Abra

Been sleeping at air-conditioning without laptop, so haven't been recording dreams.

7/19/11 Dreamt my dream self came to me, made me lucid, and tested my dream ethics. The scenarios began extreme (children coming at me with machetes) and wavered to social faux pas as my dream-granted lucidity steadily waned.
7/20/11 Dreamt of a widow in a bridal gown, and dolphins in a tackle store.
7/21/11 Dreamt of Doctor Who. The Doctor was too arrive in the last few seconds before completing an important proof.

At my parents' house for the weekend. Dreamt I woke up in the camper, and the camper was larger than it normally was. I'm impressed by this. I go into the house, and my sister and mom are around the table chatting about plans for the day. My sister interrupts with, "Hey Abra, watch this!" and tosses a half-dollar sized bit of plastic in the air. It's the bumper from Super Smash Bros., and just like in the game it stays in the air when thrown. I'm astounded by this feat, and try and find out if it's hanging by anything. It's free-floating.

"Is this a dream?" I wonder, pausing for a reality check. I feel control over my surroundings as my sister and mom both look to me. "This is a dream." I wait for them to show some emotion, but they don't. I stabilize by focusing on the wood grain feel of the back of the chair I'm leaning on. I hadn't planned anything. "I guess I'll go outside and fly. You're part of the dream. . . So don't worry about anything bad happening." Mom tells me to have fun, and out I go.

Flying is easy. I can do it by willing myself to float. I get higher by pretending the air is water-like. The sky swirls in neon orange and pink and I can see a dream-version of Lake Michigan; many tendrils of hilly land and road creep from its edges. Cars with headlights glinting weave through the roads. I fly across and the sky changes as if the clouds were only a few stories away. I land somewhere in Illinois (I guess) where a tribe of seventeen-year-old men in the woods are hunting for wives. I get out of there and into a gas station, where two women in their 20's are aware of the dream. I ask them how to fly like Superman, and they tell me to fall and expect to hover. I do and it works. I hover an inch from the concrete, and tilt my body upward to start moving. By titling, my shoe touches the ground, and gravity grabs it. One of the women tries to lift my leg to help, but that surprises me. I'm jarred into a false awakening.

My sister pokes at my foot and I start telling her I was in the middle of a lucid dream. I turn over and actually wake up, sister not even awake.

Resetting my sleep schedule to more socially-acceptable hours (to maximize SPACE ALERT time and such). Recall has been lax. For archival purposes:

7/11/11 - Dreamt of strange thunderstorms which caused fundies to believe it a sign of revelation. During the storm, I was at Italian restaurant. Despite the dream's realism, the restaurant was in many aspects like a restaurant you'd find in Chrono Trigger, cat included.
7/12/11 - Dreamt of going to field training again for fun, with missions approximating Space Alert in mortality (and nobody really cared). Quit in the middle in a "Ha-ha, I can leave at any time. See?" way.
7/13/11 - Dreamt of unconditional love and ugly
7/14/11 - Dreamt of wary love and hate

I'm in a very strange dormitory where the genders are separated by floor, and the bedrooms are large. I am on-call for a position on the third floor. It is midnight. Heading to the second floor, which is all men, I find their lounge is actually a furniture store. Because of this, they have the most comfortable 'lounge' in the entire building. Continuing down the hall and to a new set of stairs lands me in the middle of an illusion. I must defeat two giant peahats to pass. Armed with only a boomerang, eventually I down the foes, feeling very proud (somehow, I knew in the dream that they were monsters of anxiety). I continue to the staircase.

On the third floor, headless female forms are giving birth to strange things on a hospital bed. They give birth to animals, foods, and miniature people. As strange as it sounds, they are actually supposedly unconscious vessels for a new, organic delivery system. Their seed is manipulated and combined to grow the different products and people they birth. For people, somehow their consciousness is transported. With a friend also on-call, I am supposed to aid the deliveries. I hold down the torso of a body while my friend eases the exit of a wolf pup. Doctors monitor our progress behind glass windows, at times directing. The items coming out of our subject become stranger as it writhes in blatant pain and suspiciously coordinated throes. Cobs of corn pass through, and then a human skeleton, dancing with a new soul. That was not supposed to happen, and the doctors rush in to destroy the abomination. I wake up.

