Posted by: normanlgreen | January 4, 2013

Dream, January 4, 2013 remodelled killing

Dream, home, 5:15 am

Before starting a deep remodel on a late 19th century house, demolition must be performed.  A team of volunteers has gathered. We walk through the place, examining both stories and discussing what must be removed and what must stay. We work without plans, but everyone seems to get the gist of the proposed remodel.

The crew is entirely male, with one bull of a man calling the orders. Young men in their early twenties follow the orders. I may be the owner of the house as everyone gives my ineptitude a measure of latitude.

Some cabinets have been destroyed with the remains being dragged down a hallway on a thick blue tarpaulin. I wish to pitch-in, but don’t want to tear-up my hands, so struggle with a pair of work gloves.  Cannot force my fingers  into their channels – the gloves long disused, the material stuck to itself on the inside. By the time I am ready, the debris has been poured onto a trailer. The men wheel the cart under a shelter where a truck waits to be hitched to the load of materials. A junk man has offered five cents per pound for recyclable material.

I turn back into the rear of the house, where we are to remove a winding staircase – narrow, intended for servant passage. Linoleum floor has been removed revealing a pencil sketch of the stairway on the wood under-flooring. This is all of the plan that the builders had to work from, yet the structure has held up for more than 100 years. I hate to see them tear out the red stained pine.

I walk further along the back of the house where the rear wall has been removed. An open work space, warehouse or mechanics garage with a poured concrete floor has been revealed– dusty with high ceilings and exposed rafters. I see an opportunity to help clean, so reach for a pair of knit yellow safety gloves. At least I can sweep with competence. Again, I cannot get the gloves on. By the time I give up trying, two kids have done the work.

I cross through a doorway into the main part of the house, and enter a rough wood dining hall. There I meet a woman who would like to teach a group of children a lesson in gun safety. She wants me to assassinate a man while the children look on. We are supposed to stage it so that the children will see the killing as a spontaneous act. The man should actually die. I pick up a six-shooter from a sideboard on the North side of the room, but find it is only a cap gun. The would-be victim fiddles with the handgun to see if he can get it to function with some cap and ball charges he carries with him. He gives up and goes in search of a gun that will actually kill him. In the mean time, the room has filled with diners, family of the demolition crew. They carry plates to their seats at the many long tables. Loud conversation fills the room as the celebrate the progress.

I see a pair of young women stand from one of the benches at the table positioned parallel to the Eastern wall. They nod to me as signal that the assassination is to commence. I stand and turn to the corner of the room where I have left the six-gun. A door opens and a man in 19th century long coat enters. A voice announces that we are to see an experiment: the man is to be punished for his crimes by a bevy of beautiful girls. We are to judge if it is really a punishment when the sentence is carried out in such a pleasant way. A circle of girls enters through the same door through which the man had come into the room– they have been recruited from the Roller Betties, a local roller derby team. They snake around the man, beat him senseless with pink satin pillows, then whisk him away, out the door in the corner.



  1. body{font-size:10pt;font-family:arial,sans-serif;background-color:#ffffff;color:black;}p{margin:0px;}I had a dream involving forests and Mr. Bill last night.XOX

    • run — spike cannot be far behind.


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