Blue_Opossum

Morning of December 26, 2013. Thursday.



In my dream, I am in an unfamiliar garage in Wisconsin, it seems, although my wife Zsuzsanna is with me. There is a tall, thin stack of smaller boxes of books that falls over without causing any damage. We seem to be moving a few things around. I notice a heavyset man staring at me from the opening to the garage (the opening apparently to the east). He walks into the garage and stares at me intently, looking into my eyes.

“Why are you an alien?” he says in a way almost implying cross-examination. He seems to have a special gift to see the “different wiring” within my physical nature and brain design - something people usually seem to sense but do not comment on, or maybe they recognize that I am only pretending to understand what people are saying to avoid confrontation.

“Because I am not you and am not like you,” I say calmly, but in a slightly patronizing way. I do not like him at all and do not look away from his intense and unduly patronizing gaze. He seems to be of the conspiracy-theorist “everything is doom or devils or aliens” mentality; the type who spends time considering all manner of fictional systems and completely unfeasible potential of the countless fraudulent “lunatic fringe” websites. (I recall a small plastic “device” from a New Age magazine years ago which I got just to see what it really was. It was supposedly designed to improve health by having some sort of “protective field” move out from the wearer’s body. When I took it apart, I saw that all it was was a small circuit-board in which the sole function was to make the small light flash on and off. Hilariously stupid.)

The chubby unknown male soon attacks me physically but I grab him and stretch him out somehow until all that is left of him is his belt. I go to the garage entrance and throw this belt out into the alley as two girls are walking by, heading north (I believe we are at the north-side of La Crosse). He somehow screams for help (as a belt, but changing form a bit, including a brief period as a rattlesnake) but they do not notice. Eventually, he is able to “regenerate” himself, but is more overweight than before and dressed in mismatched clothes, some of them women’s clothes - in about three layers. He is also wearing a periwig and starts yelling about aliens again, while shaking a golf club at me. I also notice, at this point, he is about a foot shorter than before.

I tell him sternly and very seriously, “the fact that people like you are allowed to run around promoting false systems and false ideologies and leading other people astray is proof enough that humans are not fit to occupy this planet”. (By that, I seem to be perhaps illogically inferring that both the con artists and the victims are “unfit”.) From here I wake.