i just had a crazy intense dream. it was like a Borgesian sci-fi ghost story, or maybe something from a more stylish m. night shyamalan film. of course it doesn't make a lot of linear sense now, even in that nifty metaphysical narrative-twists way it seemed to, but when it became lucid, it seemed like it was going to be a complete postmodern supernatural short story.

i wasn't the main character, but sometimes i occupied his mind. the protagonist and his wife board a massive ship, and wander through all the rooms (furnished as everything from parlors to coffeeshops to record stores, but all with a glamourous '40s feeling, and lots of records lying around, in boxes) until they find their own bedroom suite. in the night, his wife begins to wail annoyingly, and he murders her. then he goes off to another room to pore through some boxes of lps, wondering whether they are free for anyone to take, and feeling doubly guilty when he takes a pile. the dream didn't show me the murder, but later he sits in a room with access to the water (the room is open to the ocean - like those rooms in fallingwater that access the river), next to the corpse but confusingly not disposing of it in the water, and worried that he will be discovered if anyone else in the ship needs to wash his hands in the night. he hears footsteps.

in the morning, the wife wakes up, in the same room, and we find her in conversation with a curly-haired child, and the childs parents and the protagonist. it becomes apparent that the child is dead as well - i/the husband killed him to prevent him from discovering the wife's body. she and the child are ghosts, on this ghost ship.

a later sequence, the tone has shifted somehow, and it is the aftermath of something horrible, with a sense of impending finality as though the ship will soon dock and become inaccessible. "i" am running through the rooms of the ship, searching for the same bedroom and its adjoining record-store room to retrieve that stack of lps. but i keep running, through the walls and shelves and supermarket display cases of plum jelly, unable to find it. i ask directions several times and someone reminds me to think of the governor. a hint. i keep this in my mind and some bureaucrat appears as i pass by, identifiable by "…vernor" written on his side. it seems that i am arriving at the room, but all the records are not records but flimsy transparent plastic sleeves in racks, so i keep running: i can only reach my destination by focusing mind and memory on it, and meanwhile everything else is illusory and i phase right through it.

this all doesn't make much sense now, i see, but it was totally deep and supernatural as it happened. after the inconclusive ending to the story, i discovered (as by reading the appendix or watching the bonus featurette, or, as it seemed, looking at "readme" files contained in the same folder as the story) the "rules": the explanation of how all the strange phenomena in the dream made consistent sense. a lot of it had to do with the backstory of the character's father, and explained some things about phasing and memory. it wasn't too helpful, but i wanted it to make sense, since the dream was pretty lucid by this point.

well, i tried to capture that, not sure how well it worked. anyway, to pick up where i left the story (jason falkner lyric that's been in my head this morning), after i became one of those people that vaguely irk me, walking around in harvard square carrying bright yellow tower records baggies,

i bussed home, round midnight, and departed shortly after again. i rode with benny and the scientist on the stereo, while dan and mami followed behind us on a wicked goose chase that took us through newton, allston, brighton, cambridge, quincy, dorchester, and more (i don't remember the order, but it wasn't a logical one) to pick up ans and abby, some gas, abby's bowling ball, and another skavoover, euphonium joe. by the time we arrived at the 24-hour bowling alley, it was well past one.

but the place was packed! nearly full parking lot, four security guards on duty, who let us in after checking id (at a bowling alley? fortunately it was 18+) and they were still serving food - surprisingly tasty chewy-crust pizza, which i much needed. i bowled with focused intent but less consistency. only managed two spares in each of two games, but i felt like i was improving even though my scores were dropping off. i should bowl more. it's always a good time. we got home much after three.

coming up: sunday and monday and today and the rest of cod. but first i have to go do some things.

Brazil...
where hearts were entertaining June
we stood beneath an amber moon
and softly murmured someday soon
we kissed
and clung together
then
tomorrow was another day
the morning found me miles away
with still a million things to say
now
when twilight dims the skies above
recalling thrills of our love
there's one thing I'm certain of
return
i will
to old
Brazil