Blue_Opossum

Morning of November 5, 2018. Monday.

Dream #: 18,949-05. Reading time (optimized): 2 min. Readability score: 38.



In my dream, I am in an unknown location, though it is likely implied to be America as Dennis (half-brother on my mother’s side) is present. He appears as he was in the 1970s.

There is an unfamiliar dream state denizen with me (male, about twenty years old) when Dennis starts talking about taking us on a ride on his motorcycle and even giving us our own motorcycles.

I am not interested and he becomes very angry, telling me what a great motorcycle he is giving me. There is a long argument of the typical preconscious content (though I am not lucid).

He eventually leaves. There is the typical indoor-outdoor ambiguity, where I look upon a highway that also somehow seems to be inside an unknown building.

Dennis has transformed into a foot-long piece of yellow police tape (and my dream self does not consider this unusual). “He” is lying near the middle of the highway. I consider that cars may run over him as he is blown about, but I do not feel any concern.

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Conflict in my dreams (subliminal, liminal, and lucid modes) is typically a result of biologically induced reticular formation simulacra and my dream self’s willingness to correlate with the RAS factor of the waking process, and in lucidity, I am actually aware of this factor (thus there can be no doubt, as real lucidity brings about this knowledge - and an experienced lucid dreamer would know that “interpretation” in the popular sense is a misconception).

A vehicle typically represents (projected or inherited) correlation of induction (beginning of sleep cycle) or waking (end of sleep cycle) physicality by way of vestibular system dynamics, even before full consciousness is achieved. (The preconscious is active in the waking process before the conscious self identity is, which is probably why many people do not remember their dreams.)

I have not seen Dennis in real life since 1994 and our minimal Facebook contact has remained cheerful. The yellow police tape comes from two factors, the nexus between dreaming and waking (fuzziness about the conscious self identity when sleeping, and the reticular formation by way of the preconscious as authority over the dream self) as a liminal space divider, and a literal association with the Halloween tape we had on our fence recently for trick-or-treaters (as a fence is a literal liminal space divider in real life, which correlates with the nexus of the waking process being a model as such).

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Morning of September 18, 2018. Tuesday.

Reading time: 2 min 52 sec. Readability score: 70.



Still aware of where my physical body is as I sleep, my illusory dream body rises and floats into our lounge room. I remember to focus on our porch for liminal space vivification (enhancement and sharpening of the midpoint between dreaming and waking). However, when I get to the entrance of the lounge room, there is no porch. My dream self is now implied to be corporeal but has distorted physicality. My legs are not viable, so I both fall and partly hover over the stairs, yet I do not wake. I get the impression of another physical form hovering above the ground, of which I bump. It seems to be an unfamiliar male, not very well defined. He is soon gone.

My dream is extraordinarily vivid but does not shift to the highest level of lucidity. The neighborhood is of a different appearance. Directly across the street to the north are more houses. On the west side of the intersection, I see a flaming man on a flaming motorcycle of which is traveling quite slowly. He is going south. The imagery is eerie but wondrous. I feel a sense of otherworldly awe. The fire is beautiful and increases my awareness of the dream state.

I anticipate his approach, as I think he will turn around and come back. He does, but eventually, the fire goes out, and he is walking with his motorcycle on my side of the street. As he is walking to the north side of the intersection, I boldly call out, “You’re Johnny Blaze.” He seems puzzled, and crosses back to my side of the street, approaching me. He is wearing a blue motorcycle racing jumpsuit with white stripes down the sides.

He stands close to me to become Ghost Rider again. I realize he will be able to look deep into my soul and know all there is to know about me. The experience is incredible. It is as if the universe itself is looking into all areas of my existence and personal history. He is a man again, though his eyes are glowing with eternity, infinity, and universality. I notice that flakes of my skin seem to be falling away from the scar on my right thumb, as I look down at it. There is no pain or implied threat.

Instead of any potential threat, he starts whimpering in appreciation of the life I have lived up to now. He hugs me and seems like a new friend. From here, my level of awareness shifts. I become less lucid as my dream changes into a different form, though the Johnny Blaze character is still present.

My mother is present, but I do not recall that she had died years ago. She asks me what is going on. I say, “I knew it was a dream, so I went from there,” regarding my description of falling out the door into a vivified scenario. That is very odd though, as I am no longer lucid (yet saying “I knew it was a dream.”)

