Blue_Opossum

Morning of July 14, 2015. Tuesday.



Instead of my first dream of the night being sensual and lucid as usual (probably due to the so-called Tetris effect regarding actual lovemaking), they have remained so for a couple days throughout and as such, have not much of a plot otherwise. Still, one has enough additional detail to perhaps post online as it involves one of those common (to me) imagery-based events that seem very familiar, even nostalgic, yet completely fictional.

Yet again, I am back in my (implied) teenage years in Cubitis. The bed is aligned east to west along the northeast corner against the outer carport door (that door being perpendicular to the main entrance into the living room), which is where it was during the height of unexplainable clearer dreams associated with my wife-to-be before we met.

There is another presence in the room other than Zsuzsanna and I on the west side, supposedly also with a bed in the room; an unknown female, though who leaves in a short time without saying or doing anything other than a straight walk out the door from my room (without acknowledging us), though it does not seem that much of a privacy issue even though it seems possible she may return (though she does not). After an extensive level of intimacy with augmented touch with Zsuzsanna, and even though it is semi-dark, I find myself looking at some sort of “impossible” Warren-like comic magazine/“computer” composite in the same location on my bed (it is not much like an ipad - but more like a normal magazine though with computerized pages), though which transforms into solely a comic magazine after a short time, though mostly in color. Firstly, there is a black-and-white splash page that shows a scene similar to art from near the end of the “Heavy Metal” movie (from 1981) with a female riding a winged creature. There is some sort of ambiguity that implies more imagery can somehow be inserted into the page into any white space with some sort of software routine. Although I contemplate this idea, I do not use it or see any options to do what is implied (or any context menu showing additional art to be inserted wherever - the ground below the winged creature is mostly white and featureless, implying that perhaps figures or buildings can be inserted as well as perhaps something else in the sky).

It soon gets more and more “familiar” (as if I had read through the fictional magazine numerous times in the past) as I turn the pages. There is a page that is somewhat like “Wizards” movie scenes (from 1977) in a typical Bodē-like three-by-three vertically narrow nine panel layout. Eventually, I am looking at what seems to be a very unlikely but “familiar” Vaughn Bodē Erotica comic, yet featuring Disney’s Magica De Spell. She appears to be standing (on the right side of each panel) and engaged in conversation with another female “duck” over most of the nine panels. The art becomes so vivid and detailed (and focused with full clarity upon), I partially forget I am dreaming and start to reflect on the intense “familiarity” of this book. It seems, though, that each page is only a “demo” (or sample) of various other magazines and I do not quite recall if I have all or some of the full copies elsewhere. (Magica De Spell was actually one of the first cartoon characters that appeared in dreams from age four, though only in two-dimensional still images and not really that often). This of course distracts me from my lucidity, though I do eventually shift into other sensual scenes without any comic imagery. I even enter a lucid “false awakening” (which is fairly rare) as if I am more lucid in coming out of another lucid dream. (Typically, concerning non-lucid dreams, my false awakenings are almost always far less vivid than the previous dream, though real movies that use this trick imply the opposite. The fact they are less vivid at least with me, is probably one reason why they “work” as a false awakening in the first place - with less reasoning skills available than the previous main dream.)

Morning of April 5, 2015. Sunday.



I already knew this many years ago, but once again a “popular” dream myth is exposed as just that - a myth - this being the one where you supposedly only dream about vivid sexual encounters if they are not presently occurring in reality. (Besides, common sense would dictate that the Tetris effect would render that idea as ludicrous.) Not only that, the level of conscious dream creation and control is almost a hundred percent save for one unusual distortion.

In my (first) dream, I am, for some reason, focused on a room on Loomis Street, the one with the second refrigerator and which was used both mainly for storage boxes and my last sleeping place before moving to Australia (as well as where I read all the letters from my wife before we met). Though I was last there in early 1994, I recall how my older sister still had at least a couple quarter-filled bottles of shampoo from as far back as the 1950s as well as a stack of old “Dig” magazines from the 1950s. My sister called it the “junk room”. In my dream, this room is far more cluttered than it ever was in reality - so much so, it is impossible to walk through it on the floor. It begins to dawn on me that I am dreaming. Oddly, instead of stabilizing and enhancing my dream and taking control as I often have in the past (even as a toddler), I decide to wake up and look around (without moving in reality), which I do.