Dreamt that I was at a mall which was being ripped apart by some flaw in reality. Only some mall-goers were aware of the pandemonium, and even they didn't react. Others were caught up not in the chaos surrounding, but in conflicts of their own lives. I walked around telling dream characters not to cry, since all their pain would end at the end of the dream. Woke up after putting my arm around a teary girl huddled near a debris-ridden shoe store. The dream was in third person, and I was not me.

Dreamt I was with all the friends I made in a certain six day span. Someone had stolen our art, the art we made for each other. I even had a new mural on my wall for it, but it was missing. As was my parrot. Asking everyone relevant where I could find Nero, nobody had an answer. Finally, someone broke the news to me that I couldn't see her anymore--she had died. I start crying, but hearing Nero chirping and rehearsing in the real world, woke up.

I remember proving that I could fly by proving that I was in a dream. The dream characters looked at me funny and then I wasn't me at all anymore.

Some kid waiting for a bus on campus. Bus arrives, kid gets on and seeing his dad, goes and sits next to him. The father has killed three neighborhood rabbits, and the ten-year-old boy is trying to justify their deaths. He can't.

Had a dream the whole month of June transported me to medieval times (probs. too much Game of Thrones). Instead of going to my own house, I was sent to my mother's. In the dream, she was incredibly obese and owned a market and her two daughters were to help run it. At some point my cat was traded for a monkey. At any rate, my sister planted cries for help near or on most of the items for sale.

I woke up and thought about how near to reality the whole situation was, aside from the time of the setting (in the near future I have agreed to help manage a garage sale to help pay for certain expenses), and then decided to try and re-enter. The trick was not giving a fuck, while thinking about how the dream could continue.

Back in the dream-that-is-reality, I find a friend has been jailed. The only option at this point is to break away from the mother while finding a way for my sister to escape (that's always been the goal). Only then can I reclaim my friend. A half-dozen missile-fireworks are seen flying across the horizon and their impact is heard outside the market. An unrecognizable female familiar has blown our house apart and half the market to pieces using her new weapon invention. My mother takes off a pin she was wearing, as do a couple of those she was speaking with over a porcelain doll. She comments that she has lost belief in her country--it is not safe anymore.

And then I wake up and it's 7:30 and I'm all, "Fuck this why do I lack the ability to sleep in." And then I shower, go on Dreamviews, type the dream, and end it with a doubly self-referential statement.

I've been a roof-ladderer all my life, you know. The job is simple: a crane holds the ladder, you climb the ladder, you hook it to the spire of said tower. Er, roof. But mostly roofs of towers. The last one I laddered had terrible footing, so I went and checked what was actually on the top floor. Behind a fence (thank goodness), was a children's Petting Zoo of Penguins. But apparently, nobody knows how to take care of penguins, as the only one I saw was dead, stiffened by rigor mortis and mud, held upright by some kid trying to nurse it a cup of imaginary tea.

Nothing but birthing and dying fractals.

Got up this morning at 6, listening to shitty late 80's pop with the usual cheesy intro riff and a high bpm loop of the same 10 second vocals. As it turns out, the entrance to a city marathon is right outside of the apartment I was in. Their idea of "workout music." After about two hours of being angry about it the race starts and the music stops and I go try to go back to bed, race announcer infrequently interjecting an otherwise smooth contemplation of descent. Before I hit delta wave, I was thinking how I'd escape if the apartment suddenly toppled. No intention of really sleeping or dreaming.

I felt the vibrations anyway, to my glee. I haven't recognized dream entry in a long time. After about a minute, the scene materialized as a false awakening, I was alone in a double-bed setup. I reality check, just to make sure, and then begin exploring the dream apartment. Pretty much the same, a bit cleaner, brighter carpets and more floorspace. I make my way to the balcony to jump. I start hovering, and look up at the sky. Completely overcast and bright, just as in waking life. I float away from the balcony. . .

My boyfriend wakes me, I feel exiting vibrations as he pounces on me, tugs an arm, wrenching me from the dream. I shake it off, audibly and grumpily tell him to back off. The louse cuddles right on top of me, and I settle back in.

