March 28, 2012
Me, my brother and my mother were at a very small portuguese village in the countryside. The days were hot and dry as they have been recently so most of the landscape had a very faint tone of green close to the ground, turning into a mix of white and light brown as it ascended. It was a fairly ugly little village, with old tar roads, walls made from concrete blocks surrounding the properties and mostly simples houses painted in ugly stained dark green or pink.
...
The three of us were heading to a big barn with walls made also from concrete blocks and a roof made from wavy steel plates. We were going there to see a play, probably performed by amateurs.
...
As we returned from the play thinking it was as bad as we had expected, someone warned us two bulls were going to be set free to run trough the village as it was supposedly normal in this time of the year. As we began running to the car I understood this and the play were parts of the same celebration taking place that day. Then we noticed my brother was at a public toilet cabin, but we still had to run to the car, because we could already see the bulls being released.
We got inside the car and I hit the keys and pedal like crazy. we drove off. A few seconds later my brother called my mother on the cell phone asking us to go get him because he was inside the cabin and there was a bull outside. At this point I could visualize him looking in terror trough the small rectangular windows of the door to the heavy black bull outside. The door was mirrored on the outside, but the bull didn't seem to be noticing anything. I immediately turned around the car in the direction of the barn, even tough I had no idea of how we were going to save my brother. The second I did that we saw the other bull galloping like mad on the side of the road. His rear was bouncing to one side so it has a strange way of running, but very scary nonetheless. I kept going in his direction wondering if he would try to hit the car with his head. My mind was assaulted with that image, of the bull hitting the front of the car, right against me, the metal bending and the glass shattering in front of me.
... . . .
I woke up and the image of the crash was repeated inside my mind.
I also recalled my mother saying "I... needs someone who's a bull."
quarta-feira, 28 de março de 2012
segunda-feira, 26 de março de 2012
2011
I was wandering trough badly lit corridors, each of them separated by a wooden or ironed door. These corridors were lined with tiles generally dark green and brown. The sides of the corridors were completely dark, as if I were walking between two rows of dense and tall black bushes, so it was impossible for me to tell how wide they were. There was a white light from above, and maybe also from where the doors were placed, but only when looked at from a long distance; it felt warm, but as sterile as nostalgia. There was also a watery feeling on the air coming from the sides.
The wooden doors were white or brown, and painted almost fresh. The ironed doors had very dark corrosion signs. As I advanced from door to door I felt this ever increasing anxiety inside of me. I felt I was continuously searching for something very important. So I crossed corridor after corridor, door after door, until I reached another white door. Yet this one opened to a corridor which was placed differently from the others. This one was crossing the one I was leaving like a 'T', and it had concrete walls painted in sea green. Also, now the space was lit by a lamp placed upon a small wooden table, above which was a large horizontal painting, possibly of a landscape. There were copper pipes along the wall and close to the floor; very clean and shiny copper tubes. It felt cozy and clean. It was the corridor of a restaurant, I could hear the combined voices of many conversations trough the wall.
Dwelling this scenario were many young women, all of them skinny and pale, with rigid haircuts, blonde and black, and all of them wore black and gray fashion clothing and heavy red on their lips. They were crossing the corridor and didn't seem to notice me while I desperately tried to get their attention and ask them about that which I was looking for. Tension was rising as I grabbed the women by their arms, by their bags and clothes in hopes of getting an answer, but nothing happened, and the anxiety inside of me kept growing, as well as this overwhelming noise which deafened me until I could hear the crowd no more. The painting in front of me got bigger to the point I was able to enter it and find a small empty room made from old victorian bricks. Any light in that room came from the other side of the painting behind me, and now my senses were so much alert I could hear myself breathe in distress from the pounding of my heart inside my chest. Intuition told me to advance into the dark, I felt something was there, although impossible to identify. Suddenly there was a voice surrounding me, maybe it was my own: "and there it was…", it said, as slowly I advanced a little bit more, sustaining my breath "…my hurt!"
… . . .
I woke up immediately sitting down on my bed, still with the voice reverberating inside my head. I felt a profound sadness, and bent over my stomach like a worm. I tried to cry but no real tears came to my eyes. I lied down again and turned to the side to sleep again, wondering about the beauty of such dream.
I was wandering trough badly lit corridors, each of them separated by a wooden or ironed door. These corridors were lined with tiles generally dark green and brown. The sides of the corridors were completely dark, as if I were walking between two rows of dense and tall black bushes, so it was impossible for me to tell how wide they were. There was a white light from above, and maybe also from where the doors were placed, but only when looked at from a long distance; it felt warm, but as sterile as nostalgia. There was also a watery feeling on the air coming from the sides.
