Dream of:07 March 1997 "Gore"
Waking up in the morning after a night's sleep, I looked around the spacious high-ceilinged room and sought my bearings. Most prominent were the two beds – the one on which I was lying, and a smaller one perpendicular to mine, situated at the end of the room toward the foot of my bed. Seeing a tall man lying in the other bed, I suddenly remembered who he was: vice-president Al Gore.
I quietly rose from my bed, careful not to make any noise to awaken Gore. After a few minutes, however, I realized he was already awake. I hesitated to say anything to him (after all, he was such an important person) but finally I thought to myself that since we were sleeping in the same room together, surely there was no reason why we shouldn't talk. So I turned to him and announced that I had never thought I would actually be sleeping in the same room with the vice-president of the United States. I thought to myself that only a few people would ever have this kind of honor, and I felt humbled.
At first I didn't know if Gore was going to say anything back to me; but he did and we began having a friendly conversation. This was my room – Gore was visiting me. He sat up on the side of the bed, and unlike what I would have thought, he seemed relaxed and not rushed to leave or end our conversation.
I didn't think Gore knew much about me, and I was unsure he wanted to know anything. Since we were in the same room together, however, I saw no harm in telling him something about myself. I began rather timidly by saying that I had an unusual occupation: I was a dream writer. I tried to explain what I meant by that, since I was sure Gore had never heard of such a thing. I told him it was my intention to write books of dreams and that each book would cover a different theme or a different person. I told him that "my father, my mother, and my sister," or maybe even a certain object or symbol might become the subject of one of my books. I tried to explain that I had had so many dreams about my family members that I already had written enough dreams for books about them. But I also wanted to clarify that I didn't intend to write books only about members of my family, but I wanted to write books about other subjects.
For instance, I explained, I had had many dreams about different presidents, and I had been thinking of writing a book containing all the dreams I had had of the presidents. In fact (I thought to myself) in some ways I envisioned myself as a historical "chronicler." I mentioned that I had had numerous dreams about Bill Clinton and Hillary Clinton, and then I added I had even had dreams about him, Al Gore.
As I told Gore I had dreamed about him, I walked over to my computer, in the corner of the room. The computer had a flat screen hanging on the wall, like new flat-screen televisions which I had heard would soon be coming on the market. I told Gore that I had over 4,000 pages of dreams stored on my computer, and that I could do word searches of any word, and pull up the dreams in which the word had appeared. I told him I could even do a word search of his name and pull up all the dreams in which he had appeared. But then I stopped and corrected myself; I told him I wasn't quite sure I had 4,000 pages of dreams – it might be closer to 3,500.
By now, Gore was standing beside me and showing obvious interest. Since I had stored copies of my dreams on the smaller three and a half inch disks, with one year's dreams on each disk, I began shuffling through the disks, trying to remember when I might have had the first dream of Gore. First I tried to think of when he had been elected vice president. At first I thought it might have been in 1988, but then I realized he had been elected in 1992, and I stuck the 1992 disk in the computer. I then sat down and typed in the word "Gore" for a word search.
As the computer started working, however, I realized there was also a verb "gore," as well as an author named "Gore Vidal" who might have appeared in my dreams. The word search would also turn up those "gores." But that wasn't my main problem. I seemed to be having other difficulty with the computer, because all I could see on the screen were lines of letters smashed together in no order. This was embarrassing because the vice-president was standing right beside me, waiting. Fortunately he didn't seem impatient, and he even seemed intrigued by what I was doing.
As I continued to try to straighten out the problem, Gore bent over and picked up something lying on the floor. When he had the object in his hand, I saw is was a long-playing album of a Broadway show called "No, No, Nannette." Displayed on the orange background of the album cover were pictures of dancing girls throwing up their legs under long white billowy dresses. Surprised by Gore's obvious interest in the album, I told him I had just bought it the day before and I hadn't had a chance to put it up yet.
When I returned to looking at my computer, the screen was no longer on the wall. Instead, I had to look through a large window next to me: the screen was now sitting outside, about five meters from the window. It looked as if the area directly outside the window might be a concrete-covered school playground. Children were running about the playground, and they all appeared to be young black boys (around 10-12 years old).
As Gore also looked out the window, 15 or 20 of the boys began shyly moving closer to us, apparently intrigued to see the vice-president inside. Suddenly Gore barked out something at the boys and they all quickly dispersed. I was impressed by the way Gore had scattered the boys. He seemed strong, almost militaristic in his attitude. But I thought his manner was probably necessary since he was probably often in danger, subject to assassination. I turned to him and asked, "Are you ever afraid?"
His answer was immediate – yes, he was often afraid. Especially when he had to walk through crowds of people, when someone could just walk up with a gun and shoot him. I was impressed by his honesty. He seemed like a particularly strong and brave man, yet he wasn't embarrassed to admit he was afraid.
While we had been speaking, two of the fellows from outside had actually climbed in through the window and were looking around my room. Like the others outside, these two were black; but they were older, probably in their late teens. I was bothered when I saw that they had walked over to some shelves and were picking up some record albums and video tapes, looking them over as if they might be interested in taking them. Still impressed by the way Gore had run off the boys outside, I walked over to the two in my room and forcefully told them they would have to leave. They reluctantly complied and climbed back out the window.
I settled back into my seat and focused on the screen which was still sitting outside. I could just barely make out the words. It looked as if the problem now was that I had typed in the wrong word, and the computer was searching for the word "work." I saw some of the letters of "work" were the same as "gore" and I thought I must have hit the wrong keys when I had done the word search. I typed in the word "gore" again, and finally I saw that the computer had found a dream with the word in it. It looked as if I were finally going to have a dream to read the vice-president in which he had appeared.
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