maboroshi

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in some run-down part of some big town. I was on a block with thin apartment buildings. The outsides of the buildings were grey, like they were either of unpainted cinder block or had their paint chipped off or worn off. It was daytime, and the light seemed kind of yellowy-pale and humid.

I was with a group of people. We all seemed to be in a line, and we were all being directed into one of the apartment complexes. I understood that we had all been sought out by some group and brought here.

I was now with the group that was seeking us out. They were seeking out Russians. But I wasn't a Russian. I had a bad feeling that I was simply part of their operation, kind of disguised as one of the people being sought, but that I was actually helping catch the people and get them confined in this one apartment building.

I was now with a line of Russian men, heading into this apartment building. One of the men in front of me was blonde, with a short haircut and pale skin. We got inside. The door opened directly to a dark, narrow, winding stairwell.

There was some kind of military guy just inside. He looked to be maybe in his 40s, a bit overweight, with a pudgy face, sweaty, and stubble-covered. He wore some kind of camouflage trenchcoat and one of those thick, round hats with the fur lining and earflaps.

I asked the man what I was doing here, what the Russians were here for, and if I really needed to be a part of this. The man raised a finger to his lips and said, "Sh... Just wait here until they're all upstairs. Act like you're going upstairs, too. Then, once they're all upstairs, just leave through the front door. We want to make sure we have them all here for the trial. As long as they think you're going, they'll go, too."

I now felt really terrible -- even though I definitely planned to leave this place as soon as I could. But it was like all the Russians had to think I was going with them, or else they wouldn't go. So I had to trick them into thinking I was going, too. But I wasn't. Why was I helping these military people capture these people?

I didn't quite feel like I could leave. Now that I knew there was going to be a trial, I wanted to see what it was going to be about. So I'd stay for that.

The trial took place in a room on the first floor, just off from the stairwell. The room was short, but kind of wide. It was barren, with dirty, concrete floors and plain, white walls. The light was incandescent, but it also felt cold and barren. There was a group of officials seated at a long folding table to my left. On the other side of the room was a vague group of people. Some were people being judged. Some were attorneys.

Someone had told me, again, that I could come in and see what the trial was all about. They told me that I could actually even help them out with the trial. I didn't want to help out with the trial, but I suddenly found myself doing so.

I stood out on the floor, giving some kind of random speech. I was trying to make myself look like I was defending the Russians. But what I was really doing was making them feel more comfortable, so they'd give up as much information as possible.

Dream #2

There was a man in some part of the world like Vietnam. I'm not sure what the time period was. It seemed like nowadays, or maybe even a little bit into the future. The man had done some spy-like thing, probably against America. He had been discovered. But he was already beginning to make a quick getaway.

The man looked like a stereotypical "Sgt. Rock" type of soldier. He wore a camouflage uniform, a rounded helmet with something like netting over it, and he had a muscular face and stubble. He may even have been smoking a cigarette.

The man was now getting into something like a spaceship. It was right next to some kind of hut on stilts. The spaceship looked like an old, 1950s style rocket, with the elliptical body and tailfins and everything. But it was made of some really silvery material.

The man had climbed into some kind of side door or hatch high up on the ship, possibly via some high window, or even the roof, of the hut. There were now a lot of rushing and booming sounds.

The space shuttle seemed to be lifting off. But now an Asian-looking woman, who was actually a spy for the American side, was calling out the window of the hut for the man. She had been assigned to get him back so that the Americans could put him on trial for whatever his spy activity had been. So she was pretending that she loved him and she didn't want him to go.

At this point I may have seen from the man's point of view. The woman seemed huge, like she was stretching all the way up into the air to pull me down. Her cries also seemed really terrifying somehow, like supernatural moans. For some reason, either I or the soldier decided to stay, since the woman loved either me or the soldier.

Dream #3

There were a group of people trying to fight some kind of alien menace. I'm not really sure what it was. The group was maybe a couple of guys and a girl.

One of the guys was separated from the rest of the group. He ended up finding the body of a woman who was thought to be in on the aliens' plans. But he didn't know that his discovery of the woman's body was planned.

The woman was actually an alien. The aliens were actually like robots. But the robots were made out of this purple mold, which was something like a living machine that could shape itself in various ways.