During this short wakeful period, I start to make my next dream, which will start in the same location but then change to our present address on W street. After a short time, I am back in the “same” dream, more lucid and with more vividness than ever. This time it is raining indoors. The rain is extraordinarily refreshing and I revel in the sensations for a time as I climb up onto a stack of cardboard boxes on my way through the room. Eventually, I leave this room through a fictional door, either teleporting or simply going into the front room of this house by way of a typical dream composite.

From here, I “summon” my wife, who appears automatically at about the age she was when we first started writing or a few years younger. We indulge in passionate kissing and embracing, the sense of touch “accelerated” (in the manner that all senses are in dreams at times, including internally glowing enriched imagery, augmented “impossibly loud” audio, blissful “smells as simultaneous breathing”, and other perceptions not possible in waking life). The only distortion is, when I am holding her from behind, a “hollow pocket” appears within my dream’s rendering; sometimes in her upper back, sometimes in the air - though this does not distract me from reaching my peak. This seems to represent the tiny degree of control that is lacking in my dream creation and continuity. However, I keep “sealing” it (in an automatic mental sense), whereby it fills itself in somewhat like fluid, like a three-dimensional holographic dynamic recess (spherically inverted) sealing itself up from some sort of minor “glitch” of consciousness - like a “blind spot”, perhaps, but more in line with my view and not always on the periphery. I see this as an environmental “flaw”, not related to the form of my wife - more like a superimposed partial “mini-portal” that I do not place my hand near at any point. Still, it may also be a vague association with “hollow of the back” or even the phrase “holler back” (as a typical in-dream orphaned pun).

Even though we had indulged in making love in reality just a few hours prior, my dream seems to increase my desire and awareness and even seems to “reignite” and increase my physical stamina (almost to a point of disbelief considering I was already just fulfilled), something I cannot help but puzzle over other than my dream self consciousness (in some incarnations) being more viable than the conscious in some ways (certainly not in logic, critical thinking, or even common sense, but more relative to bodily control, physical capability, and cellular function).

Affirmation forms, including “Thank you for telling me when I am dreaming”, “Thank you for making me aware of when I am in a dream”, and hundreds of similar phrases, seem to have almost fully integrated into my normal thinking processes, although I still like to experience non-altered or “unscripted” dreams.

Morning of January 22, 2015. Thursday.



Of all the “experiments” I have done in my life to influence, enhance, or alter dream states, I have ultimately decided that simple thinking is the key. I have tried a particular focused form of thought enough to know it is the most powerful technique, especially when preceded by “thank you for…” (without even needing belief in a deity). Just listening to something does not seem to do much unless it is with my own special technique and even that has certain limitations in certain states. Needing to hear something seems to limit certain states (plus, I have experienced a vivid lucid state where external sound and its influence is non-existent), likely because a part of the mind is still “grounded” in a particular way. (Once again, I should mention the lucid dreaming fiasco of years ago where I entered the most vivid dream state possible with a shorter audio loop, though once in my dream, solely tried to find the source of the sound to turn it off - the very meaning of “irony”). So what do I do that works? Three-minute very subtle mental affirmation meditations (not spoken aloud, just actively thought) throughout the day and night (sometimes in closer clusters), watching the clock and using an addend of four but only ever counting them as three minutes in my personal journal. In this case, it added up to sixty minutes overall.

In my dream (and the ones which followed) I find myself in a full-body awareness that is no different from being awake other than the senses being enhanced and the depth perception intensified. This used to puzzle me - but I attribute it to being “closer” to one’s internal awareness in sleep. I have never had the slightest concern (as some people claim as possibility) about differentiating from the real world and a dream when awake - and in a vivid lucid dream, that concern is pointless anyway, so yet again, typical mainstream dream literature fails to impress me or even make any sense.