It's... Still a dream? I didn't reopen my eyes for the scene to appear. There's someone on top of me, but it's not my boyfriend. This guy's taller, older by a few years, brown-haired, skinny, with rectangular facial definition. I stare at him a moment and fear flashes through his eyes as we both realize: we have to fight, as he's an impostor! He dashes out the bedroom and exits the apartment, slamming a door which I can't unlock. I can hear the elevator. Unperturbed, I jump off the balcony in a dive, the sky is murderous grey here, and the buildings are greater in quantity and more densely packed. I see For Sale signs on some apartment buildings, including the one I was in, as I descend. I land softly, on my feet. He's just now exiting through the front. I need a weapon, something with range. I reach behind me and whip out a bow and three arrows, firing them in quick succession, missing twice and hitting the third against a shield which he conjured. The bow morphs into a boomerang, which I throw. He jumps supernaturally over it. I fly up to avoid having to catch the weapon's hefty return. As it turns out, he can fly, too.

There's no fear here. Neither of us are afraid. I'm in it for the hunt, the adventure. He knows he's a minute dream character and will cease to exist after I wake, save in this dream journal.

But he chooses to run. He meanders under bridges and through smaller and smaller alleys, places with ceilings I can't fly through. I follow on foot, and spawn throwing stars. We're in a clearing with cement brick tiles and an outdoor cafe surrounding an open center. I can't throw the stars there. Instead, I fling them into the air, knowing by self-fulfilling lucid dream prophesy the exact points at which they'll land. Time for a new weapon. How 'bout a longsword? I know shit about swordfighting, by the way, he no longer had a shield but another two-handed sword, smaller, lighter. I'm nearly out-maneuvered when the ninja stars land, tearing a rip in the cloth of his shoulder, distracting him such that his sword disintegrates under one whack with my new hammer. He flees. Typical.

I follow, it's now a footrace with that announcer guy from the real world. People are watching us, which seems to amuse him for a bit, but ultimately he leads me out of the city. We turn one more corner, and suddenly he's gone. I take the time to materialize a weapon I do know how to use: a pistol. Amazingly it morphs right between my palms as I made my hands into a fake gun. I take off the safety, peer around the corner, business end of the weapon never leaving the direction of sight. The man comes into view again, and runs into a white domeish building at the end of a heavily-treed (mature trees everywhere, creating shade from the now blasting golden sun) parking lot. I follow in, of course. I slow my pace to a walk. I know what room he's in. The building is completely empty, like a house but with a big, auditorium room at the end. Bright maple flooring, polishes and clean, with sunbeams draping generously on the floor, through tall windows, coming from both east and west sides of the building. I've still got my pistol at hand. He's cornered in that last room. I cross the doorway and he appears out from behind a spiral staircase. He looks at my pistol, at his own, and nods. We meet each other in the middle of the floor, turn around, and start stepping. Annoyingly, with each step I drew toward the duel, I shifted back into the waking world...

Just got up from this one...

House shopping, with friends, deal fell through in my apartment or some such. At some kid's house, selling cages for lizards, along with the lizards. It feels like freshman year again, for a moment. This house is a mess, but we'll buy it and fix it ourselves, it's so cheap. Outside the kid's father is building a massive sculpture out of metal, beer and soda cans.

Mom and this guy are talking on the porch, and the yard's muddy and our three dogs are outside going to the bathroom. I can see my little sister in the sun room, and the house is looking more and more like my parent's house. I take a second to reflect upon all this, the end of summer, the dogs... Wait. Two of those dogs are dead in real life. And I last woke up at 6:30. I reality check (not that I needed it by then) to confirm I'm dreaming. My sister wants to join me, but I still don't see the point of bringing people I know in real life with me on my escapades. I tell her to stay and draw, because things are about to get strange.

