June 16, 2006
Last night I dreamed of Plusha. I was visiting her. She lived in this amusing studio room. I had brought my jewelry — all sorts of trinkets — to show her. But she was busy with a young man and didn’t seem eager to make time for me. So I took out a little box with her “treasures” and started examining them.
Then I found myself in a strange place. A group of demonic women was passing by, led by some demonic leader. For some reason, one of the women took a dislike to me. The demon approached and “punished” me: he stuck some kind of needle into my body. According to the rules of that place, I had to endure the punishment patiently and submissively — which I did.
Right after the demons came a man with demonic beasts. This time, it was a cat who didn’t like me. And this cat looked terrifying — when she opened her mouth, her fangs were as big as those of a giant dog. She hooked one of my hands with a fang. Again, by the strange laws of that place, I had to remain still. Who knows what might happen otherwise, with a wolf-fanged cat?
Still, I called out to the man handling the herd. He realized I wasn’t guilty of anything and took the cat away.
Then it was New Year’s Eve. Snow was falling, and fireworks were sparkling in the sky. I picked up a dandelion somewhere and wanted to take a photo of the moment I blew on it and the seeds flew into the sky. But I didn’t manage to snap the picture in time — the seeds fell to the ground.
June 20, 2006
I was hosting a strange party, and somehow Sasha Tsybin showed up. He was standing there in a large beige jacket. I was being sarcastic; so was Sasha. He said, “Darling, I bought us stuffed cabbage rolls for dinner,” as if we were married. I threw back a snide, “Thanks, but no thanks.”
When Sasha was about to leave, I told him to turn out his pockets — just in case he took something again. From his jacket pocket, Sasha pulled out a handful of lilac stones that I used to make bracelets. Finally, he left. I returned to the room and found the party had sort of dissolved, yet people were sleeping in strange positions on tables and couches: Sasha from Synton, a girl about thirty years old, and two tiny Moomins.
The little Moomins were wearing black tracksuits and sleeping curled up, with their knees tucked to their chins — it looked quite funny. I woke everyone up.
Sasha from Synton, being his funny self, decided to boil water by putting a kettle on the edge of a Czech wall unit. I scolded him — even if there’s a heating element, the furniture gets ruined! He was sent to the kitchen to use the stove instead.
Such funny and surprising dreams I have.
July 28, 2006
I lived on the second floor, and on the first floor, I had a sort of lounge. It was nighttime. I looked out the window and was stunned.
The pool was packed with high schoolers; they were also sitting around at tables, drinking. I went out onto the balcony and yelled that people needed to sleep. I got a bunch of insolent faces in return.
When I went downstairs, I saw the window glass was shattered.
I went outside to at least find out which school they were from. A guy told me the name of the school — I remembered it at first, but by the time I tried to call the police, I had forgotten. Even 911 wasn’t working; another number my neighbor and I found was strange. I dialed it — and the phone disappeared.
When I returned home, I found a guy with a weapon in the downstairs room — there to finish what the vandals had started.
I asked, “Why are you doing this?”
“Because they’re paying me,” he answered.
Around my house, noisy motorcyclists were circling, music was blasting — there was no way to sleep. They drained and refilled the pool over and over.
By morning, everyone dispersed. Neighbors, horrified, were carrying out wet towels, holding them on sticks like dirty rags. The pool looked pitiful after the feast.
…I’m thinking, maybe next time I should just calmly tell them that if I wake up even once to their shouting, I’ll call the police. Or maybe… I should work on my worldview — since in my universe, I’m the one who somehow created these night monsters who wake me for no reason. A dilemma.
The first half of the dream was beautiful.
I dreamed of him.
He kissed me on the lips, and together we were creating a long-forgotten beauty. Then someone called him away. He left, though he really didn’t want to. A tender dream.
At first, I was at some music school, playing the piano. I moved to another wing, carrying my coat under my arm the whole time. It was a beautiful black coat stitched with white thread along the edges.
When I went outside, it turned out my coat was gone.
