Morning of May 19, 2014. Monday.
There is some sort of bizarre sound pulsing like a drawn out male soprano “Weeeeee” (pause) “Weeeeee” (pause) “Weeeeee” in groups of three as such, but a bit layered sounding, as with some sort of extreme detuning effect. I am not sure what this is. It is not a main part of the dream scene, I do not think. Maybe this is going on in another classroom.
This is my fear and moment of pure eeriness. This is reality pausing from negative infinity. When I was six and the bell rang while I was in the basement sports arena, the children running down the flights of stairs which I heard through the doorway of the basketball court always painted an image of terrifying violent geese and the coach seemed like some sort of eerie giant ogre who could pick me up and throw me like a paper airplane at any moment. “That is not how you bounce the ball!” he screams at me, and then does a comedic impression of me bending down and bouncing the ball with only a few inches to spare in the bounce. So much for me trying to look cool. I guess the giant pale buffoon and child-terrorizer never heard of the Harlem Globetrotters. And so I was kept an extra hour and missed math class because this big pale buffoon thought I had a disability and was uncoordinated. Thanks a lot, Harlem Globetrotters…
Charlie Brown is an accident victim, apparently, and a real human being. I am not a child, but neither is Charlie Brown. We seem to be back in school near where I lived on Rose Street. There is a lot of construction paper around as well as bottles of glue, pipe cleaners, and crayons. Charlie Brown seems a bit of a disturbed soul, as if he is planning some sort of revenge. He is wearing the same shirt as always. There seem to be (briefly?) Q-Tips sparsely stuck in his hair, which has something to do with using them to lightly use glue on something. The shirt is as it is, in design, because it is the same shirt as he wore during his accident and never changed it. The black pattern across his yellow top is actually a tire track! (Who would have thought?)
He did not die after lying in the street for days. He finally got up and returned to his life’s routine. (“Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”.)
The class project is of outer space. A lot of stars have been cut out, as well as Saturns and crescent moons.
My area is the “fanciest” (to the far left) for a time. An unknown girl, oddly dressed - sort of like Cat Woman - is also working on the project. I then focus on the fact that she was the “cat burglar” all those years ago on Rose Street. I say “Oh it’s you” and she replies, “Yes it’s me. I have been with you always.” Looking closer, I see it is my wife at around age eighteen. I point and say “Oh look, it’s her…” No one cares. She is not of their path.
Something dawns on me and I approach Charlie Brown. I tell him about a real-life experience, during that exact same time period around the time the “cat girl” was a dream friend. I had been crossing the street while a deck of educational mathematics cards (Whitman flashcards) had fallen from my notebook binder. A few of the cards blew over the street near the intersection and one car ran over one of them. The crossing guard eventually came over and waited until I was able to pick up all the cards, holding off the oncoming traffic. The card with the “two plus two” pattern had a diagonal smudge of dirt across it from the tire of a car that had ran over it. For some reason, I kept these cards until I was about thirty and gave them to my brother Earl’s kids even though they had stress and fold marks. Having returned later on, I had seen them in a large bag filled with rubbish, but did not reclaim them.
I have a false memory of the crossing guard coming out (who was a very chubby female, who looked almost squarish in her uniform) and looking at me and saying “There is a lot you do not remember, Sparks.” Her eyes glow silvery blue. This is a nickname from “Contact” (1997) said by the David Morse character who played the Source in one of my last dreams. I “return” from this “memory” and say to Charlie how I can relate very well to him, implying the tire mark on that card is like the tire mark across his shirt and he looks at me with disdain. He turns around and starts spinning, yelling “I’m gonna be shot outta the cannon!” I look a little closer at his face and notice it is dirty, and his nose is running with the top part of his mouth covered in mucous.
He runs and tears most of the middle section of the space display section (while holding onto the first edge), ripping it across. “All lies!” He says “These aren’t real stars!” For a moment, he looks like the cartoon Charlie brown. He huffs and puffs, running and jogging in short increments as he goes across the room.
Somehow, in no time, he is immediately (more like instantly) in the cannon with his head sticking out. Ed Sullivan’s voice announces “Presenting…a really big shoe…Charlie Brown…the human…cannonball…” The fuse is lit and out and up he goes, like a rocket.
Charlie Brown has high goals. People look and point. It is wonderful for Charlie to go out among the real stars - as he tore up the class project because it was not “real” for him. People are still annoyed. Suddenly terror breaks out. He “pops” in a fizzled shower of small fireworks, fading fairly quickly. The “cat woman” and I kiss intimately, rising into the air and glowing and going higher and higher.
