cremains: (ד"ר פראנק נ פורטר)
I dreamt that the world was dying of drought. I lived with H. and the stepkids and we were in the final stages, all lying on the ground and waiting for the end. The government had a small amount of water available by lottery for children only, but the stepkids had lost the draw. I wasn't scared or upset, just drained.

In another dream, I improved a black and white oil painting I did by adding a layer of unrealistic colour. When I woke up I tried it - I don't have oils beyond lamp black and china white, so I used watercolour, which was better anyway because the tints are transparent and the resistance between media was something I could use. Is it great? No. But the dream was right that it is actually marginally better.

cremains: (Default)
Y. just finished learning Sefer Yehezqeil and asked me to draw a likeness of one of the wild creatures described in it. I drew this with a pen (no possibility of erasing... stress) on the back of some cheap ass smurf stationary while we sat in the cafe. He was actually visibly impressed, which is rare, and so very gratifying, even though I think the actual story is far too beautiful in its vagueness and confusion to pin it down to a solid visual image.

cremains: (Default)
It was unbelievable seeing my stepkids for the first time in three months. It's hard to express how happy I was to see them jumping up and down from the minute they opened the door. I had had a dream previously that in the interim, Y. had grown a bristly beard (but was otherwise still a child of 9). When I told him this, he related the following (obviously fake, whatever) dream:

"I dreamt you had a big moustache and lots of chest hair." (I interjected to affirm that this is awesome) "You were otherwise bald. Lots of people gathered round to laugh at you, but I had the solution. It was to make you blind. JUST KIDDING, I gave you an eye operation to give you amazing eyes to see through everything, the best eyes, much better than your eyes now. I also gave you beautiful pajamas. You took off the pajamas and had nice clothes underneath and were beautiful."

M. actually seemed younger in appearance than before -- I must have exaggerated how much she should have grown. She was guarding a present for her dad all day, a coin she'd crushed under the light rail, wrapped in infinite tissues, with a handwritten note tied on.

S. was exactly the same as he was when we left, in fact exactly the same as he's always been since the day I first met him.

The leopard print, foulmouthed slouchiness of Jerusalem is a breath of fresh air after manicured Sweden.
cremains: (kafka's grave)
I dreamt I was moving out of my grandfather's house. It seemed he had also died while I was living there (in reality, he died a few months after I left). My father was helping me move, but it mostly consisted of throwing everything out, and I really do mean everything. I looked around, stunned to see just a bit of garbage and paper on the bare floors. As we were about to go, I saw his small collection of liquor bottles, sitting on a windowsill that in reality does not belong to his house but to the yeshivah. I wanted to take the orange-flavoured bitter one with me, to remember him, but wasn't sure if the airplane would allow it. And where was I going, in the end? To Belfast, alone.

In another dream, the kids were abducted by a cartoonish witch, although it was I who lived in a gingerbread house. Somehow I fought to rescue them from her, but on bringing them back home I realised that they had huge, floating, plastic hearts where their eyes should be, and other suit symbols in the deck of cards. I knew they would actually never be the same again.

In waking-life news, the city rains and hails. In Jerusalem they would be overjoyed. Even after months of rain, if anyone began to complain they would be quickly hushed up and reminded that it's a blessing. Here the rain is devoid of meaning and Swedish people go on jogging and powerwalking and berrypicking and doing whatever Swedish things they have to do. I mostly stay inside and work on writing Eikhah, which is newly out of season but only becomes more valued by me.

My dog bite hurts.
cremains: (always rain)
There's so much to say about leaving and arriving, some of it too hard, but I will note the following:

- M. gave me a packet to open on the plane which contained a beautiful picture of herself, laminated with tape, and a message saying "To Yonah, have a nice trip. From me, M." I am amazed by the kindness from one just ten years old, the generosity it takes to give something to a step-parent, the insight and unselfconsciousness it takes to know that a photograph of yourself is the best thing for the occasion. It came wrapped in purple construction paper, labelled with pink marker, cut with little blunt scissors--the world of children and its population of distinctive objects, which I am leaving behind.