I find myself in a dream environment in a larger room that I cannot identify, though it is similar in familiarity to (but much larger than) the larger southernmost room in the Loomis Street house. I am sitting comfortably on an armchair facing east. As with another recent dream, the increased sensuality, almost to a point where I would otherwise think it impossible, seems the most “automatic” and natural of all dream states, almost as if all nuances of my dream are “instantly surrendering” to a core subliminal whim. In fact, all I do is lift my arms up a bit and my beautiful wife materializes in front of me (only her head at first) and she bends down to indulge in passionate kissing with me for quite some time. The sense of touch is probably double that of reality and I am also amazed by the solid nature of her form.

This is followed by making love on the floor, from the side and from behind, but holding ourselves up with our left arms, in some sort of otherwise physically impossible situation (well, at least for me). During the climax, I notice (as I have in several other dreams) that my wife has sparse reptilian scales around her hips and bordering the small of her back, which does not bother me. However, I soon take this into a forced scenario out of habit, relating to what I feel happens often in non-lucid dreams; that is, the dreamer forcing certain possible conflicts possibly regarding a need for increased “pulsing” energy as such for whatever reason (again, for example, maintaining the knowledge but vague memory that I was solely the one that instigated my own chase dreams even with dinosaurs following me, just to experience the event, although most people do not seem to remember the event horizon of when they planned this themselves, so thus you have people that believe in demons or similar entities - the case seemingly being that a particular section of memory was lost).

My dream is not “fooled” though and I am too vividly integrated with my dream’s environment to be absentmindedly a “victim”. When I try to force a negative association for a dramatic movie-like scene, I illogically in the past tense speak to my wife, saying, “You had scales!” but she just cheerfully lightly laughs and shakes her head and levitates a bit from the floor, “rolling about” in midair and lowering herself again. I ask her “Why did you have scales?” and then I feel idiotic since it was me that gave her the scales in the first place. I try to get her to appear more aggressive, but that fails and she becomes about ten years younger and we make love again, “rolling around” in midair, at times like mists with various tendrils but I also become aware of where I am in reality.

An odd false awakening occurs. I am in the computer room in Wavell Heights though the setup and room layout is different. My dream is almost as vivid as my previous but I am no longer lucid. There is a closed window near where the printer is. The printer seems more like an oversized typewriter. There are also what seem to be kitchen features in the room, including a faucet over the top of the printer (seemingly on the window sill as was strangely the case in our Clayfield apartment’s kitchen). I absentmindedly turn the faucet on (it is more to the right), realize that the printer is then filling up with water (almost in the manner of a sink) and then turn it off. The physical sensations of doing this are greatly enhanced and I briefly contemplate that real life is not this “close” in the sense of touch but do not become lucid again. Once again I catch myself having turned the faucet on in the semi-dark room. I again turn it off just as the water starts spilling over the top of the printer a bit. It then sits there still full, like a full sink, and I am contemplating when it could be used again. I then finally notice that the printer is plugged in, so I remove the cord from the printer itself, which is higher up on the front instead of the back area (this is likely because the back of my desk in reality is open to the path into the room as if it was the “front”). I then go to tell my wife about the event, planning on asking her to help with getting the water out of the printer by using cups, though this does not seem feasible. I do not think turning it upside-down would be a good idea, though.

There is another false awakening, this one more intense, but ending up as some sort of parody of people who preach about the end of the world. Having heard about the supposed approaching “end of the world” in virtually endless scenarios since I was very young, any emotional impact or credibility has dissolved. I am watching a set of four smaller televisions in a column in an extended part of a doorway. Each television has the same show but with slightly different timing (this is based on a real-life event of years ago, where I was changing channels and noticed the same religious show on two different channels but one about a minute ahead of the other and I played around, sometimes getting unintentionally funny phrases with each switch over).

There is a chubby preacher ranting before a live audience, loudly asking “What if the world ends tomorrow?” and he keeps repeating this for a short time with a terrified look on his face. I notice red flashing lights and other people crying out including a few from the choir on the stage. It almost seems possible that the world could end tomorrow but I do not feel afraid. However, he then shouts “What if the world ends the day after tomorrow?” with an even more terrified visage. This does not seem to make much sense as that would be one day later and less to worry about for a short time. However, he keeps going on like this, with his emotional anticipation illogically inverted, going into more and more preposterous and loud unrestrained queries such as “What if the world ends the day after the day after the day after three weeks from tomorrow?” seeming more and more alarmed each time, the longer the potential “doomsday” is from then - completely senseless. The audience keeps gasping and crying out to everything he says. I stand there in disbelief until my dream fades with a strong and clear attitude that it does not even matter if and when the world ends - why keep theorizing as such? This last false awakening seems vaguely influenced by the last scenes from “The Blob” (1988 version) - seen the evening before - where the traumatized preacher is shown as having the power to “end the world” from a piece of the life-form he has in a container.