The wooden doors were white or brown, and painted almost fresh. The ironed doors had very dark corrosion signs. As I advanced from door to door I felt this ever increasing anxiety inside of me. I felt I was continuously searching for something very important. So I crossed corridor after corridor, door after door, until I reached another white door. Yet this one opened to a corridor which was placed differently from the others. This one was crossing the one I was leaving like a 'T', and it had concrete walls painted in sea green. Also, now the space was lit by a lamp placed upon a small wooden table, above which was a large horizontal painting, possibly of a landscape. There were copper pipes along the wall and close to the floor; very clean and shiny copper tubes. It felt cozy and clean. It was the corridor of a restaurant, I could hear the combined voices of many conversations trough the wall.
Dwelling this scenario were many young women, all of them skinny and pale, with rigid haircuts, blonde and black, and all of them wore black and gray fashion clothing and heavy red on their lips. They were crossing the corridor and didn't seem to notice me while I desperately tried to get their attention and ask them about that which I was looking for. Tension was rising as I grabbed the women by their arms, by their bags and clothes in hopes of getting an answer, but nothing happened, and the anxiety inside of me kept growing, as well as this overwhelming noise which deafened me until I could hear the crowd no more. The painting in front of me got bigger to the point I was able to enter it and find a small empty room made from old victorian bricks. Any light in that room came from the other side of the painting behind me, and now my senses were so much alert I could hear myself breathe in distress from the pounding of my heart inside my chest. Intuition told me to advance into the dark, I felt something was there, although impossible to identify. Suddenly there was a voice surrounding me, maybe it was my own: "and there it was…", it said, as slowly I advanced a little bit more, sustaining my breath "…my hurt!"
… . . .
I woke up immediately sitting down on my bed, still with the voice reverberating inside my head. I felt a profound sadness, and bent over my stomach like a worm. I tried to cry but no real tears came to my eyes. I lied down again and turned to the side to sleep again, wondering about the beauty of such dream.
March 2012
I was walking in the streets of Porto having some sort of conversation with chef Gordon Ramsay. He was wearing his white chef shirt and all his gestures and vocal intonations were exactly like on TV. I don't know what we were talking about, maybe about the city and its food.
...
At some point he saw a woman, a portuguese woman, and immediately turned his attitude into that of an alpha male, surrounding her and engaging in lewd conversation. So she rapidly started feeling harassed and used her cell phone to call the police, which arrived almost instantly. At this point there were already a few curious people watching the scene, and Ramsay started insulting the woman.
As Gordon was being arrested I asked him repeatedly: "What the fuck?! What are you doing? What the fuck are you thinking?".
Then I moved on visiting the streets and I ended up in a building which interior was very familiar to me from previous dreams, although in the actual dream I recalled it as I would have done with any other memory.
The entrance hall was occupied by a big wooden stair, like a squared spiral upwards, and the wood had a very shiny and fake red tone produced by the use of enormous quantities of lacquer. It also had excessive cheap ornamentation giving it the aspect of a chinese store.
I reached the top by climbing just two stories. There I found a few restaurant tables with white towels which looked equally cheap. In one of those tables a group of old ladies (maybe 3) had had their meals long ago and were chatting and sewing some clothing by hand. They looked at me as if I was someone very familiar and, although I recognized them, I wasn't completely at ease with them.
...
I descended the stairs and left.
... . . .
I woke up and remembered I had seen that building before in other dreams, but it was a lot taller and I used to wake up by falling down the stairs.
I laughed with the idea of going trough the streets talking to Gordon Ramsay and using his language to protest against him.
I was walking in the streets of Porto having some sort of conversation with chef Gordon Ramsay. He was wearing his white chef shirt and all his gestures and vocal intonations were exactly like on TV. I don't know what we were talking about, maybe about the city and its food.
...
At some point he saw a woman, a portuguese woman, and immediately turned his attitude into that of an alpha male, surrounding her and engaging in lewd conversation. So she rapidly started feeling harassed and used her cell phone to call the police, which arrived almost instantly. At this point there were already a few curious people watching the scene, and Ramsay started insulting the woman.
As Gordon was being arrested I asked him repeatedly: "What the fuck?! What are you doing? What the fuck are you thinking?".
Then I moved on visiting the streets and I ended up in a building which interior was very familiar to me from previous dreams, although in the actual dream I recalled it as I would have done with any other memory.
The entrance hall was occupied by a big wooden stair, like a squared spiral upwards, and the wood had a very shiny and fake red tone produced by the use of enormous quantities of lacquer. It also had excessive cheap ornamentation giving it the aspect of a chinese store.