- The Darda'im gave me a sidur so I can be a good little Darda'ith even in shockingly Ashkenazi Scandinavia. "Who will fill the women's section now?" one asked (I was the only one who went to minhah and the weekly learning on shehitah). The rav gave me a blessing. It's nice to be cared for.

- My yeshivah was, by the end, no longer the place for me. But to think about it, I began in one of the lowest shiurim, worked my way to the top one, and a few weeks before I left substitute-taught a class. That might simply say something bad about it rather than something good about me, but regardless, it's progress.

- There are birches here, thought of in Irish traditional tree-lore as the aristocrat of the forest, represented by the letter (b-sound) in Ogham. Funny how the change in physical environment triggers so much memory. Instead of sandstorms, hoopoes, and cubes: rain, ravens, and triangles. Everything seems washed in iron grey. It's beautiful, but I miss home too much. My physical reality is now a little barrier between me and the learning, if not an unsurmountable one, and it used to be a connection.


May. 12th, 2012 11:17 pm
cremains: (drunken vulcan)
The faqus (light-green, fuzzy, dry cucumber) season has ended, and the grape leaf season has begun, so on Friday morning I came home from the shuq with a small, wrapped stack of grape leaves.

I dreamt that eating them made people slowly turn into goblins, which meant large green Yoda ears and a fleshy green beak, in stature and facial expression much like a Chrono Trigger imp (but they don't have the beak!). The change would fade on gradually. I became one and enjoyed it greatly. One of the kids at my work was also a goblin, but upon asking I found out that it was not because of grape leaves, but rather because his mom is Turkish and German (true...).


Thanks to Y., goat milk has become the only cold substance I recreationally nurse. It only gets better and better.

Oral exam with esteemed teacher coming up. @_@
cremains: (drunken vulcan)

1. That Jimmy Stewart, who was 100% conflated with the administrative head of my yeshivah, was involved in huge amounts of drug crime, and dub step clubbing. The dream was mostly him dancing dub step on Toronto subway platforms. I do not actually know what dub step is or where I could have heard this term.

2. That I entered TD bank and saw a huge secretary phone with multiple buttons on a small table. It was shaking, which caused the receiver to hover above its cradle. I went over and tried to push the receiver out of the air, but it just wouldn't work. A clerk reached her hugely long arm over and with sudden violence stamped my hand with a pictograph indicating that it is forbidden to jostle the phone. It was actually a brand and it burnt my hand horribly.


I came home today feeling cripplingly depressed, my default mood these days since there is so much pain to deal with. As I walked in the hallway, I hear Y. shout "Forbidden for Yonah to enter the kitchen!" He explains that he's preparing for me a special drink and I must guess what it is. "It's not poison. I think you'll like it, yes, I have an idea that you'll like it." He sticks his head out and cocks it to the side. "You seem like a woman who likes it." After a few moments again: "Don't worry, it's not poison."

I tell him okay, and that meantime I'll go say minhah.

In the end he can't wait and comes to see me while I'm still wearing my shel rosh and talith. He doesn't bat an eye at this, however, as to him it's somewhat normal, and hands me a cup. "But this is just milk," I say.

"IS IT?" he demands.

I smell it. "Yes."

He folds his arms and tells me to say shehakol and drink it. I do.

"What is it?" he asks again.

"It tastes like normal milk, maybe with a little sweetness added." I wonder if he put in a slight amount of sugar? It's the sort of thing he'd do. But he triumphantly revealed that it was goat milk which he bought specially for me. I told him to try some, and he did, and happily exclaimed that he likes it just as much as me.

This encounter made my day. Also the whole thing happened with him wearing his tefilin (which I gave him, my old pair) and a tiny talith which we gave him just a year or so ago, already too small for his body.


