The Mer Building
Dreamed 2001/2/23 by Wayan
A day full of dreamwork. Do my first serious writing in a while--type up and edit a long wild dream, Aroo's Engineers, then work on Tuba Beans and others...
Switch to art. Color more illustrations for the epic dream Fishergirls.
In the evening, I watch two episodes of the anime series Cowboy Bebop. Weak ones. Visually inventive, but no plot and shallow characterization. Switch back to watching the long anime series Vision of Escaflowne. I like that better--it builds...
THE MER BUILDING
I'm a puma with a night job--playing the cello in the San Francisco Symphony. I can be fierce, protecting my beloved instrument from thieves and vandals, but otherwise I'm gentle and rather playful. Physically I'm rather delicate--probably not a native California cougar but at least partly that gracile, endangered subspecies, the Florida panther. Still, aside from opposable thumbs, I'm far more cat than man. It suits the job; most musicians struggle to adapt to a nocturnal career, but for me night is like day.
Here--I don't have any canvas handy, but I'll paint myself on this old cutting board.
But I have a day job too: and it's very different. The day is my dreamtime, when pumas sleep--so for me this is like moonlighting, a secret life, under your exotic, mysterious sun. By day, then, I'm a member of The Architectives. Me and my sister Miriel (who's human, not puma) have banded together with the Lee sisters, Ariane, Crista, Lorca and Juana (our childhood friends, now grown up, gorgeous and wild). We go through condemned buildings and retrieve architectural treasures just before the wrecking ball. We also get hired to pry out hidden things in houses--we know all the builder's tricks.
Today we're in the Mer or Mar Building, a lovely asymmetrical futuristic tower, its interior all blond wood custom-cut in swooping shapes. Not a right angle in the place! It sings like a modern music piece. But seismically, it's hopeless, and this is San Francisco--towers here need to withstand real shocks.
So the Mer is due to be torn down later today. The building has a funny history: it was once an alien embassy. A whimsical, technically advanced species, they stripped the structure of most obvious high tech when they left so the monkeys wouldn't play with fire... but we've discovered hints they left the nerve-center hidden somewhere in the walls. Tech treasure!
I try to think how to turn this into flirtation, but I can't really. We're racing to find the Treasure before a rival group does--a group of conservative lawyers and bankers. They huddle in the lobby round the realtor who let both our groups in, grilling him for clues; but we did all our research beforehand, knowing time would be short. We suspect the Treasure is hidden in the kitchen--partly because we arrived before the bankers, and searched the bedrooms thoroughly. But it also fits the alien's style; they were gourmets and everyone cooked, it was like literacy to them. So we tear apart the kitchen shamelessly--even pry up the crescent-moon counters. A shame to ruin such a beautiful place--all spirals eggs and sweeping circles of hardwood. But it's all doomed anyway, so we pry open gleefully. A rare privilege, guilt-free destruction!
But we still can't find it. Grr!
The dream ends unresolved. Frustrating on two different levels. I was happy and fulfilled by my feline life--classical music and refinement at night, smashing rooms with sexy babes by day. Double-barreled fun... but not love. And I want to love and be loved. Though I may look handsome to the occasional fur fancier, I'm still not human; most girls don't want a hairy, solitary, sharp-clawed beast of a lover. I've always had a crush on my Architective partners, every one, even my sister (we Florida panthers can't afford an incest taboo--we're so rare it was inbreed or die). You'd want them too--they're so wild and beautiful! But they just don't think of me that way. A mere mascot--a cat.
A SECOND DREAM THAT NIGHT
That night I also dreamt my sister Miriel came over and told me a vivid dream. But... I'd just dreamt the same dream! Parallel dreams, psychic spillover! Though it wasn't clear if one of us was passively picking up the other's dream, or if we were dreaming one shared dream. But as she told me her dream (in my dream! Are we keeping our levels clear, here?)... as we talk, I feel mysteriously exhausted, and start drooping until I'm draped over a chair. I even feel a bit nauseous--rare for me! Triggered by the dream-telepathy? No. By acknowledging it. Before she told me HER dream, I didn't feel sick at all! Only when I knew she'd shared my dream did I feel faint!
And then I woke to find my sister's dream-account, the telepathy, my illness, the dream-research, all had been itself a dream.
A NOTE ON DREAM 2
THREE COMMENTS LOOKING BACK, FIVE YEARS LATER
World Dream Bank homepage - Art gallery - New stuff - Introductory sampler, best dreams, best art - On dreamwork - Books
Indexes: Subject - Author - Date - Names - Places - Art media/styles
Titles: A - B - C - D - E - F - G - H - IJ - KL - M - NO - PQ - R - Sa-Sh - Si-Sz - T - UV - WXYZ
Email: email@example.com - Catalog of art, books, CDs - Behind the Curtain: FAQs, bio, site map - Kindred sites