Dream: a non existent address in the forest

This dream starts in the carpark of my apartment. Being inside it’s hard to know what time of the day it is. Everything looks fairly unremarkable; P and I are standing next to my car, both wearing Miami J collars. My collar is bright red and his collar is the usual dark blue variety. We try to kiss goodbye but our collars clash and we cannot reach each other.

Drive carefully, you already have a broken neck. He touches my arm and I get into the car.

I drive alone for a long time, and eventually reach a very rural area. The road meanders down some green hills and I come to a rusty looking farm gate. The driveway is gravelly and there are no signs of life all around. I pull up at the farmhouse and get out of the car. The fibro cottage is quaint and surrounded by a few rosebushes.

Suddenly my mother rushes out of the house.

Hurry, we must go now. She grabs at my arm and pulls me down a side path leading away from the house. There is a man that is trying to kill me.

We get further and further away from the house until it is just a dot in the distance. Crossing a flat field, we come to a dense forest. As we are about to enter the forest I ask her whether we should tell someone where we are going.

If you want, but really we have to hurry. She says.

I take out my phone and open the Whatsapp conversation with P. I start typing the address 45a / 127 but the phone keeps erasing the address over and over again. I cannot even get to the street address (I never find out what it is) because it erases itself so many times.

Without noticing, we have gone further into the forest. The canopy becomes increasingly dense and the light fades gradually. I hardly realize how I am tripping on the roots of the old trees, so concentrated I am on trying to send the address.

But it is a futile task as the message keeps erasing itself. I look up and see just how dark it has become, but suddenly I see a clearing in the distance, a funnel of light peeking through the trees.

As we get closer, I am filled with anticipation at the thought of light.

Then I see a fat and balding middle aged man I do not recognise, standing in the middle of the clearing. He is holding a huge curved knife, not unlike the ones in the pirate movies.

I feel chilled to the core with the realisation I am going to die. Then I wake up.

Dream: the revolution, and two hands

P and I are sitting on a bus. It's hard to tell where we are - the bus is neither old nor new, and looks non descript enough that it could be anywhere in the world.

Looking out the window, it is clear that we are in the countryside. At first the fields look fairly normal - sort of green, lots of farmers milling about, the odd cow. Then I look closer and everything is weird. There is a windmill next to a farmhouse which has rainbow coloured blades, and when it whirs together the windmill looks like a technicolour extraordinaire. A group of farmers walk past, dressed as clowns with luridly white faces and strange wigs. Oddly shaped unidentifiable objects are sitting in the middle of fields, as if they were droppings from alien spaceships.

I need to show you something. P suddenly says. But I can't show you right now.

He punches the window and it shatters noiselessly. At that moment the bus tilts slightly to the left and he takes the opportunity to jump out the window before I can say anything to him. As the bus drives off I look out the window and he is running along a muddy track in the fields, wearing thick black-rimmed glasses. But he doesn't wear glasses, I thought to myself.

I move into his window seat and keep looking outside at the strange landscape. The bus meanders along and we come to a ricketty bridge. The bus groans its way onto the bridge and moves so slowly that we can feel every sway of the bridge. Suddenly there is an impossibly loud bang, and I hear the noise before I feel the motion of my body through the air. The bus has exploded and I am flying through the air, falling helplessly.

And then I am sitting perfectly still inside a boat. I don't remember the actual fall or how I came to be there, but I am sitting on a little stool in front of a table. Next to me is an old man wearing a broad rimmed hat, and next to him sits an old lady wearing a shawl, with her long grey hair in plaits. They talk to each other in a language that I don't understand. I look around and try to gather some clues, but aside from the green bobbing water, I can see very little. The riverbank is so high that I can no longer see the fields, so I don't even know if I am still in the strange land.

Suddenly, P appears from nowhere. The boat is so small that it just barely fits me and the old couple, so I wonder where he has come from. He sets down a few dishes on the small table and the old couple gestures for me to join their lunch, even though I don't understand what they are saying.

P whispers to me, this is the president and his wife. They are peering at us curiously and I wonder how such an old man could be the president. You have to distract them while the revolution is going on. 

I look at the dishes set out - fish stew with rice, and a pot of soup with the lid still on. The old lady is tucking in with gusto, picking out bones from the fish as she eats hungrily. The old man chews slowly, as if he is deep in thought. Everything is silent and the atmosphere feels thick and hostile.

They gesture again for me to eat.
No como pescado. I say to them.

They laugh and the lady sucks on a bone she has picked out from between her teeth. The old man gestures to the soup. I open the lid and it looks like lamb soup (I don't know how I come to this conclusion in the dream). There are speckly fatty bits floating on top of the soup and it looks highly unpalatable, but I think to myself that I should drink some soup to appear friendly.