Mar. 16th, 2012 11:31 am
cremains: (always rain)
I dreamt I left some sort of high school and was waiting at the bus stop with three women on a large, abandoned road. The wind was howling. Suddenly one of them pointed to the horizon and I saw there was a large, black tornado gathering and coming our way. At first I was unsure if flight was really necessary, but the women began acting terrified, grabbing their things and running away. I started to run, too (but in that way that you're trying to go much faster than the dream will allow), towards the miqlat (bomb shelter) of the high school, managed to wrench open the giant iron door, and dived in. My feet were still outside as the tornado swept by and tried to suck me out, but the people in the miqlat pulled me in and closed the door.

Once inside, I wandered around in shock and took in the people who were quietly milling about, tending to their kids or injuries. A group of people approached me and I became nervous. They beat me horribly for the entire long rest of the dream and it became apparent that they were IRA.


The other day, Y. came up to show me proudly how he'd put on his arm tefilin (my old pair, which I gave to him last year). I thought he was showing me the correct way he positioned it, which sadly so many people cannot seem to grasp, and praised him for it until he walked off happily. Later, H. explained that he was showing me that he was covering it with his shirt sleeve, which as he told H., he learnt from me.

I'm feeling adrift these days.

The fall

Jan. 8th, 2012 09:57 pm
cremains: (always rain)
It's raining in Jerusalem.

Two weeks ago, we received horrible news that Y. had fallen and knocked out two of his teeth and split his lip; he was in hospital (we found out about it after he had already been discharged). At first the great dilemma was whether he fell or he "fell" -- who knows, with a school like his where we've seen so much? Thinking about it I had truly resolved to go beat his teacher to a pulp myself when H. went to visit Y. and reported back that he seemed very calm, which an emotionally transparent kid like that would probably not be able to manage if one of his role models really did do him that much damage. So it's a relief, but agonising to go through each time Y. gets hurt.

Today I went to pick up Y. from school; I stood under a little stone arch beside the narrow stone staircase to his classroom. On the wall beside me someone had written "Death to Arabs" which I had corrected to "Death to the stupid." I'm acquainted with an Arab woman who works in the area and besides the principle of the thing I don't want that she should have to see this shit just going about her job.

Y. came running down the stairs and asked, "Where's dad?"

"He's sick and waiting for you at the cafe," I said.

He proudly showed me his lip, where a couple of days before a dentist had worked on it to remove the stitches and the ooze/blood buildup (he was so terrified he had to be restrained). I saw a small black spot on it and said "Oh no! What a terrible wound."

"It's not terrible NOW," he told me. "That was before the dentist helped me."

"Oh. Sorry, remember I haven't seen you since your fall. When I heard about it I told myself I'd kill the stone who did that do you." A slight variation of the truth.

Energised by this news, he offered to show me the culprit himself and lead me through a few turns and quirks in the Old City's alley network until we came to a courtyard. "I won't say which stone did it," he told me solemnly. "I'll stand on one of them, and that's how you'll know which one it is." He ran ahead, stepped on a large projecting flagstone, and turned around to give me a serious look.

I caught up with him. "So this is the stone, may its name be obliterated," I mused.

"May its name and memory be obliterated!" he repeated fiercely, "Yes!" He stamped on it.

"Let it be cursed from now until the eternity of eternities."

"Yes... and now you see we are very close to the cafe already."

"We didn't even waste any time."

"In fact we were so fast we GAINED time." He took me by the arm and we hurried on.

At the cafe he and I played Castlevania for over an hour straight. It doesn't sound like a lot but all you do in Castlevania is whip skeletons endlessly, with short breaks for whipping candles and whipping flying witch heads.