As the waking transition starts, Johnny Blaze is no longer carrying the interconsciousness within the rendering. Still, I say, “Watch this,” only loosely expecting Ghost Rider to appear one final time.

Instead, a wall, like that inside a house, intersects the street, and a door appears in it. There is the common indoor-outdoor ambiguity (the sense of being inside and outside at the same time). Some other dream characters, including my mother, Zsuzsanna, and me, go over to the doorway. Beyond it from our side, we see that Johnny had crashed into a row of wheelie bins and fallen over, though I realize he is not the same character as before, as the interconsciousness had left the dream state right after hugging me (in temporary coalescence and unification). He is on the ground, mostly on his back and turned a bit to the left, looking somewhat surprised and annoyed. I wake quickly from here, finding myself in the same physical position as Johnny had been.

I should point out that I had held no thoughts of Ghost Rider, either the comic book or movie for a long time. Johnny Blaze was nothing like Nicolas Cage (or any other known actor) in my dream. He was an unfamiliar man of a more athletic build.

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Morning of December 12, 2017. Tuesday.



In this dream, there is the transition to water reinduction (water as symbolizing sleep), though my conscious self identity is virtually nonexistent. Even being in the Loomis Street house’s backyard, there is not even the association with my relatives who lived there for years. While in the backyard near the alley (where I have not been in real life since February 1994), there are a number of unfamiliar characters. There is something about going somewhere, another country perhaps, and we start our journey.

The Loomis and Gillette Street area transform into some sort of distorted wharf, which I believe is meant to be with the ocean on the left (even though Wisconsin is nowhere near the ocean in reality). All of the people we meet are dark-skinned and may be Sri Lankan (which I seem to recall being said as such in my dream). They are all males in their twenties, supposedly refugees. It is illegal for us to be there or walk over the wharf to wherever it is we are going. That will apparently not stop us though and our group walks over the long wharf. Still, the other males are very friendly even though they seem slightly confused that we are not like them. I start talking to them in Spanish, “Cuando salga el sol me despertaré”. (“When the sun rises I will wake” - note that I am not viably aware I am dreaming.) I repeat “cuando” several times, as a question. They only shrug and smile.

There is an area where a doorway is too narrow to go through. I do something to where we continue from near the right of it, though it does not make any sense. It seems as if I somehow moved the doorway itself by “sliding” it with my hand.

From here, I am riding in a van, on the front passenger side, on the right (implying America). The driver of this van is riding a motorcycle a car length ahead of the van (which makes no sense at all, but this is how it is experienced).

The port authorities are now following us. Because we had gone through the restricted area that held refugees, we are to be captured and shot, no matter where we decide to go or live. The man on the motorcycle is shot once and splits into several pieces, rolling over the road, the van I am in continuing to apparently drive itself. I do not feel very emotional.

After traveling a long distance, miles away from the Loomis Street house’s backyard, I find myself back on Loomis Street, in the Loomis Street house’s kitchen (likely due to mild hunger in sleep). Of course, this makes no sense either.

I am presumably the last one of my group left. I now have a very vague emergent awareness of relatives having lived on Loomis Street years ago, though no current conscious self identity. An unknown male comes into the kitchen from the south room to shoot me. I decide that this is RAS mediation (even though I am not lucid) and that he is the preconscious factor and thus I shoot him first and then soon wake. I will not tolerate being victimized in my own dream, even when there is no viable thread of current conscious self identity.

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Morning of August 14, 2017. Monday.



In my dream, I am in an unfamiliar location though which is similar to an area on French Island that I last saw over twenty years ago. It seems to be an area where motorcycle races are being held, though they may be meant to be dirt bikes. A few stunts occur. It seems to be afternoon at first.

Billy Connolly is known as a champion based on previous races. I do not recall his real-life status as a comedian at all. It is known that he is a werewolf, though this is not something that seems negative to any greater extent. He does not seem dangerous. He seems to be perhaps fifty.

The race track is near the perimeter of a dense forest. There are many members of the public present at times, but not other times throughout the series of competitions. At one point, seemingly towards evening but when it is not yet dark out, Billy inexplicably transforms into a wolf, leaving his motorcycle near the middle of the track, which is slightly muddy. It seems to be his choice.

He runs off to my right into the dense forest. Some people watch and it is believed he may not become human again or ever leave the forest.

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Night of January 10, 1991. Thursday.

Dream Number 47,590 (original system). Optimized 1 minute 45 second read.