It was cold. I yelled to my friend that I needed to go back — I couldn’t leave without it.
I went back, but the coat was nowhere to be found. Instead, they handed me something hideously old-lady-like, with ruffles and made of heavy fabric.
I peeked into a hall where a party for gay men was happening. I wanted to join in, but then the party was broken up. I started yelling that I was “one of them,” but they doused me with gasoline.
I fell, tried to crawl away, but they quickly threw a burning lighter into the puddle. I didn’t make it out in time.
At first, I thought, “So this is how I die.”
But I didn’t die.
I was lying in the center of a burning puddle of gasoline. Only my left hand began to burn badly. I felt a strong burn and wondered if it was second-degree or third-degree.
Soon the chaos ended. I was about to leave, picking up a small white plate along the way — no idea why.
I hadn’t even straightened up when several police officers pointed their guns at me.
I wanted to say “I’m one of you!” but just lifted my hands, still holding the plate.
They let me go fairly quickly, though I wanted to complain about my burn.
Later there was another strange scene: I was lying naked on a bridge, sleeping. Doctors in white coats were riding past in funny little carts, like a carousel, gawking at the sight of me — naked and asleep on the bridge.
Dream – July 31, 2006
At first, I was in some kind of music school, playing the piano. Then I moved to another wing, all the while carrying a coat tucked under my arm. It was a beautiful coat — black, trimmed with white stitching along the edges.
But when I went outside, the coat was gone.
It was cold.
I shouted to my friend that I had to go back, that I couldn’t leave without my coat. I returned, but I couldn’t find it. Instead, they handed me something terribly frumpy — some heavy drapery-like coat with frills.
I peeked into a hall. There was a party for gay men happening. I wanted to join in, but just then the party was being broken up. I started shouting that I was “one of them,” but someone doused me with gasoline.
I fell to the ground and tried to crawl away, but they quickly threw a burning lighter into the puddle.
I didn’t make it in time.
At first, I thought, this is it — I’m about to die, but I didn’t. Even though I was lying right in the center of the burning gasoline puddle, I didn’t die. Only my left arm started to burn a little, and I felt the sharp pain of a serious burn — trying to figure out in my mind whether it was second-degree or third-degree.
Soon the chaos ended. I got ready to leave, and along the way, I picked up a small white plate — though I had no idea why.
I hadn’t even straightened up with the plate in my hand when several policemen pointed their rifles at me.
Again, I wanted to shout, “I’m one of you!”
But instead, I simply raised my hands — still holding the plate.
In the end, they let me go fairly quickly. I even thought about complaining to someone about the burn.
Then there was another strange scene — I was lying naked, asleep on a bridge. Doctors in white coats were passing by in little funny carts, like carousel rides — it was like their personal transport — and they looked at me with great curiosity, marveling at the strange sight of me, naked, asleep on a bridge.
August 22, 2006
A young man, a courier, delivered a dress to my home. While I was getting ready to pay, he pulled out another dress and offered, “Would you like to try this one on too?”
The dress was beautiful.
I agreed, even though my hair was wrapped in a towel (I had just washed it).
I went behind a wardrobe to try it on, closing my eyes for some reason.
Suddenly, through closed eyes, I felt something poking my face. There was no mistaking what it was.
The young man clearly wanted something, judging by his… firmness.
To my own amazement, I agreed immediately and suggested we move to the bed.
The bed, however, was covered with boxes of vodka, wine, Baileys, and other drinks — and my camera.
With one sweep, he knocked it all to the floor.
Several bottles broke.
But the worst thing was — my camera shattered.
I screamed like a wild animal, attacked him, grabbed a big bottle, and started hitting him over the head.
He passed out.
I checked my wallet: all my credit cards were gone.
I kept beating the guy with anything I could find. He gave me back two cards immediately.
The rest — including what he had stolen from previous clients — had to be peeled off his body: he had taped the cards to his skin.
One card, however, I never recovered.
The strangest thing was how easy the victory came to me.
After that, I dreamed something else interesting… but I don’t remember anymore.