Dec. 19th, 2011 01:53 pm
cremains: (drunken vulcan)
As soon as I got to the cafe, S. (6) started waving and singing my name. When I got up to the table and greeted the kids, he asked me how much I thought I was worth. "A thousand sheqels," I said. He grimaced and "secretly" checked to see how much fake money he had with him. "Uh... how about 200 sheqels?" he asked. "OK." I took the plastic card and he squealed with delight that he had bought me and now I was his; he grabbed my arm and hugged it tightly. Of course then came the real point: "And since you are my slave you have to do whatever I want."

"What do you want?"

"Uh... eat milk and meat... TOGETHER!"

"Asur," I said, raising my eyebrows.

Y. looked gravely up from where he had been playing Mario. "You are never obligated to do what your master says if he orders you to do something forbidden," he told me. He's been learning a little about slavery recently and was asking such intriguing things the time before as, are waiters my slaves?

S. next ordered me to eat a sufganiah, a sort of doughnut. I went down to the bakery part to find one and Y. came happily with me to order a hot chocolate cake.


The loathesome YMCA tower has been banging its bells in the night and early morning; even in Jerusalem it's hard to escape Christmas carols, in this case clumsily banged out by some American Protestant Quasimodo in a moustache and sweatervest. At night when we pass by with the kids I like to tell them, "Wow, look at the light on that tower... it looks just like a firey eye, doesn't it? A firey eye watching us all the time, from some sort of dark lord?"

My hope is that they will grow up and one day be able to read secular books, and then they will read Lord of the Rings, and then they will get a strong image in their head of the YMCA whenever they read about the Eye of Sauron, and be filled with fear and aversion, and have no idea why.
cremains: (Default)
Things with Y.'s school progress slowly but surely and lawyers are involved. Hopefully something will come of it. The school wrote a scathing letter saying that our allegations are vicious slander, yet in typical, stupid hareidi self-righteousness couldn't resist adding that they only hit "in an educational way."

Today Y. and I were talking about our two cats, Mercutio and Cleocatra. Y. asked what Mercutio would do if he ever got his hands on "the Gingi," an apoplectically violent redhaired cat that lurked about our neighbourhood once before a certain pair of people may or may not have illegally deported him to the spring Lifta, at the gates of the city and far away. I told Y. that really, the Gingi was Cleo's enemy; they had gotten in some sort of fight once and although nobody knows what happened, every time she saw him she would work herself into fits of hissing hatred. Mercutio, I explained, didn't like him but didn't care much.

Y. disagreed. He said that if Cleo hated the Gingi, so did Mercutio, because "she is his wife, so they are one body, and that means he feels her hatreds, too."


I dreamt that H. and I just generally went about openly with tefilin and a talith gadhol, like the Gr"a. We were with my old yeshivah on a shabaton to some university library, another odd location on par with a previous dream in which we went to a First Nations art festival. It was Friday day. H. and I were looking at a corner bookshelf when some Granik, dressed the same way we were, came up and started shouting at H. I intervened and dragged H. to safety, where we sat down on some steps. The steps were exactly the texture of real university library steps, tiled and sort of dusty.

H. left to go to the bathroom and I was left alone as a butch woman wearing a talith qatan came up to me and started asking about my tefilin. To my surprise she seemed like she wanted to wear hers more, too, and wanted to know what the important laws were. I asked her for writing materials and she handed me a scrap of cereal box and a pen. I wrote down,

1. Engaged in manversation
2. Going to bathroom (shel rosh, cover shel yadh)
3. Sexual thoughts

By "manversation" I meant "stupid conversation" and I guess I was referring to "lightheadedness," the idea that you shouldn't goof around with tefilin on. She took the scrap of cardboard and thanked me. The advice I gave her was actually pretty accurate for real life.


Nov. 14th, 2011 07:35 pm
cremains: (drunken vulcan)
I dreamt of a swimming pool filled with green translucent sludge. A few scattered people were sitting around the pool and a few were doing laps in it. The lights were dim. Suddenly, the swimmers began screaming as a gigantic, green anaconda emerged from the bottom of the pool and began tearing them apart. It ate many people and dismembered still more.

