Dream – June 6, 2012
A dream that was supposed to be terrifying, but turned out to be just strange.
It probably started with the fact that I hadn’t attended classes all year, and I had no idea how I would pass my English exam. It was all because the day before, I remembered that I still hadn’t received my journalism degree after five years of study. But now I realize that, in essence, I didn’t really need that degree. I spent those years in an interesting way, reading and learning a lot. And that’s already good. But in the dream, this was reflected in the fact that the exam was coming up, and I had no clue. I had no idea what it was about, and, as is often the case in my dreams, I was of course the second-year (or multi-year) student—an oversized person among children, trying to gather scraps of education and get some sort of diploma. I often dream of this. English is not that bad, but when it’s math—well, that’s something else. I have no idea what integrals are.
So, after all this worry, I’m traveling. I’m either on a bus or on the subway. But I’m heading towards Los Angeles. Los Angeles looks rather apocalyptic—a heavy, gloomy twilight sky, covered with clouds…The first lights of the skyscrapers are flickering. The city is nothing like it really is, but it is Los Angeles. There’s anxiety in our bus compartment. It’s clear that something terrible is happening, something like the end of the world. And in horror, we all see that rockets are flying towards Los Angeles from somewhere in the distance. One of the rockets hits a skyscraper far off. The skyscraper crumbles into flames.
Someone says, “That’s the Sunshine building!” (it seemed to be the name of the building). People are panicking, but as is often the case in moments of horror, they don’t spring into action, they don’t run, they don’t try to escape from our bus-compartment… Meanwhile, new rockets are flying from the same distance. We can clearly see that these rockets are targeting objects much closer to us. There’s an office building with large glass walls near the highway. Office workers are stuck to the windows, frozen in horror. They seem hypnotized by the sight of rockets flying towards them. All my fellow passengers start screaming with all their might for them to leave, to run out of the building because the rockets could target them. But no one thought that if their building got hit, our vehicle would certainly get hit too.
But, we still realized that we had to run. We dashed out onto the road. It was obvious that something terrible had begun, and that the destruction of a few buildings was just the beginning. It felt like the apocalypse had started, and the world, as we knew it, had come to an end.
I had to get home, pack up my things, and take the cat for the journey. I got in the car and drove. No, it wasn’t a car. It was a small mechanism about 15 cm long, with wheels and a small motor. I had to pull it with a rope to make it move. We didn’t go fast. At some points, I was back in a car again, but while heading home (on Moscow’s Profsoyuznaya Street, to my Moscow apartment, not the Los Angeles one), I thought that I needed to get a motorcycle somewhere because it has better passability. Even though I didn’t know how to ride one. I was also “packing” a bag in my mind—socks, comfortable pants and jeans, shirts, sweaters, cash. I have a special backpack for the cat. Though it’s unclear how I would manage with the cat in such chaos, I couldn’t leave her behind! The cat was traveling with me.
I need to withdraw some cash. I need to find some weapon somewhere. We’re walking along houses, close to my own home. All the roads are covered in a thick layer of ice. Apparently, there was rain before, and the rockets caused a drop in temperature—everything froze. I glide across the ice without falling. I see my house and run across a small square, on frozen grass.
For some reason, I’m in the building of our clinic. There’s chaos there too. Two dogs are tearing at my left pant leg. They’re not biting, but they’re acting aggressively. I notice they have a (not my) cat in their mouths. I take the half-dead cat from them, try to push the aggressive dogs away, but they don’t let go—they look wild, almost like wolves. Then some man splashes some liquid on them to save me. It’s either acid or poison. The dogs back off. The man, meanwhile, is very scared and retreats to a corner, sliding down the wall onto the floor, holding a bottle of whatever he used to douse the dogs.
I need to get home from the clinic. I see through the window a pack of large black dogs. Each is covered in dark red (bloody) paint. These are red dogs—very dangerous killers. Real “rabid” dogs. I need to get out of the clinic building, get into a car, and get home…
At home, I open the mailbox. There are stacks of money stored there. I see a man and a woman walking down the road in full gear—clothes comfortable for traveling on foot, with weapons slung over their shoulders. I realize that dark times are coming. For a moment, I think, “Stop. We’re people, we should stick together, especially now. We need to come together and help each other.” But then I realize that my idea is utopian and that now everyone is on their own. I take thick bundles of money from the mailbox and stuff them into my pockets. The man by the entrance clearly intends to take the money from me. He’s stronger. I run into the entrance, hoping to reach my apartment and hide there, but he catches up with me, and we struggle. He has a revolver.