The man had done something to the woman, possibly cutting her open with a scalpel for some reason. A piece of the purple mold squirted out of the woman's body and onto the man's left eye.

The man didn't pay it any attention: it wasn't much. But the mold worked its way behind the man's eye and into his brain. I knew this meant that the mold would proliferate in the man's brain and body, eventually turning him into a robot.

Later the rest of the man's group would (or did?) find the man. They would (or did) think, wrongly, that the man was fine, when he actually was an alien robot, ready to spread the mold into other human bodies.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

A woman stood in a field of grass. The grass may have gone up to the woman's knees, though it may actually only have gone up just past the woman's ankles.

The woman was pretty and young, with long, black hair. She may have been wearing a grey dress. She wore black, ankle-high boots.

The woman stomped one foot against the ground. There was a loud click on the ground, as if the woman had stomped on wood, or as if two wood blocks had beat together.

I had the thought, "A misstep in no direction."

Dream #2

Two aliens stepped out of the doorway on the underside of a silvery flying saucer. They stood out and looked over some landscape: either a field of tall, green grass or an atmosphere of hazy red and orange.

The two aliens wore shimmery, metallic outfits. Their helmets were tall and cylindrical, like huge toilet paper rolls painted silver. The helmets had two glowing, orange dots, side by side, on the front. The dots were either eyeholes or actual eyes.

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

I was in an alien spacecraft. The interior of the craft was very nice. It had molded, rounded walls colored cream-white and eggshell-brown. The room was round, with a round, central column, which may have served as some kind of control center.

There may have been a window somewhere, which I may have been looking out of at some point. We were probably at some high elevation, though still in the atmosphere of whatever planet we were on, probably Earth.

I was remembering some conversation or having some conversation in my head. It had something to do with aliens. There was some kind of idea that aliens were taking or duplicating people's identities or else using people for their identities in order to do something.

Something about the whole argument which had been made to me regarding the aliens didn't make sense. I tried to express the idea.

I now saw a room of cars -- kind of like one of the prize-display stages for the TV game show The Price Is Right. There were three cars of different sizes and quality. I was making an argument using cars as a metaphor for identities. I was trying to make a point that aliens wouldn't use human bodies for identities, since they'd easily be able to a lot more with their own, much more advanced, bodies.

But I also seemed to be trying to make some argument that aliens were actually using cars' identities in some way, instead of using people's identities. Some cars weren't cars. They were actually aliens disguised as cars.

At this point, the interior of the alien spacecraft, instead of being all smooth walls, had a number of rooms like the room with the cars in it. I don't know if all the rooms had cars in them.

(Side notes: Yesterday I went to the Museum of Modern Art and watched documentaries for -- well, from 1:30 PM until 10 PM.

One showing had two documentaries: one about the history of General Motors destroying the trolley car industry so it could artificially create demand for cars in the United States; the other about General Electric's nuclear weapons business and the effects it had on an upstate New York town.

The General Motors documentary struck me deeply because, growing up as a suburbanite in America, a car was just a thing I had to have once I became 16. It was part of my identity. But, in addition, I feel very strongly that I identify with cars in my dreams. Cars stand for my identity in my dreams.

But -- if you look at Bruno Bettelheim's book The Empty Fortress, for example, the autistic children identify with cars or identify cars as beings that can care for them and nurture them as children.

So, it seems like, despite the demand for cars being pretty nefariously and artificially created by a small group of rich men, cars also came to stand, rather quickly, for human identity.

The second documentary outlined the role General Electric played in the arms race, how it carelessly dealt with its nuclear waste, and how it then tried to hide all this stuff from the public. The story reminded me, oddly, of all the stories of UFOs in the United States and the stories of government conspiracies to cover up the truth about UFOs.

Well, I don't think it's anything new to assert that a lot of the fervor around UFOs and conspiracy theories regarding UFOs was, at least some of the time, derived less from actual UFOs and more from the collective understanding in the United States that the government, military, and corporate structure were doing things without telling us about it, and that we probably wouldn't approve of these things if we knew about them. You can read Jim Marrs' books to get more of an idea about that.

So I think my dream combined these issues, which are somewhat large, emotional issues for my little, squirrely brain, and fashioned them into my dream.)