On the other hand, as soon as I saw it, I was bowled over by a feeling of happiness and jumped up and started cheering, "ANACONDA! ANACONDA!" The more people it savaged, the more gleeful I was, although also the more frightened I was since I was afraid that the people would take revenge. I kept watching in disbelief, worry, and pride as it evaded the humans' futile blows.

However, real life is actually proving more surreal. M. (age 9) and Y. (age 8) groped my breasts on Sunday, ostensibly to feel how they differed from H.'s (it all started when Y. touched H.'s chest and proclaimed "You're a girl because you have intestines." He didn't know the right word for nipples). I explained when I got groped "It's not polite to touch the breasts of a grownup." They merely cackled and upon learning that the proper term is breasts (shadaiim), Y. began this weird gleeful tirade about how he'd killed my demons (sheidim) but I could never kill his because it would just bounce back on me and then I'd be ALL dead. This might sound like some sort of sexual anxiety but actually it's a very easy transition of words in Hebrew; also he and I talk about demons and fighting each other by summoning strange creatures all the time. So yeah... that was the normal part.

You'd think that since the kids are being raised with a truly fanatical sense of modesty, they would know that behaviour was inappropriate, but in many ways the opposite is true. According to their mom, every part of the body is forbidden, so what makes breasts so different? This manifests in a hundred other surprising boundary issues.
cremains: (Default)
I dreamt there was a huge bonfire and party in High Park (which is in Toronto, but here was in Jerusalem) for all the immigrants. Special honour was paid to the immigrants from China, who in my dream were some kids from my Grade 5 class,Xiao and Kelly, who are definitely not Jewish or Israeli. I was wearing my wedding dress, but it was silver and very faintly glowing, as if magic, and tiny stars on silver thread were strewn on it.

At one point, I went running with some others, teenagers I think, into a long stone alley lined with dark trees, which lead to the Old City. The flagstones were warped and worn in unexpected places, as in real life. The firelight had faded and it was now very black, but I was proud that I had travelled this path so many times my feet knew exactly where to step. I came at last to a giant iron gate.

In other news, my test on hilkhoth Shabath came back with the additional comment of "fine" (previously when my teacher had read only part of it, it was only "seems fine") The owner of the cats at last sent an email saying she relinquishes claim on them, although in addition she's taking back some money she gave us to go towards their upkeep - I guess that's not so surprising given her previous behaviour pattern. At any rate we now own two monstrously obese creatures who coldly walk on our faces at night; not sure what we really gained from this whole nightmarish transaction.

In a discussion about modesty, M. said, "Some people would call me not modest because you can see that my arms are attached to my torso." She was referring to a trend among some hasidic women to wear a heavy black poncho (always, also during summer). I remember that when I first came to Israel, this was really a fringe trend and was frowned upon by many hareidim. Now their official organisation, the Eidah Hareidit, has finally endorsed the ponchos as necessary for true modesty, and is already at work rewriting the past: posters have been put up saying that this is exactly what our ancestors and the righteous wore. You'd think that anybody with a memory longer than 3 years and/or who is capable of reading any Jewish legal text at all would be shocked by how blatant the lie is, and yet few seem to be batting an eyelid. When will people realise that they are Reformim? How can they get away with using words like "traditional"? Why do even secular people buy into their Orwellian campaign of rewriting history?
cremains: (Default)
The kids screamed "Yonah!" so I came running from the other room to find them playing a bus simulator, the visuals projected onto a wall. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"We crashed into a car," said Yeshayahu.

I looked at them.

They looked back at me, stricken expressions on their faces.

"GREAT JOB!" I shouted, and they burst into cheers and started high-fiving each other.