I try to fire the six bullets in the revolver, and though he’s a man, it’s no trouble for me to fire two shots into the air. But he manages to press the revolver to my palm, so I can no longer shoot. As we struggle, he tries to take the money from me…
I’m outside. I’m looking for the car. My SUV should be there, the one I bought for a couple of thousand dollars just for fun. I liked driving a big car. I clearly remember that in one of my past dreams, I bought this car before going to America. And even though in other dreams I couldn’t find this car anywhere, neither where I parked it in the previous dream nor in other places in our neighborhood, I kept looking for my SUV.
But then the alarm clock went off, and I was even a bit happy. The apocalypse was called off.
Dream – July 18, 2012
Today I dreamed that I died. I mean, really died. But it was strange. I was walking around, living calmly, just like usual, like before. But somehow, I wasn’t alive. However, I was still emailing with A. Then she sent me a photo of a book of French fairy tales, and this book immediately materialized in front of me… That made me a bit confused. So, did I die or not?
I spoke with my mom, although, she was alive in her place. I sent her some messages, and she bought me gifts. I thought how sweet, I know it’s for me. Then my mom came, and we hugged, and I thought, “Oh, what if I didn’t die after all?” I decided to check this hypothesis and went outside to approach people, to see if they would notice me or if they would look right through me.
Initially, I thought I had died because no one was noticing me. (By the way, this has a deep meaning; I’ll explain later). I started approaching people – they didn’t notice me. Then, suddenly, Natasha Kivak appeared around the corner with some friends. I approached her and asked, “Natasha, do you see me?” She said, “Of course, I do.” I said, “I thought I died, and there were even funerals. And I was wandering around like a spirit.”
Then, I decided to stop a car to be sure. I ended up stopping some surreal limousine with a woman driving. Inside, it was very spacious, unlike a normal car, or even a typical limousine, everything was orange and white. There was even a light show. But I didn’t get in, I wasn’t going anywhere, I just wanted to check.
I went to my old job (a random one, by the way), and they recognized me. But it turned out they had eliminated my position, since they kept it only for me, and when it turned out I had died, there was no need for the position. But I was alive.
Dream – July 13, 2012
I seem to be an adult, but still, like a little child, I enjoy pleasant dreams from Thursday to Friday.
Tonight, I dreamt of love. It was in such a charming and magical atmosphere. It was wonderful.
It seemed like a group of acquaintances was staying somewhere overnight, making noise in a good-natured way all night, and by morning, everyone settled down to sleep. And there was him. He was absolutely amazing, exactly the kind of person I have been imagining lately – creative, fun, witty, deep, kind… He was lying next to me, hugging me “spoon-style” and kissing me. In the morning, I was sleepy, thought I looked swollen and unattractive, but he admired me. He even secretly took a picture of me while I wasn’t looking. He showed me the photo, and it was incredible: it was a profile of my face, looking upwards, and in the background, a slightly out-of-focus profile of a pale cat, also looking upwards at the same angle. If I saw such a photo in real life, I would definitely print it and put it on the wall, even if it wasn’t mine. I loved the concept so much.
Then he showed me another photo of me – I was all sleepy, wearing a big sweater, bathed in sunlight, squinting from the light. It was also a wonderful photo.
And all of this was accompanied by such a delightful feeling. 🙂 Of course, I didn’t want to wake up.
Dream – July 21, 2012 – India
We went to India. I don’t remember how we got there. My friend and I settled in a tiny room with two beds in a house owned by a landlord. The room didn’t look Indian at all, but rather like a very primitive Russian hotel or even a pioneer camp. In the nightstand, I found an unopened bottle of vodka, but since I don’t drink vodka or any alcohol, I put it back. Who knows, maybe someone else would need it. I arranged all my jars on a beautiful marble (again, not Indian at all) vanity and began exploring India.
For some reason, I found myself (of course) on the beach at night. It was noisy on the beach – a celebration. Some Indian men were there, the rest were tourists. I wanted to walk back into the city, but some unfriendly Indian men followed me. It seemed like it was unsafe for a woman to walk alone at night. I returned to the beach and asked some tourists, also women, to walk me to the city. But the girls I spoke with were drunk, trying to hug me and didn’t seem quite right for the role.
The festivities in India were rather strange. I don’t remember much about India itself, but I do remember the subway, where I bought some ice cream. I paid with my credit card, and later I couldn’t find it in my wallet. I thought I should call the bank, but I didn’t.