I reached the top by climbing just two stories. There I found a few restaurant tables with white towels which looked equally cheap. In one of those tables a group of old ladies (maybe 3) had had their meals long ago and were chatting and sewing some clothing by hand. They looked at me as if I was someone very familiar and, although I recognized them, I wasn't completely at ease with them.
...
I descended the stairs and left.
... . . .
I woke up and remembered I had seen that building before in other dreams, but it was a lot taller and I used to wake up by falling down the stairs.
I laughed with the idea of going trough the streets talking to Gordon Ramsay and using his language to protest against him.
March 26, 2012
There was a robot like Cain, from "Robocop 2" in my village. It was my own creation but it was malfunctioning: it had frequent mood changes. It had already killed some kid who was the brother of a blonde young woman who was staying at my house in the small village where I live.
...
At the point from which I can remember, me and her were at the back of my home garden, and I was trying to make her trust my robot again. In a matter of seconds the robot changed his mood again and hit her in the side of the head and face, drenching her white 90s t-shirt with blood. We began running away from there, passed my green iron gate heading to the hill top (where I usually run to in similar dream situations). The robot was slow, but stopped at nothing. We ran with great dificulty as people usually do in dreams, as if trying to move fast under water. Halfway to the hill we realized it was necessary for each of us to load an enormous black iron bar on our backs; maybe these bars were other parts of the robot. The bars were so heavy we had to crawl with them. The robot was nowhere to be spotted but we felt it was coming without stopping for a second. The bars were so heavy we couldn't manage to look back.
... . . .
I woke up with the feeling something was wrong. I remembered of I... .
Then I remembered the blonde girl with her shirt drenched in blood.
There was a robot like Cain, from "Robocop 2" in my village. It was my own creation but it was malfunctioning: it had frequent mood changes. It had already killed some kid who was the brother of a blonde young woman who was staying at my house in the small village where I live.
...
At the point from which I can remember, me and her were at the back of my home garden, and I was trying to make her trust my robot again. In a matter of seconds the robot changed his mood again and hit her in the side of the head and face, drenching her white 90s t-shirt with blood. We began running away from there, passed my green iron gate heading to the hill top (where I usually run to in similar dream situations). The robot was slow, but stopped at nothing. We ran with great dificulty as people usually do in dreams, as if trying to move fast under water. Halfway to the hill we realized it was necessary for each of us to load an enormous black iron bar on our backs; maybe these bars were other parts of the robot. The bars were so heavy we had to crawl with them. The robot was nowhere to be spotted but we felt it was coming without stopping for a second. The bars were so heavy we couldn't manage to look back.
... . . .
I woke up with the feeling something was wrong. I remembered of I... .
Then I remembered the blonde girl with her shirt drenched in blood.
domingo, 25 de março de 2012
march 25, 2012
There was a party at my cousin's house, and I felt like in my teenager days again, although it was happening today.
I went in the red door and climbed the wooden stairs. Among the many invited people, there was the DJ and I... , who was wearing a dark purple sweater I fancied very much.
I remember there were a lot of futile-looking girls, most of them blond with a soft tan, running in a very girl-ish way through the corridors.
I was looking for I... , I wished to tell her how to use the wireless on her black cellphone. I climbed another set of stairs to get to the attic and find her. There was a fairly big crowd up there, or at least it felt so, because I couldn't actually see anyone clearly, except for I... who was going around with her black cellphone. I approached her still with the intent of helping her, but it was as if she was not listening and her presence in the party was merely that of an assistant, like an event manager. She looked stressed trying to deal with the options on her cellphone.
...
Then I was at the first floor gain, sitting at the top of the stairs, my back facing a window at the end of a Summer afternoon. The party was ending, and still I was a bit anxious to get close to I... .
At that point, the DJ was sitting beside me, very close and licking my face, while someone behind me loudly splattered cement on a wall at each licking. I dared not looking at the DJ, even though he was annoying me.
Some people were still going from the rooms to the corridor and down the stairs. My cousin came near me and asked in a mildly rude way: "who's that beauty over there?". I was surprised, I wasn't seeing her anywhere, I felt she was already gone... I told him it was I... and that she was very dear to me. He understood he shouldn't treat her the way he did with the other girls.
... . . .
I woke up and remembered why I... was so distant in the dream.
I also remembered there was someone the DJ wished was closer to him.
There was a party at my cousin's house, and I felt like in my teenager days again, although it was happening today.
I went in the red door and climbed the wooden stairs. Among the many invited people, there was the DJ and I... , who was wearing a dark purple sweater I fancied very much.