Meanwhile, in sleep life, I dreamt that on a trip to the diaspora I had been kidnapped by Mormon women. They forced me to do all these boring and wholesome activities. Fortunately, when they were marching me down the street on the way to some Sports in the Park Day or something similarly horrible, I spotted my circus boss. He was coming up the sidewalk, wearing a grey three-piece suit and a top hat. "Run!" he shouted, and opened up a tube beside the road which we jumped into.

We landed in a fairground. One attraction I remember was a man operating a huge wooden ship with thousands of puppet animals on it. He worked it by standing inside and cranking heavy levers. He was sweating and exhausted from the effort.

"Robert, why are you dressed so fancily?" I asked him.

"Because I had been going to get my shoes shined," he said.
cremains: (Default)
Dream #1:

I dreamt that H. and I were at the Kotel in the men's section. H. asked me if I thought it would disturb anybody but I replied that I didn't really have anything in common with the women on the other side. No one bothered me on this account.

In the dream, instead of a stone floor, there was a huge, roiling and deep mat under people's feet. Everyone else seemed to be fine standing on it, but I kept falling over. Fortunately, most of the time people were sitting on the ground, but for the standing prayer I was afraid I would be thrown down.

Meanwhile an assassin was making his or her rounds amongst the people. The assassin's method was to prick people with a very thin needle, so they wouldn't feel it, hundreds of times. The person would end up with huge black contusions disfiguring their body and face, and keel over.

Dream #2:

We lived with Chaim, who in real life is a very very proper and super-knowledgeable trainer of dayanim, but in the dream wore a dirty tanktop and drank beer in a continuous, day-long flow. We also lived with a litter of street kittens, one of whom was my stepdaughter (?!). She talked just like M. When H. and I were going out of the house, I warned M-cat not to put her face in any plastic. "I know," she said. "OK, good," I said. "Because you know even adults die of strangulation that way."

In the dream, dialogue was in Hebrew.


Aug. 9th, 2011 08:30 pm
cremains: (drunken vulcan)
Dream #1: A flood of the world, very peaceful, and the waters alternated between bright tropical warm ones and elaborately-tiled, impossibly deep swimming pools. Greenery was everywhere, and parrots and colourful fish. I swam, relaxed. This is my second dream of a peaceful armageddon via flood.

Dream #2: I was walking home from Meah Shearim with Y., carrying klaf (parchment) and a kulmus (quill pen). It was a happy, fun scene, and we had been chatting together, but then within the dream I woke up and told someone what I had just dreamt. The unseen person replied, "This is the interpretation. Y. is like the klaf, not yet written. You are like the kulmus, empty of having done anything good or worthwhile."

Dream #3: This was the best one.

I was sitting on the beach with Gandalf on a chilly, overcast day. He said to me, "Frodo, do you know why there are no longer any Elves in the world?"

"No," I replied, "Why?"

He blew a smokering. "Because of a bad experience with indoor tanning."

I looked at him.

He explained to me. "The Race of Men had offered the Elves unlimited indoor tanning, but alas, it had resulted in either orange skin or had had no efficacy on them. Because of this the Elves became infuriated and left our world forever. If you want proof," Gandalf continued, "Consider this beach. It used to be where the tanning beds were located, until the Elves cursed them and flooded the studios with seawater."

I was amazed and went to investigate. I waded hesitantly into the grey sea, a little more and a little more until I was dog paddling in what I thought was shallow water.

Suddenly there was a dull boom and a brilliant light from below illuminated the waters. I could suddenly see that I was miles from the bottom of this impossibly deep sea and began panicking from a sharp feeling of vertigo. I screamed and thrashed and finally felt Gandalf's hand closing on mine, dragging me towards the shore.
cremains: (Default)
Me: Wow, your new glasses look great!
Y: For the one who talks about my new glasses, fire will shoot out of them and burn him to death.
Me: Oh...
Y: Because you didn't know, you were spared, but now you have to be careful.
Me: Oh, okay... thanks...