The sky deepens to a rolling grey, and the backyard curves and stretches, bending upward such that I can see the forest slope into expansive, pristine wooded valleys. 'Bout 70% conifers. So I fly, and it's easier than ever. I push myself off the ground and pull myself higher. I'm not focused at all on the tactile of the flight, but on the unbelievable control I have, in these three dimensions. I take one last look at my house, with its muddy yard and mangled dead tree, my mother, my sister avidly sketching, and then I look forward, and ascend even higher, farther, until they're gone and I'm somewhere completely new. I want to know how high I can fly. I want to know if the scenery will remain realistic. I ascend to the edge of the atmosphere, deep, blue, glowing, curved. Then I dive, using the dive's momentum I level out with intense speed. Parallel flight, I reach a city. It's like my college town in that I feel welcome, among people who share similar values, but the people here are more willing to show how developed they are. There are no roads here. The clouds are dusty and cumulus now, golden-brown against a backdrop of glowing grey. I want to reach them, so I spire climb. I grab onto apartment buildings with my eyes, and fling myself around and past them (like a satellite breaking orbit), grabbing onto the next highest, and the next, building speed and confidence. Eventually I reach a clock tower, the highest building. I'm at the top, admiring the view, and a man grabs my ankle. He's on The Drug, can't leave The Drug, but is fine on The Drug and has a good honest job (he loathes) which pays for The Drug. I'm dreaming, so what will it do to me? I take a pill, yellow and blue, from this young blond, and feel the weight of my body. The scene becomes metallic, and there are people after us now, people belonging to this new place rather than the one I flew through. We must run, but I'm not sure if I'll take him with me. He won't move on his own.

Construction noises goddommot.

So I figure this can't be all bad, what with convenient tagging and other features and such. Carbon copying from dream journal, go!

7:00 AM awakening time:

-First part of the dream I'm with my sister and mom, sister's playin' the vidya and mom calls me to help her move furniture

-Later, I was a father, with a wife and two kids. We were moving from slums to slums, because we were being chased by the Asian mafia. We don't want our daughter (age six) to know. Our son (age 14) found out, though my wife has some mental deficit, some automatic repression which prevents her from acknowledging the cause of the mafia's dissent with us, but she is very aware of the danger. so we pack. we pack and we are silent, segmented. Are we being watched? Would they bother monitoring us? We have a plan to escape. I'm staying up all night, nerves a wreck, clutching at every outlet for comfort, thirsty for normal conversation, giving long hugs to my little girl during midnight water trips, coaxing them into midnight snack trips, eager for that added two minutes of family contact. My wife and son believe me, when I say I know where we're going. The truth is, I know they'll never let me leave. Let us leave. This hackneyed plan is only a gesture, all I can do to show that my character does not stem from dogged compliance with this situation, but the drive to do what's right. My last lesson...

We don't get very far at all. I'm on the porch with our last box. We were going to leave at dawn. An agent steps on my foot and is about to say something clever. I tell him to shut the fuck up. I'm crushed, alone. My last lesson...

We're at our new home, mother and son resigned to slavery, daughter introduced with all manner of sinister as to what's in store for her. Only half of our belongings made it here. The rest go to pawn shops. Three agents now, and I recognize them by face. They're here to give me punishment. They taunted me; they were sure I wasn't armed. Of course, I was sure they weren't watching when we packed. I bided time for strategy, but that soon caved in (caved in like my survival rate, judging by the way they talked). By a staircase and a toolbox, I wrenched out of their grip. I shot one down in an instant, turned to shoot the one behind, shooting twice in one fluid turn, so that both shots were at sloppy, thoughtless (no revenge, no regret, only instinct) angles. The third man is terrified. he has a round face and rounded teeth, and a swoopy bowl haircut which makes him look none the less ugly. I make a terrible error: I think. His gun won't fire, he makes no excuse but I'm sure I've seen the shells fly out on an earlier day. I try and bribe him in a tone that asserts confidence, but a vocabulary so honest it betrays the status quo. A door opens from a floor above. I know this well-groomed tan man. I shoot the nervous round-face, and my bullets bounce off his chest. My gun isn't forming a good seal with the bullets...? The bullets are too small...?

The man from above tosses at me some trash, contemplates his pistol, reholsters it, shuts the door as I glance at the flash bomb beside me. As the light envelopes, I can't think about my family at all. Only this. This is death, and it lasts a few seconds, and there's no pain, just a powerful thump to all of my body. Then that is gone. What now? There's the warehouse, and the flash, and I'm

a 19-year-old girl, staring at a sleeping 19-year-old boy, light filtering through the curtains.