I remember there were a lot of futile-looking girls, most of them blond with a soft tan, running in a very girl-ish way through the corridors.
I was looking for I... , I wished to tell her how to use the wireless on her black cellphone. I climbed another set of stairs to get to the attic and find her. There was a fairly big crowd up there, or at least it felt so, because I couldn't actually see anyone clearly, except for I... who was going around with her black cellphone. I approached her still with the intent of helping her, but it was as if she was not listening and her presence in the party was merely that of an assistant, like an event manager. She looked stressed trying to deal with the options on her cellphone.
...
Then I was at the first floor gain, sitting at the top of the stairs, my back facing a window at the end of a Summer afternoon. The party was ending, and still I was a bit anxious to get close to I... .
At that point, the DJ was sitting beside me, very close and licking my face, while someone behind me loudly splattered cement on a wall at each licking. I dared not looking at the DJ, even though he was annoying me.
Some people were still going from the rooms to the corridor and down the stairs. My cousin came near me and asked in a mildly rude way: "who's that beauty over there?". I was surprised, I wasn't seeing her anywhere, I felt she was already gone... I told him it was I... and that she was very dear to me. He understood he shouldn't treat her the way he did with the other girls.
... . . .
I woke up and remembered why I... was so distant in the dream.
I also remembered there was someone the DJ wished was closer to him.
march 2, 2009
I went home from the call center in the middle of the afternoon,
I was going to have visitants at home. My dog was alive.
When I got home everyone was already eating, but instead of eating the recently cooked food I went to search for any possible leftovers in the fridge. I found something with corn, something with boiled eggs, something with salad, maybe, a deep plate with codfish, potatoes, something dark green and a lot of olive oil, and a white chantilly cream made of condensed milk and chocolate bits. This one, unfortunately, I dropped on the floor. Still it was a lot, but I was able to put it all back over kitchen table next to the wall, and eat with a spoon from the part which hadn't touched the floor.
This wasn't my parents home's kitchen, it was a mixture from the kitchen I have here and some student residency kitchen, and it was pretty unclean.
At that point, I was wearing a pijamas. Someone appeared and asked me why was I eating all that old food, I said the food wasn't so old that couldn't be eaten, and that I wanted not to spoil food, even though when she left I put all back inside the fridge because it was smelling strange, even tough I actually ate from the candy(?).
So I entered the room join the family and, to my surprise, my grandmother was there too (did she make up with my mother?). I was also surprised to see a girl I sometimes talk to at the call center.
My grandmother was at the garden speaking to my father when I was amazed by the fact that she was there.
Then I noticed I had my headset still with me. I put it on my ears and was a bit stunned when I hear a costumer's voice. I tried to rephrase his question, tried to say "excuse me, sir, I didn't get what you were saying, I couldn't hear it...", he said "I don't care, good day to you!", and hung off. Right after I got another call which didn't start so badly, but then I noticed I didn't have the computer to check any information so I could only give answers by memory. I was very shy of answering calls sitting on my sofa with my family and a co-worker sitting around me. My mother even told me that it was no place or time to be answering calls. But I had to make sure I wasn't going to get fired, so I rushed to my old bedroom and logged off my account so that I wouldn't get any more calls. Then a sight of the call center came to me, there were more than 200 clients on the line and I had two warnings on a small remote screen that doesn't really exist. One of them had "mayday, mayday!", and it was from my supervisor, the other one was also from my supervisor and it had a flash animation with a wooden
house being surrounded by war tanks. People were asking for me all over the place and had already noticed I was missing on my seat. I logged off completely and the vision was gone. This would be my first fault to the company and the economic situation wasn't good so I had to be careful not to get fired.
I wen't back to the room and I found the girl from the call center alone. I told her about the situation and she told me "relax... there's no problem on skipping once. What was your last BUS here? 8 o clock?" "Yes, about 7, 8pm..." "then you can tell you went to visit your family and had no way of going back.". I was a bit relieved with this but not entirely. Still, there was nothing I could do. She started talking about some quilts, "turret quilts". I asked "turret, like those machine guns from video games?" "Yes, I have a quilt with those patterns, wanna see it?" "Yes...". So she went to get the quilts and when she was back I noticed I was wearing only a t-shirt, and felt a bit uncomfortable, but she didn't notice it at all when she got back with the first quilt; we were comfortable with it not in an intimate way but in a dream way where things don't make sense but we don't remember asking about them. I was expecting to see a quilt with machine gun fire patterns, but she showed me the quilt where my dog used to sleep on, and with small pink flowers over dark blue. I was disappointed for I had never seen a machine-gun fire pattern quilt.
... . . .
I woke up and thought about war coming from the beach.
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