I take my plate of rice and dip the soup ladle in to get some soup, trying to miss the chunks of lamb bones. My ladle brings up soup.. and a hand, a human hand cut off at the wrist. It can only be a human hand in that shape - perfectly shaped finger nails, a few hairs on the first phalanx - a man's hand. I gasp and drop the ladle with the hand in it back into the soup. The sound of the splash alerts the old man and he narrows his eyes at me. Shaking whilst pretending to be calm, I pick up the ladle and try again - this time I get the other hand - and there it is, a pair of hands, the left and right hands staring at me from the ladle.

My heart pounds wildly and I open my mouth to scream. I feel P's large warm palm clamp itself over my mouth, slightly damp (from sweat? from blood?). It stops my scream from forming. Then I wake up.

(The first vivid dream of 2016)

Cafe Paci

I have a never ending list of food places I want to eat at, and Cafe Paci has been on the list for quite some time since they opened a few years ago. Last year we tried to go for the end of RPA dinner, but it never happened. Once I heard it was closing, I had to go and try it out. It's also one of the few places in Sydney that do a full vegetarian degustation (with even a vegan modification for B!) We were in store for a treat. 

The space is modern and muted with all shades of grey. A collection of lanterns resembling inverse balloons welcomes you. 

Course 1 - Snacks

Pickled melon dusted with mustard seeds

Onion flavoured grissini

Sour cream, chives and capers

Rice cracker drizzled with some savoury dressing

(in the red dish) Rye taco with rice pudding and chives  

Bread: Potato caraway molasses bread

This had the most amazing dense caramelized crust dripping with sweetness, perfectly accentuating savoury foods. It was served with light-as-air whipped butter or olive oil for the vegan option.

Course 2:  Pickled carrot with pumpkin and caraway mayonnaise

This was a perfect artistic arrangement of pickled carrots forming delicate petals. The pumpkin puree it rests on has a soft texture interspersed with small chunks of pumpkin, the whole concoction even creamier with the mayo. The flavours were very well balanced

Course 3: Strawberries marinated in smoked capsicum, peas and goats curd

Who would have thought of such a replacement for veal tartare? The marinated strawberries had such depth and complexity, fooling the brain into thinking one is eating capsicum yet the sweetness and texture of strawberries are preserved well. This was particularly aesthetically pleasing with cute little dollops of goats curd.

Course 4:  Silverbeet, pomelo, traditional seaweed, smoked butter, porcini mushroom

Silverbeet doesn't usually grace restaurant menus, but I really love it fom the Vipassana days. Here the silverbeet stems are mixed with segments of pomelo and topped with a traditional Finnish topping that tastes almost Japanese - a scattering of crunchy flavour-intense seaweed bits. The porcini mushroom adds another dimension of umami, but is not really obvious amongst the seaweed. The contrast between the soft silverbeet and the crunchy topping was wonderful. 

Course 5:  Zucchini noodles with basil pesto, goats cheese curd, roasted hazelnuts

These zucchini noodles were perfectly formed, every single strand coated with rich pesto. The goats cheese curd was light and almost foamy. Again the textural contrast in layers, especially with the crunchy hazelnuts, was the highlight of the dish. 

Course 6:  Licorice cake, carrot sorbet and yoghurt mousse

I couldn't help but ooh-and-aah when this was set down. The delicate white orb is dusted with licorice dust which has a very subtle flavour. Once you dig your spoon in, the carrot sorbet peeks out like an egg yolk. Dig further and you find the base of licorice cake. Visually this was the most striking dish of the night. 

Course 7: Parsley and pear

What a fascinating combination. The candied parsley was picture-perfect beautiful, sitting atop an otherwise uninteresting slab of pear. The parsley sorbet was an intense green, so strong it was almost like grass. 

Course 8: Brown butter fairy floss with popcorn dust

I saw the table next to us tucking into this a few courses prior and all the (older) adults seemed to be really enjoy ripping it apart. Once we got ours it was easy to see why - the fairy floss is an undescribable soft and it was so much fun ripping it apart and tucking tendrils into your mouth. It melts incredibly fast upon contact, leaving just a hint of popcorn. Pure magic.

Extra: Eucalyptus flavoured dark chocolate koalas.
What better way to finish than a cheeky twist on the classic Caramello koala!

This was a lazy long dinner which was utterly enjoyable every bite of the way. The flavours were innovative and the textures ever so memorable. I was impressed he made such a well rounded vegetarian menu! It is a shame that the popup is closing its doors but whatever adventures Pasi gets up to, I'll be sure to follow...

Dreams: a hot dog factory, and the Beijing conservatorium

A hot dog factory

In this dream I have purchaseda new business but I'm not sure what it is. I'm standing outside a grey boxy factory, one that looks non-descript enough to be anything. I walk inside and there is a man waiting to show me around.