Waking-Life Factors Underlying this Dreaming Experience:

I had slept about 15 hours, the longest I ever slept in my life. It was a cold evening, and I had felt unwell. I wrapped myself in blankets and slept on the floor of the northwest corner of the sun parlor of the Loomis Street house in La Crosse, Wisconsin. My head was northward. I was sleeping on my left side in a fetal position.

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Dream Content:

I stand near the doorway in the bathroom of the Cubitis house. There is not much light (at first) other than a soft yellowish glow from outside via the small window, but it seems to be nighttime. Several unknown people are standing around, and their attention is on an unfamiliar man on a motorcycle. He readies himself to perform a stunt.

The motorcycle turns slightly, moving from its orientation toward the toilet to being in line with the window, its headlight brightening. The motorcycle rises into the air with a soft mechanical humming, going toward the window, simultaneously "shrinking" (caused by distorted distance perception) as I wake with a need to use the bathroom.

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CAUSATION (not "interpretation"):

With this familiar dream type, imaginary kinesthesia (vivid but illusory movement and motion) begins because of vestibular phasing, caused by emerging from REM atonia (solely a result of REM sleep). (All dreams in this mode result from vestibular phasing during emergence from REM atonia but with slightly different narrative types.) This association results in imagining my dream body as a vehicle to compensate for the illusion of vestibular phasing. (There are thousands of matching examples of this process in my online journal.)

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Virtual Amnesia and Dream Errors:

A motorcycle would never have fit in the small Cubitis bathroom. The bathroom window was too small and too high for a child to climb through. I am in the Cubitis house to prevent associating the dream state with real life. (An imaginary bathroom while sleeping is useless.)

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USE YOUR BRAIN:

Try to grasp the reason the motorcycle first aimed toward the toilet but with the outcome that it left my dream's imaginary setting through the window despite the surreal (and nonsensical) implication because of my attention vacillating from dreaming to waking out of a biological need. The crowd (lack of privacy) was a secondary factor in making my dream's imaginary bathroom unusable.

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Night of November 8, 1985. Friday.

Dream #: 6,899-02. Reading time (optimized): 1 min 30 sec.



Vestibular stage: I feel as if I am in a southwest area of La Crosse, possibly near Third Street, but my dream’s rendering is erroneous. I am riding my bicycle, probably past midnight, through a mist with an eerie glow. I had not seen any other traffic.

I am enjoying myself. I pedal faster and faster even though I cannot see what is ahead of me, though I am vaguely aware I am dreaming. At one point, I am moving fast through an alley, heading west. Suddenly, I see another vehicle approaching from the north as I am exiting into an open area that seems adjacent to a small parking lot to the north as well as an intersection. My dream becomes more vivid, though the certainty I am dreaming increases only in the last few seconds.

Preconscious emergence (as authoritative): The vehicle is a small motorcycle with a police officer riding it. I cannot see his eyes because he is wearing dark sunglasses (an indicator that I am sleeping) or a face shield under a light-colored helmet, though I can see his mouth, which has no expression. I suddenly slow down so as not to draw his attention with my speed, especially as it seems we might collide. Even though the scene is otherwise vivid and realistic, he and his motorcycle seem scaled down to about half the size they should be. I slowly approach the intersection as he continues south, to my left and beyond, without turning his head towards me at any point. I wake after he passes out of sight. (There was no vestibular drop, only a vague awareness of the process as the motorcycle crossed my path.)

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The intersection offers three choices. I can turn left to follow the motorcycle cop (which I technically do with the waking process), keep going (keep dreaming), or turn right with the implication of returning to slow-wave sleep (so-called dreamless sleep). (The direction options are atypical as I am otherwise on my left side when dreaming vividly, not my right.)

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One Christmas, my father bought me a toy remote control police motorcycle with an officer riding it. My dreaming experience rendered its nature as too small and of an artificial essence (though those aspects are common to dreams).

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Morning of February 14, 1976. Saturday.



