Sunday, February 28, 2010

secret baby memorial/gym memorial for Amber/my dad and my vandalized car/broken amusement park ride

At a woman with dark brown hair, her home. Three story. I’ve never met this woman before. One room had a small door she’d never opened and maybe never noticed. There was light shining through the cracks, illuminating it and making it visible now. I opened it and space inside was very small, only big enough for my body. A second door was inside so I pushed it and it fell flat down instead of hinging sideways. Then there was another. It kept going forward strait in front of me, a succession of 4 tiny doors, all painted white like the rest of the house. The lady who owned the home perceived the door (crawl space) as a threat, like someone infiltrating her home. Finally, at the end, it opened to a tiny area where there was a secret shrine to a baby that had died long ago in the 1800s. It had a small grayish picture and candles unlit. Metallic holders and pewter things. A small window was up above, quite high up and lit up the space. Light all its own. The whole area inside here was no bigger than 4x4 cubic ft very very small and confined. Tight space.
A little pocket of secret… a memorial undisturbed until now.
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Gym Amber Morris memorial dance performance.
Bleachers slid apart without warning. VERY UNSAFE
My stuff left in middle: cell phone and hard drive. The performers came out and danced almost on top of it. I tried getting it back but every one though it was my own fault that was out there and that I shouldn’t try and disturb the performance
I was “rude”
Krystal was there but aloof. I assoc her with the dance performance stuff. Spotlight such and such.
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School old-fashioned big mean teacher/ female.
I said something like”…..this fucking place” and at the word fucking it was the final straw and she kicked me out. I went out into the street on my own and we seemed to be in NYC or some city. Downtown. There was a parking lot partially paved partially rundown…shitty neighborhood inside the school didn’t seem as shitty and low but now I was out in the parking lot I saw it.
I looked for my car but could not find it. My dad Steve showed up with Joey
He laughed and said it was on the end covered in the “case” which was a hug plastic
Yellow
Damaged BAD cracked glass with tiny holes…like bullets. I barely touched it and it fell more.
Claw marked shaped like fingers drug through butter on my hood.
I didn’t even look at the back yet. People sitting inside…like it was their car. Like I had no right to be mad about it. This was everyday. I shouldn’t have something that nice.
I was wondering how to fix it who would pay for it.
But I just yelled at them about driving to work like that with the wind hitting my coming through the pretty much non-existent windshield.
Then we wre moving (though later we never went anywhere)
And the glass slowly cascaded into our faces. It seemed oddly pleasant.

SSN 141 -- 1111 long strip of yellowish paper like manila envelope paper.

Father…thought it was my dad at first but it was his dad my gpa/
Shack…their home. Right there on the edge of the parking lot
Bones still inside.
Partially burned down. Wall tore out. Figurines in rubble. I was looking through the dust finding out about them
He was around the corner telling about theses people but he started before I realized so I missed a lot. I came close and tried to listen. He didn’t seem to notice me. I couldn’t hear any of what he said about them. I gathered only that they were his parents….I think …I might be wrong
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Amusement park ride just off to the side more. Kept slowly spinning at the end of the ride and catching my ankle. Putting me onto the ride unsecured. VERY DNAGEROUS once again
We spun and I stayed on only by my own grip. Which wasn’t vey tight I was terrified I’d fall. She kept turn four color coded levers to move us….jerky and unstable motions…she wasn’t a real operator of the machine… she was doing something unsafe. Every one though it was a blast and didn’t seem to notice or just did not care that I was in high danger of getting killed.

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