He shows me the conveyor belt, where the workers will stand, just about a metre apart.

So here, the first person will take the bread rolls and split them. He gestures to the empty space.

Then the next person will put the sausage in the roll.

And the next person will add fried onions.

And sauce. 

Then the next person will close the roll together, ensuring compliance with the policy. 

Finally, they will be individually wrapped prior to packing.

We finish our tour and I think to myself. Really? I bought a hot dog factory?

The man congratulates me on my excellent choice. He says that hot dogs are way in vogue right now, and as he says this, the noise of a crowd drifts in.

See, there is already a crowd waiting for you to start dispensing hot dogs! The man says triumphantly, but his face then falls. But I told the workers to start tomorrow, so I supposed you're on your own today.

He disappears and I find the boxes of various hot dog ingredients in the store room. I drag them out and organise them on a single bench, then I start making hot dogs all whilst the crowd outside are shouting - hey! where are those hot dogs? we want them now! we want hot dogs!

I wrap them as fast as I can and soon there is a little pile of wrapped hot dogs. P comes in and says, wow that's a lot of hot dogs but nowhere near enough to feed the crowd outside.

At that moment I run out of sausages, and all I have left is a pile of bread rolls, a lot of sauce and a little hill of shredded lettuce (who puts lettuce in hot dogs?)

Let's go hide away from the crowd in the bathroom. He suggests. Then I wake up.

---------------------

The Beijing Con 

In this dream, I am in Beijing. I’m not sure how I know this, but it is clear in my mind.

I step out of the airport and the time of day is early morning. The sky is grey and some clouds hang low on the horizon, as if it is about to rain. The outside of the airport looks more like Kunming as I get into a taxi – there aren’t enough tall buildings around?

I am looking at the map app on my phone to trace where we are as the taxi goes from the airport to the conservatorium. I think hard but I don’t think I’ve ever been to the Beijing Con before. The taxi goes around the block in one direction because the street it’s on is a one way street. Then I get out of the car and I’m carrying nothing but my violin case.

I walk into the performance theatre at the Con and slide into one of the desks. This is my desk? I ask myself. No one around me seems to question it. We start playing a piece that I don’t recognize. The conductor is an angry man who keeps shouting at various sections for being too fast, too slow, too loud, too soft. It’s not a happy rehearsal at all.

Afterwards I walk out of the theatre alone, carrying my violin. There are no cars on the street outside the Con, and the security guard at the front tells me I must go to the other side of the Con. He shows me the right way – into a tunnel that goes under the main building. As I enter the tunnel it feels hot and stifling, as if the air does not circulate at all. A few light bulbs hang from the ceiling here and there, but it is generally dark and the exposed water pipes are intermittently dripping. I feel very uncomfortable in this network of tunnels that never seem to end, and I feel so grateful when I emerge from the other end. I turn around and the building appears to have turned into a church.

How can there be a church in the Con? I ask myself.

Then I see that there are many people waiting for taxis, and I join them. All the taxis that pass have their lights on, but none of them stop for us. I feel increasingly panicked, then I wake up. 

Dreams: a special French toast, and another sensory vacuum

This is the second dream I've had in the last little while where there has been a vacuum.

The time is early morning and the setting is identical to last time. Instead of not being able to feel any sensations, this time I cannot hear anything. I can see his mouth moving in the shape of words, but no sound comes out and the universe is dreadfully still.

I strain to hear any skerrick of noise, to the point where the silence hurts.

I close my eyes and feel a tear at the corner of my eye. The teardrop is so full of life that it seems to glide down my face of its own accord.

Is it actually my tears? What am I sad about? I think to myself. Then I feel the warm soft pressure of his finger tip gently wiping the tear away. As soon as it disappears, another wells from the corner of my eye. I'm not crying and I don't feel sad, but the tears keep coming one after the other. He patiently wipes them away, saying something that I cannot hear.

Then I wake up.

----
A special French toast

In this dream I am standing on a wooden deck overlooking a patch of still water. instinctively it feels like one of the expensive waterside suburbs like Hunters Hill.

Though I am alone to start with, I am soon called in to have dinner with P, his mum and her partner. The time is twilight and the dining room is lit with candles. I don't remember what we ate, but the conversation is excessively friendly as if meeting for the first time.

After dinner, his mum's partner says I should play the piano for them, since it is a really antique piano that he found at some sale once. It is a beautifully ornate piano and the ivory keys are heavy, weighted like no plastic keys can be. A few old musical songbooks are by the piano, and I play them randomly though I don't recognise any of the pieces. We are drinking red wine that keeps getting topped up as the night progresses. Everyone has a grand time singing and drinking, and soon it is very late. We get up to go and his mum insists that we spend the night since it's so late and we've had quite a lot to drink.

