place but outside walking along white railing and spanking-clean boat deck thick industrial glossywhite everywhere. I stop to admire lusciousness of gleaming boatpaint---pressing the paint on a pole and oh shit it's not dry inside the layers!---I look around; press my finger to test and now my nails making little indents and oh joy! Nail patterns. Then my little abstract pole drawing is getting out of hand; I've made thousands could they all be mine? Sense a big reprimand from the skipper and so start to skedaddle but now I'm feeling slightly queasy-headed and move towards the stern. There's a pirate plank but as I approach and upclose examine I see it's synthetic resin and a diving board for sea-plunging.

In the casino again watching a little tinykid much too young negotiating a tricked out Smart Car---a conversion for a vid-game wildride outrageous spleentwister gutting madness. Oh man he's good! He's kidcontrolling everything from cockpit all maniacal reflexes at-the-ready no stopping him now he's going to re-set the odometer!---I'm overhead viewing standing on some special platform on cast metal footprints 'stand here' and holding onto metal knobs but can't get a grip and emotional waves in the house now he's gonna turn the odometer over. Then bing bing bing---and Smart Car starts gyrating---I'm holding knobs but car now slowly broncs; it's part mechanical bull. I take a timed leap waiting first for the swing up to jump and thrust me out as far away as possible and I'm now bounding from one balcony to another treemonkey free. People looking up at me in wonder pointing as I jump from one level to another and yelling 'I'm flying, Mom!'


Anonymous Dr. Pants said...

My question is this: Are these real dreams? Is this how detailed your dreams are? I usually remember like 1 tiny part of my dreams. That's it.

Pretty amazing if you remember all of this.

5:47 PM  
Blogger finnegan said...

Pants, these are not only real dreams, but I actually get frustrated about the stuff I can't remember.

It was no different for me in the beginning when I first started to log them. Just tidbits. But like anything else, there's a method to the madness.

What you have to do upon waking is to have some sort of logging device, be it a paper/pen or a recording device (I use my iPod with a voice recorder attachment). Do not (and I emphasize not) think of your day, your limp or hard penis, your stomach or anything else. Go straight to what you just went throught and log it the best you can. From there, day by day, you'll see that your ability to recall builds.

Naturally some days are better than others, just like the dreams themselves.

7:18 PM  
Blogger karma said...

did you remember to yell, "Look ma, no hands"? :))

1:28 AM  
Blogger finnegan said...

Look Kharma, no head!

6:44 AM  

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