The night before last I had an extremely realistic dream that I woke up to find my tefillin was still on my arm. Sleeping with tefillin on is very forbidden and when I woke up for real, the dream gave me a terrible feeling of being animalistic and a bad person.

There are many traditional ways to deal with dreams, which range (depending on the dream's severity) from soliciting interpretations to fasting. In this case since I was on the border of how disturbed I was it seemed like the best option was to go listen to the blessing of the kohanim, and in the middle of it to pray that everything vis-a-vis the dream is okay. At my minyan there are normally no kohanim, but the yeshiva right next door has one, and fortuitously they begin prayers right after the other congregation concludes. I feel extremely lucky.

In other news, I've finally sorted out where I'm learning next year, and it's aweseome, exactly where I'd like to be. I'll be working, too, so it will be hard, but that's life and I'm not overly worried.

Finally, S has taken to pretending I'm Yoshi and riding my back all around the city with extreme pleasure, singing spontaneous songs as he goes ("now we're turning the corner, aiyiyi") and throwing his hands in the air. As Yoshi, I get an incredible amount of love from him: "Yoshi, Yoshi, my cute one, how I love you!" Out of character, he also gave me a sticker of a panda cuddling a baby panda, put it on my wrist saying "This is me and you," and warned me that I should press it occasionally so that it will never fall off.

Things with M continue to get worse. I'm not sure if she's being singled out at home for extra caution around "wicked people" because she's a girl, because she's the eldest, or both.
cremains: (Default)
Me: What are you now?
Y: I'm a grocer.
Me: Very cool; where is your store so I can buy things?
Y: In the police station.
Me: ...oh...?
Y: You see, I'm also a police officer.
Me: Is it hard to juggle your work?
Y: Not at all! Not at all! That's what they ask me and the answer is no.

Meanwhile, I had a dream that youngest stepchild, S., had grown into a young man with a dati leumi sort of look to him. He spent most of his time sitting in contemplation in small cafes, paying for his coffee with my checkbook. Finally he drained my account, so he called my cellphone and asked me to go over to pay the bill for him. In the dream I just sighed and went to get some change from a jar by the door; I was oddly not angry.

Meanwhile meanwhile, unemployment and unyeshivament is a nightmare. If you hear of anybody that wants to commission art or something requiring fancy lettering*, please let me know. Meanwhile, I sift through endless shitty job possibilities and remember that really bad pay is still more than no pay.

*And don't want the job yourself, if you are that person on my friendslist.
cremains: (Default)
In this dream, I was a grown-up version of my stepdaughter, who was the top assassin in a city where it was perpetually night. Unfortunately for her/me, we fell under the influence of a sinister group of monks and nuns. There were seven of them, corresponding to "the seven elements."

We first fell into their trap by becoming too friendly with a nun librarian, who took us under her wing and started providing for us. Little did we know that she was planning to control our mind and bring us into the service of the shadowy group. The nun in my dream was played by a person I know in real life, who actually is an ex-nun.

Anyway, we discovered that the way to overcome each monk and nun was to guess which element they were. This part of the dream was very cool, because as soon as we figured it out, there was a spectacular montage of the character and element - really bright, beautiful images. I'm impressed my subconscious could come up with that. The best one was the Water Monk, who was their chief. I remember a bright gold halo jarringly juxtaposed with a pane of glass with perfect raindrops falling on it, then the bottom of the ocean, then his face, then the middle of a cloud shot with gold sunrays.

Grown-up version of Y appeared to help us in the end.
cremains: (drunken vulcan)
Me: Officer, do you like your job?
Y: Yes, yes I like my job.
Me: How many people are in your jail?
Y: Millions.
Me: Millions?! What's the matter with your country that everybody does crime?
Y: (looks to H for answer; with H unavailable, Y falls silent)
Me: So who's the most dangerous prisoner in your jail?
Y: Uhhh the lion.
Me: And who's the least dangerous prisoner?
Y: I would have to say the person.
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