Morning of December 19, 2014. Friday.



Firstly, I am in some sort of group of mostly unknown males (not relevant to real life). There are two rows of perhaps seven or eight facing each other. It seems to be on King Street, though the front (northeast) apartment is much bigger. I seem to become angry and punch most of them extremely hard. This seems to at least partly be because each and every one of them is being condescending to each and every other, sounding more and more ridiculous, like a perpetual comic strip but with no comedic elements.

After seemingly several minutes of this, I become slightly lucid (becoming more lucid over time). I have an awareness of an affirmation set and decide that instead of eliminating these people, I will heal them (including “fixing” their brain by bringing it into its most natural resonance somehow). I vaguely sense a “correct” oscillation and harmonic resonance inside their heads when I put my hand on the top of their heads and eventually place my hands on all of their heads. The effect is similar to feeling the vibrations when placing your hand on the body of an acoustic guitar when a chord is played.

I heal their wounds and cuts as well. However, because I reach an apparent overly energetic stage which is supposedly “too powerful” to use directly (with my palms, for example - where the energy seems to emanate from), I need only lightly touch them with the back of my hand to restore them to their healthiest state - otherwise my power may cause them to “disintegrate”. I do not recall this event being like this in past dreams, as I formerly used my fingers and palms.

From here, I walk out with a few (unknown) people. The porch roof is extended out more over the front yard than in reality (almost like a large lower awning) which seems frustrating relative to being able to fly out and up as soon as I want. As lucidity is dawning on me a bit stronger, I decide to fly out into the world. As I fly swiftly and efficiently, even deliberately over a longer sequence of telephone lines and power lines (which seem somewhat out of place and randomly going at an angle from the buildings and sidewalks), I notice how incredibly clear and visually defined my dream’s environment is. It is so well-rendered, I am amazed to a nearly breath-taking pleasure on the imagery alone; even more so, because it does not seem reminiscent of a real location. It seems to be near an industrial area of whatever town it is now meant to be. I notice a few buildings, a forest in the distance, and a few parked vehicles here and there, including a semi near a warehouse.



I feel fantastic as I look down and about over the scenery. At one point, I see a pile with old books and magazines, but mostly atop a taller pile of just debris, at the end of an alley, which appears to be a public dumping area. The pile is almost as high as the two-storey possibly abandoned commercial buildings on each side. I land near the top of the pile and pick up what seems to be an old “Alvin and the Chipmunks” comic book (it may be an association with an old instrumental my father wrote and performed as well as the name of where we lived at one time in Chipmunk Coulee). There are three bats on the cover (which may be related to a short-term comic strip I did as a boy about three “rock star” bats in the early 70s based on an earlier recurring dream). I tell myself that because I know I am dreaming, I may be able to actually read the entire book. However, I mostly only seem to focus on one odd phrase, which is “Poly Calep” and seeing that distracts me from my plan to read the whole comic. Perhaps this is a name of one of the characters.

From here, I am still aware of the people that had been at the meeting walking around not that far from where I am. However, I decide to enjoy more flying. I am able to again maneuver just slightly above power lines for a fair distance (which used to be problematic in dreams in my youth) without getting tangled. Oddly though, the power lines go up at an angle the farther I fly, but I still directly remain parallel to them the entire distance.

From here, I find myself back at North Monroe Street, which is usually rare to dream of. I have not been there since early 1968. I notice a few people standing around near the outer hall to the west, where my older brother Earl lived at one time. I go with my wife (who had apparently been standing in the hall) into the apartment, which seems larger and much longer to the east. Of course, I plan on having a nice romantic interlude to see what can physically occur. At this point, my dream is almost entirely under my conscious influence in every way other than the “extra people” that annoy me somewhat (which is typical of this type of lucid dream until apex lucidity is reached). We walk past three bedrooms where I can see a person’s feet sticking out from under a sheet on each bed. As we continue to walk, a male relative (Kevin M) ends up following us as well. Just as my wife and I are able to get into a bathtub (which is perpendicular to the direction we are walking), which is already full of nice cool water, he is still behind us. However, as my wife and I begin to sit down in the water (already suddenly unclothed by mental will alone), I slam the mostly opaque bathtub’s sliding door (much like the setup from King Street) so that we are then isolated from all public perspectives. (I suppose that he could have technically still opened the sliding door, but this does not really occur to me at any level of thought so does not happen.)