In the first part of 1973 (February), which repeated with more detail in 1974 and 1976 (the Bicentennial year, which some of the final version of my dream seems to partially reflect), I had a fairly long dream (that varied in semi-lucidity and in-dream awareness from time to time) in which the main subject was a localized Nazi Germany (Hitler is mostly only seen in shadow looking out a somewhat modern-looking window as if from an apartment building - apparently he also “dubs” - makes dub music, or produces it) that was limited to the range of the cow pasture to the east of our home in Cubitis, Florida. To the south from there was a localized Afghanistan, to which Hitler goes to with a large cavalcade of jeeps with various colorful flags - not sure if it is a conquest - but the feel is not so “warlike” - at least with a personal perception - and Osbourne “King Tubby” Ruddock is riding with Hitler, decorated with all sorts of awards for valor or some such. To have “little countries” in the region did not seem odd. It also seems like some sort of alliance, but there are rows and rows of weird flags from hundreds of other countries along the length of train tracks, both real and fictional (including a United Nations flag).

My dream featured my father at the end (C. Clarence “Rider” as in one version of the song, C. C. Rider, See See Rider, etc. - although he was actually known for very long bicycle trips, not motorcycles). We had the same name. In my dream, for some reason, he has a black motorcycle (probably a 1962 Harley). On the front of his motorcycle is some sort of shield (very similar to what an interstate highway sign looks like) with the number 79 on it in red. Near the end of my dream, I am moving rather oddly, with my fists going up and around in a sort of unnatural weird leaping run. We are in the area near the train tracks and halfway in the middle (and going north) of our neighbor’s orange grove (in real life he only ever mowed the front row of his grove, and the empty area near the tracks - which I thought to be a bit strange as rattlesnakes could hide in all the high weeds). I hear a strange humming and buzzing that is rather musical. At first I think it must be Hitler playing his “Death March/Funeral March” (as jeeps roll out behind us near the train tracks) but it turns out to be the motorcycle’s engine humming that song in a very strange and simplistic (but sped up) electronic way. There is a very weird mood in my dream. It is not sad, just slightly eerie. I keep trying to walk and run normally as I try to keep up with my father but I keep leaping oddly.

Finally, instead of saying “Every Good Boy Does Fine” (the treble line notes) to talk about the music - a line he repeated now and then in real life, he softly says “Every Good Boy Dies” (with no “F” note represented) and soon, he rides off, I cannot catch up - This sheet music motif was actually on his tombstone in real life several years later (on the design request of a half-sister I had hardly ever communicated with - see image). There is no sadness, anger, or fear, just a vague sense of awe, mostly related to the weird “humming” motorcycle engine that continues to play “Funeral March” (Chopin) about twice as fast as standard. The audio in my dream was identical (with all the same tones and nuances) to the Commodore 64 Jumpman death theme (when he falls and loses a life) that I did not hear in real life until several years later (1980s, a few years after my father died) and I was also moving exactly like Jumpman (even the same in mid-leap form) regarding the weird leaping - convincing evidence of very precise precognition for years ahead.

In real life at the time, I was making electronic dub music in a very simplistic, limited way as well as other strange recordings and comedy routines with my friends. One “trick” was that I had removed the erasing heads from a tape deck so that any new recording would layer over the first (but required precise timing), but the sound’s highs would be lost on each prior layer (so it was more viable to do the bass first and then build up from each A-based range, 55, 110, 220, 440, 880, etc). Another thing I did was to keep recording layers back and forth with two tape players, but again, it required precise timing, and the tape players’ capstan tolerance levels could not be that variable, because the track would either eventually sound slowed down or sped up (which was why it was common knowledge at the time that if you dubbed that way, you should have two same-brand tape decks not more than a few serial numbers apart). My father bought secondhand cassette decks and tape players almost on a weekly basis at the weekend flea markets just north of us and we sometimes rigged rather odd setups - my father built a large speaker set with several variously sized speakers as well as owning a very large and powerful dancehall amplifier for a time - one of the built-in effects was the exact same sound the vocal uses at the end of the original “Crimson and Clover” with the wavering pseudo-tremolo.

Additional notes:

My father died on February 14, 1979 (79 being the number on the shield on the front of the motorcycle in my dream.)

Adolph Dubs (United States Ambassador to Afghanistan) died on February 14, 1979.

Much here would have been missed had I not documented this one more closely. For example, I did not even catch the “cycle of death” play until quite recently. Given that most precognitive layers within a particular dream come from different time periods yet to unfold, and just as dreams combine aspects of the past somewhat ambiguously, it is also typical to miss combined otherwise unrelated patterns (for example Adolph Dubs, Jumpman, and my father’s death really were not connected in any way). As it is, hundreds of dreams before age nine related directly to my wife-to-be with such precise nuances as to be like one “big picture” already being determined and built long before I become aware in reality.