In the first dream I found myself in the middle of a protest that was about to become a riot and I, naturally, wanted to take some pictures of what was going on rather than actually take part. I didn't have a camera, but I did, for some odd reason, have a can of spray paint. So I started taking pictures by holding the spray paint can up to my eye and pressing the spray top thingy. The paint spraying out at what I aimed at was somehow recording images. It seemed so logical at the time. But I do remember leaving so I could hurry home and get a real camera.
The second dream kind of infuriates me because I remember so little of it. I was reading a novel by Paul Auster and somehow simultaneously watching a movie version of the same book. Auster's my favorite living writer and this dream novel and movie was almost exactly like one of his strange, convoluted novels. Of course I remembered virtually none of what happened after I woke up.