I am on my back and my wife sits on me in the cool water. The pleasure is quite augmented; a very clear sense of wetness and warmth (against the refreshing coolness of the water) and enhanced physical pleasure as well as spiritual unity and oneness. The only unusual distortion is that Zsuzsanna has tiny curly black hairs that create a narrower curved line going up and around her hips and back up towards her abdomen, somewhat like a doubled mirror-imaged harp design.

Night of April 30, 2014. Wednesday.



Before it goes off into another (private) scenario, I am seemingly in the distant future in-dream, yet somehow my wife is much younger, or at least this “version” with long hair (down to her waist) and wearing two thin white pieces of cloth (top and bottom) that are apparently the fashion of this time period, as well as long white stockings.

The house and yard (at our present home on W Street) looks mostly the same, but the grass is a bit greener (not much rain in reality).

There is a sort of wooden platform, which is about chest-high and near the back porch, that is meant to be some sort of small garden or something similar, because there is about two inches of dirt up from the surface and what looks to be a wondrous “miniature forest”, but with mostly leafless trees (yet still somehow very beautiful in the evenness and positions). In a very strange and intense “flash” of bright scenery, I am aware that the miniature forest is actually made up of specially trained stick insects that are all standing on their front legs, head down, and doing elaborate “ballet movements” to simulate the appearance of wind.

Somehow, this seems to relate to erotic energies, because it is similar to a dream of years ago where black caterpillars “stood on their head” along the tops of wooden fences (in front of several different houses and some on mailboxes), which seemed to relate to my dream’s sensual energies relative to other events.

Morning of April 9, 2006. Sunday.



How wrong can a partly scripted and incubated lucid dream go of indulging in lovemaking while in a flying chariot (pulled by bronze winged horses) above an endlessly continuing large city? Well…guess. Try it, and you will probably see what I mean.

My wife Zsuzsanna as Vulnavia and I are in a partly undefined area. This area of course starts out as the bed in light sleep paralysis but has motion and movement over time into a cityscape. Regardless of the recent romance in reality (which automatically triggers this form of light sleep paralysis and blissful lucid dreaming in the first place), that only makes my dream’s essence more soothing and “realistic”. Well…make that in some ways.

I look ahead at the “realistic” rendering. At times, other than the regular team, I see a few stray horses at quite a distance ahead, yet somehow I know they are still pulling our chariot (which I seem to know has the Roman numeral for six on the side; VI). (For some reason, this scene of a horse being way ahead of our vehicle yet still guiding it somehow, has occurred a few times though in different context. Added August 11, 2015; for example “A stolen candy bar wrapper and a girl with golden skin” from May 15, 2014, which also ended with a play on “golden calves” and as with that later dream, I am concerned about “how we will make the corner properly” at one point, though relating to the tops of buildings in this case.)

There is a strange physical awareness that the chariot cannot maintain horizontal orientation, though that is more of a benefit in this scenario than a distraction. There are transitions in setting between bed and chariot, a bit like typical in-dream environmental bilocation. Mouths press together sensually and at times, there is a sense of slight vertigo at being so high in the sky. I have to check the horses now and then to make sure they know where they are going. A large flock of birds disrupts our otherwise smooth flight and wild lovemaking at one point. Well, I suppose that was almost a certainty.

After a time, in getting closer to clock towers and whatnot, I accidentally perceive the notion of supposedly linear time and how to “properly” perceive time. Of course, in dreams, that can be an attention-altering mistake.

We are still having fun. “Oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh.”

(Who said that?)

Of course, a chariot and a sleigh are two completely different things (try telling your dream-self that). Unfortunately, the power and speed of self-as-dream-maker thought simply does not care. Thought does not wait to check itself for logic or run self-diagnostics (other than in apex lucidity I suppose, but this is a level down from there).