I listened to webinars on the radio. They were organized by Indian women from a nearby brothel (I know!), but on quite “unpublic” topics. However, when I checked the account for the missing credit card, it turned out that the women from the brothel had charged me for the webinars. Once for a radio show, 34 bucks. And twice for 65 dollars – each for a webinar. Of course, I went to the brothel to sort it out. I didn’t go inside, but asked the madam to come outside. The madam turned out to be a short 55-year-old woman. I began protesting about the charges for the webinars, explaining that no one told me I had to pay for them. The madam became very worried and promised to refund the money immediately. Realizing that I wouldn’t be able to verify this quickly and that by the time the money was refunded, I’d already be out of India, so if no one returned anything, it wouldn’t matter much, I left.
Then, somehow, I found myself in a class with women wearing saris, and I decided that before I left, I absolutely had to buy a sari. In the next moment, Indian women were packing two huge bags of saris for me – it turned out there were thirty saris, and I had to take them to a poor Indian woman who needed them for her wedding, as she was in great trouble without them. I had picked out a sari for myself, but I didn’t get to see it. Hopefully, it was bright turquoise.
And then it became clear that I needed to get ready because the plane was leaving soon. I threw everything into my bag and we left. When I got home, I realized I had completely forgotten my cosmetic bag and all the jars I had arranged in the vanity. I was sad about the jars and wanted to call the hotel, but couldn’t find an international phone.
However, this story continued because someone had lived in my room in India before me – a criminal. The famous detective was following his trail. He found my cosmetics in the room and thought I might be connected to the criminal. He came to me and brought me another cosmetic bag with only part of my jars. I was indignant, saying it would be nice to return my cosmetic bag and other skincare products. The detective pretended to be a rag and began asking questions. Then, another detective, smarter and more attractive, appeared. He mentioned the bottle of vodka, implying I led a debauched lifestyle in India. I reminded him that the bottle should have been sealed and was left by previous guests.
The second detective shut up but pulled out a small packet with two (!) pills of marijuana. They seemed to be mine, even though I don’t use marijuana (especially not in pill form). I said I had no idea what they were. He claimed that the package had my fingerprints, but I countered that it was probably mine, as I have some skincare items (like cotton pads) in packages. But the pills weren’t mine. Who knows who planted them…
Anyway, they never figured out whose pills they were, as I started dreaming another dream.
Dream – August 23, 2012
Destruction. A multi-story building from the past century, many rooms with high ceilings, some furniture, all broken and fallen apart… I and a few others were searching through this nightmare to find something to set up sleeping places: we found beds, pillows, etc. Among other things, we found many objects to arrange ourselves.
We lived in a mysterious world. There was no money, but money was valued. Everything was organized and set up, but everything was also falling apart. Yet, somehow, all this coexisted. But I wanted to escape beyond it – into the black world of the night. I wanted to be there.
Sometimes we would go there to find something? To feel something? I saw from a bird’s-eye view how my carriage with horses was rolling out of our “settled” world into the black one. Cars didn’t work there. At least, that’s what we believed.
And now, I was there. It was night. The lights of the street lamps. Terrifying. Damp. Lonely. Quiet. There were no rules, only anarchy. Money was in circulation, but most of the world was in ruins, and many houses were abandoned. Sometimes people from our world would go into this world to take things from the abandoned houses. I wanted to find gold and money.
I went outside and saw some sexual activity happening right here. A few men. I couldn’t even see the woman. It was dangerous for a woman to be here. One of the men detached himself from the group and came toward me. He wanted to involve me in their activities. I refused. Somehow, he didn’t force me, even though power reigned there. But he warned me with these words, touching my face: “Beautiful face, too bad to ruin it next time”…
This time, I was lucky. I wandered among the abandoned houses, everything dark, gray, and dreary. I entered a weapons store. I had enough money to buy a gun. I wanted a gun. They offered me a small silver pistol, but my finger didn’t reach the trigger, so I asked the seller for a 9mm. But I left without the gun.
There were signs of decay everywhere. I tried to find some transportation – I saw police cars driving through the streets. So, cars did work here. But police? Hardly. I hoped to find at least a scooter or a motorcycle. I entered a house, it was dark. Not finding what I was looking for, I wanted to leave, but I saw a little girl in the doorway.
She was about two years old. I decided she needed help, so I opened the door to the apartment and saw her parents.
After that, for some reason, I couldn’t continue telling the story, because though the dream itself didn’t cause any emotions, when I tried to write about what the girl’s parents told me, it turned into something horrific, so I’ll leave that part out.
I woke up after this moment, around six in the morning. At that point, between sleep and wakefulness, everything that had happened in the dream seemed like a grand movie, worthy of being turned into a screenplay. But now, as I write these lines, everything I saw in that dream seems like a set of meaningless snippets. And, honestly, it turned out to be too dark of a dream, which I would like to forget about soon.