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woody-allen-and-his-olympiaI am inviting you, Dear Reader, to Decode this dream from 11/11/12. I’ll give you the dream in its entirety. Use whatever clues and dictionaries you may deem necessary. Then, write back here with your interpretations and any background questions you may have for me. Thanks.


I am watching Woody Allen outtakes from movies I had never seen. It is a private screening for D and I and perhaps one other person.  The screens are set up like long billboard panels on the walls around the room. The scenes are of Woody walking on a beach in Army fatigues. The uniform is brown, the helmet is green, the blue sea is behind him as he walks on the sand. It is  newsreel-like, aged footage. Woody is the only one in the scene and he simply walks along the beach with his head down. There is no sound.

We move to an adjacent room. This room too is plain, with a glossy white floor to ceiling finish.

Against the wall is a single twin bed. On the bed is a doll-sized, real life, Woody Allen who lays face down complaining. because he can’t manage to get his helmet off. He is about a foot tall and reminds me of a pupply. His is like a loaf of bread, or a sack of putty. He sitill wears his Army uniform, all green fatigues now and green helmet.

I bend down and help him unfasten his helmet. I undo a single, white velcro strip that is his chinstrap.

He just continues his complaining banter. I am amazed by his tiny, but more like a pudgy, puppy stature, rather than thin and doll-like. It is  really Woody Allen, walking and talking in the center of this bed. He says nothing notable, nor really sensible.


On the center of the bed next to him is a small, clear, Mason jar with the lid askew. D is close behind me and I’m wondering if she is as amazed by all this as I am; but she’s distracted by whatever she’s doing. I ask her questions but she doesn’t answer. In the other room I kissed her but she panned it, so I say to myself that I’m just going to keep trying to kiss her whether she kesses me back or not.

In  this room I feel her distance, but again feel I’ll keep trying and loving her even though she doesn’t return it.

I look to the bed and the jar. A small, wiry thing, climbs out. It looks like it’s made of pipe cleaners, all fuzzy and bendable. It is a real spider monkey. it jumps off the lid to the bed and another follws it. Again, I’m entertained and intrigued because as I watch, more seem to grow out of nowhere and fill the jar like the clown circus taxi where numerous monkeys keep climbing out from a jar too small to hold them all. They are many and like children, just want to jump on the bed and play. I say to myself, “no more monkeys jumping on the bed.” as I watch them, amused.


I tell D not to pick them up, but like everything else, she won’t listen to me and begins to cuddle them, saying how cute they are. I warn her that they’ll climb into her coat and hide because, again they grew in number, but she disregards me completely. She has these small monkeys all over her.

I walk out the opposite side of the room down a white hallway. There is dog crap and water from kids who’ve come from the hotel pool, all over the lobby floor and halls. I’m trying to get to the lobby and out of this place. I feel the dog crap is an experiment for the kids to learn how to care for puppies, and they’re doing a terrible job.


A black custodian in all white clothes is in the hall. I’m trying to get D to listen to me so we can find our way out, but she’s in another world.

I walk through a white door that turns into 3 doors, folding into itself, like a tri-fold envelope, and feel its’ a terribly dangerous exit in case of a fire or emergency.

I’m calling to D and she calls back to me to me but goes off in anther direction.


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Why TypinInc? We are a family incorporated within ourselves; because we are each creative individuals, who work for the common cause of Family. Each one of us have different interests, strengths, talents and abilities. We support each other in our endeavors, helping out as much as possible, in whatever ways we can. But we also have our own means of expression and rather than trying to bend any individual against their will, to be a "family business," is something none of us would tolerate.

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