I was driving in the middle of nowhere, and had to stop. (For gas? Pee break? I’m not sure why.) It was the middle of nowhere, but it was right outside of Los Angeles – so it wasn’t really far. No clue if that matters.

I stop in a junk store, a white elephant, filled with weird, colorful, cheap crap. The walls are white, but they’re hard to see through all the precariously balanced tchotchkes. While I’m walking through the store, I see my father. Not corporeally; he’s a ghost. He doesn’t say anything to me, but I see him clearly as he drifts through the shop.

I leave because I have to go home, and on my way out, I start seeing people from my past that I had conflict with. Some are specific, some are amalgamations of people I knew. When I talk to them, they seem… brighter? Unburdened. Kinder. They radiate light, but not in a literal way.

I leave, but keep coming back to this town because I want to see my dad, even if I can’t communicate with him. (The in-between times are fuzzy.) Whenever I go into the junk shop, I see him, and the more I go into the shop, the more I see other spirits of people I love that have passed away.

The rest of the town is filling up with more people from my past, and they’re all – how do I explain this? – they’re becoming their perfected selves. Something about the town burns away the hardness around their souls, the cynicism, selfishness, bitterness, and all the residue of hurt, and they’re their best selves as long as they’re there. I wonder if I am, too.

In the dream, there was one person in particular that I reconnected with. He registered in the dream as someone I was friends with in high school, or at least during my teenage years, but is someone I’ve never actually met. Eventually, he became very forthcoming about the nature of this weird town. Something about the town burns away the hardness around their souls, the cynicism, selfishness, bitterness, and all the residue of hurt, and they’re their best selves as long as they’re there. On this plot of land, nothing has ever died, and no act of violence has ever been committed.

And then I woke up.

– – –

Related and unrelated:

There’s a street very close to my house whose houses butt right up against a cemetery. The houses there are… different. Almost all of them have a quirky quality to them: some are painted bright, sherbet colors, the retaining walls and fences are wavy and whimsical, and most of the properties are covered – COVERED! – in… stuff. There are houses whose yards are overflowing with potted plants, and others that are piled ground to roof with ceramic figurines and holiday lights all year round. There’s an almost offertory quality to the gardens filled with Stuff that has fascinated me since the day we moved in, and I’ve spent a lot of time daydreaming about what compels an entire community of people living with a cemetery in their backyard to ornament their homes like this. Is it a subconscious drive to pay tribute to the spirits? Is it an impulse to keep the spirits at bay? Do the bright colors and whimsical statues bring comfort to the dead?

It occurred to me upon waking that the store in my dream – the white-walled junk store where the ghost drift – was filled with things I’d seen on this street.

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Last night, I had a dream that Ted took a hiatus from Trading Post to go back to photography. In my dream, I found an attic (basement? vault?) full of old, never-before-seen fairy tale and Lovecraftian paintings and illustrations, I showed them to Teddy, and he spent months translating the art we dug up into a massive fashion editorial. Ted was using a daguerreotype, a 19th century box camera, and my dad’s 35mm Nikon, and his studio was our living room, but wasn’t. Ted’s photos looked like a hybrid of Ted’s style of photography and Eugenio Recuenco’s. He eventually turned the project into a sort of phantasmagoria, complete with spectres and Pepper’s ghosts.

What did you dream about last night?

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Another sexy bottle of Everclear, this time with Dream Tincture. The contents of this bottle include orris CO2, steam-distilled blue yarrow, olibanum, and white camphor, steam-distilled styrax from crude bark and sapwood, steam-distilled armoise mugwort, frankincense hydrosol, wild crafted bay laurel oil, organic lavender hydrosol, alcohol extraction of lavender concrete gleaned from freshly cut tops, and bay leaves from the TAL garden. This is truly bottled moonlight.

The effects of scents on dreamers.