We retreat to the guest room and the scene chops to the next morning. Everything is very still, and there is almost no sound in the house. P is still asleep as I leave the room. His mum is making breakfast and she greets me warmly, asking me to join her. We take plates of french toast out to the deck where the dream started, and sit down in the morning sunshine.

The feel of the interaction has changed significantly, and she seems almost effusive as she speaks. I take a bite of the french toast and it is just heavenly - the eggs are light and fluffy, the texture of the bread is perfect and the syrup drizzled over the top has just a whiff of some spice. I compliment her on the excellent french toast, and she turns to me, smiling broadly.

You know why they are so tasty, right? She asks.

No, what's the secret? I put another piece into my mouth, and continue to enjoy the soft buttery toast.


I made them using your eggs, because you don't need them anymore! She says cheerfully.

I scream and wake up. 

Dream: a sensory vacuum and a baby called Lily

This dream starts in my own bed. 

It's not clear what the time exactly is. The blinds are drawn but light streams behind them - perhaps late afternoon? There is enough light to see that I am with P. The room is completely silent, as if we are in a body of water. Soon I become aware that my brain has dissociated from my body. The brain continues to throw around meaningless mindless things, but I cannot perceive any sensation from any part of the body. I can see what is happening and my brain projects the associated sensations, but I cannot actually sense them. 

As if my sensory cortex has completely died. 

I tell him that I cannot feel. My words float like pebbles across the still water, but they drop heavily with a thud. And I realise that in the same way I cannot feel, he cannot hear.  I look at his face and his expression is blank, as if possessed by some other-world spirit. 

I feel suddenly afraid, and I close my eyes almost reflexively. Then I descend into complete darkness. The blackness surrounds me totally, devoid of all sounds, smells and feelings. It feels like I am at the core of the universe and I am utterly alone.

Then I open my eyes, and he has gotten out of bed. He stands to the right of the bedside table drinking from a 600mL bottle of Pepsi. I thought that was strange since we both don't drink Pepsi? 

The scene cuts to us being in his car. We pull up in a parking lot outside a massive shopping centre. I have no idea where we are but it distinctly feels like America. We get out of the car and it is quite cool in temperature. 

Suddenly a woman comes out of nowhere and accosts us. 

How could you leave your baby like this? You animal! She shouts at him, trying to scratch him as she lunges closer. 

He swerves and she keeps shouting profanities at him. Then she turns to me. And where did you find this stupid whore? 

She is very close to me and she pulls at my hair. He tries to get her away from me. The struggle feels comically grandiose, as if we were part of some bad TV drama. 

All of a sudden she stops. She thrusts a small bundle into my arms and I see it is a newborn baby. 

Her name is Lily. She whispers and turns around. In a moment she is gone and I wake up. 

Dream: a blue blistered door

This dream starts with me standing outside my old place in Kingsford. It's a brilliantly sunny day and the sky is blue without a trace of cloud.

The building is as weary as ever, and a slight mustiness hits me as I open the front door to go up the stairs. My eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness, and I wonder how it came to be so dark inside when it never used to be that way.

Slowly I fumble my way up the stairs, taking what seems like a very long time. I get to the top of the familiar landing, and turn to the left where my old flat was. There is a little more light here and I can see that the doors are blue. A cheery blue, in between light and dark blue, just the ordinary type of colour that would suit the door to a storage room.

As I get closer to the door I realise the bronze letters on the door say 15 instead of 11. I wonder how the apartment could have changed its numbering system. Then I see that the door is actually blistered. Large pockets of paint have lifted from the door, as if something had impatiently pushed the paint out of the way in an attempt to escape. A faint warmth radiates from the door, making me think about whether there might be a fire inside.

Without using a key, I push open the door and smell the remnant of a fire. It feels like it has come and past, but the lingering smoke is still acrid. The internal structure of the flat is changed as well - I am standing in a passageway with the bedroom off to the right, and the kitchen/living off to the left.

I become aware of the sensation that someone else is in the flat as well. I tiptoe towards the bedroom. There is a lot of bedding strewn on the floor, and P is sitting amidst it all on a brown striped sleeping bag. I contemplate briefly whether I have ever seen this unusual pattern in a sleeping bag (but after I woke up I realise it is the same pattern as my pillowcase).

Then I see that he is well set up, as if he is squatting in my flat. There is a camping gas stove and some cooking stuff (a pot, tongs, cutlery) nearby; books seem to be scattered everywhere. He sits, intently reading a book that seems very familiar, and he is so absorbed he doesn't even look up to see me enter the room. As I get closer I realise that one of the books around him on the ground is the diary I had patched with a postcard of a woman eating a bunch of grapes when the front cover had fallen off. Then I realise that all the books on the ground are my diaries from various times in my life.

My heart races and I scream silently. Then I wake up.