Thus we are now making love in a bed on a raised platform under a candy cane canopy in a Christmas display (in April, yet) - Gimbels I think (though not extant in reality). I am concerned about visitors though there is only one male who vaguely reminds me of Phil Silvers, but I know many more people are going to be coming in soon. My wife is up and out and in Vulnavia’s white fur outfit.

“Have you seen Santa?” he asks. Oh, how stupid. I have to remain under the sheets, completely undressed, as I cover my head as much as possible. I feel him tugging on the sheet near my feet and lower legs. It is very clear. “Santa? Santa? Come out of there Santa.” I need to teleport back to our “real” bed and I do. (Apparently, Zsuzsanna had been lightly caressing my leg with her foot in reality in her half-sleep.)

Update August 11, 2015. I just realized that “Phil Silvers” is possibly a play on “Feel Shivers”.

Morning of May 11, 1976. Tuesday.



Yes, this is, after all, the original unimaginative dream journal title from age fifteen.

I am at my high school in Arcadia in the lunch break area near the “chuck wagon room”/food purchasing area and I soon see that someone (unknown) had drawn an abstract life-sized asymmetrical picture of a “girl” on the outer wall facing east out into the main open area with the benches, with possibly black chalk on the lighter-colored wall, but the drawing of which is mostly only made up of triangles, rectangles and lines (and likely even distorted handwriting - perhaps implied to be the artist’s signature), but still suggesting a human form overall. Later, it comes to life (after beginning to look a little more like a human form) and I want to catch “her” to get to know her (and perhaps even make love as perhaps she will become more realistic now that she is in the “real” world) but “she” has vanished after running to the north for a time and just as my dream-self starts to attain a clarity bordering on lucidity.

Looking back on this and considering how so many dreams were precognitive of my near-legendary “dream girl destiny” - I now consider that the drawing was additionally inclusive of distorted letters of the alphabet in a very similar way as the Gold Key comic book columns which featured drawings by readers of people’s bodies and faces drawn with a base of letters and numbers (and also inclusive of abstract shapes and “squiggles”). In fact, this now clear strong influence seems irrefutable - as we first made (waking reality) contact with handwritten letters. I now consider this dream fully resolved.

---

Morning of June 3, 1973. Sunday.



I am with an unknown attractive girl (about my age) in a car (in some dreams such as this, I was “already” in a car, but it was very rare for me to fit in a car when wanting to drive it or to get into it, or a taxi, etc. It sometimes even eventually turned into a shoe). We are trying to engage in romance, but the car is going in a circle and making us annoyed, as we really want to leave the old dusty (and mostly featureless) warehouse we are in and go elsewhere, primarily to a meadow or perhaps to the top of a hill. A very tall insect-like “human” (with reptile nuances) with spider-web-like eyes (and very small pupils and irises) is making the car go in a circle with some sort of mind control on his part as he waves his hand somewhat like a puppet-master (with the implied otherwise invisible “strands” that control the car). The “demon” reminds me much of a cartoon monster from a Marvel comic book - it seems of the same overall design. Part of this is also probably a play on “sex drive” when I heard it with negative connotations at a prior date.

As it was fairly common for negative energies to stop romantic potential during some earlier dream trends, thus I soon began to see people who associated sexuality - especially relative to dream content - with anything “wrong” or “dirty” (other than a realistic natural caution in real life, of course, but anything is possible in dreams, including total sexual freedom) as completely wrong or simply ignorant - as those were the only types of characters that were non-involving as such or even completely ignorant of feminine anatomy (sometimes, though, in real life, they would tell jokes that proved they did not know anything about feminine anatomy - it was pretty strange being around such people - I could not laugh at an idiotic “wrong” joke that made no sense and so ironically was seen as less worldly even though I was more worldly at that age).

I think it is very important to note here that it was a “dream demon” who was stopping us from our romantic scenario, not trying to instigate it or encourage us. Interesting, yes? And what do you think that implies? I think it relates to being wrongfully influenced mentally (about physical contact, especially in a personal dream) by mainstream mythology concerning religion. As the car is going in circles it may also relate to circular logic in false religious arguments.