Blue_Opossum

Morning of August 17, 2017. Thursday.



I am in an unknown room with mostly only a large square wooden table. I seem to be in a movie that is being filmed in real time. Two other characters are Batman and Robin as from the 1960s television series. It seems we may have been kidnapped and are being held hostage. A couple unknown males are also present but I am not sure of any backstory. There are a few items in the room which may have been sabotaged. Batman and I mostly sit on the table at first while Robin is standing.

There is a point at which Robin follows my index finger in some sort of swaying dance to follow my lead even though I do not seem to be a main character in this movie, perhaps not even being filmed while Batman and Robin are. Still, I hold my right arm up, my index finger pointing upwards, and I move my arm side to side as if I were defining a downwards-oriented semicircle in a sort of pendulum-like definition or as if I am conducting an orchestra. It feels extraordinarily vivid though I am not lucid and it goes on for several minutes. Robin changes his facial expressions to apparently follow my cues as such. He is standing on the table and sort of half-dancing, half-swaying, seemingly professional but almost as if hypnotized.

At one point, Batman has an oversized pair of black squarish plastic binoculars. Like other items, I suspect that they have been booby-trapped by the Riddler or the Joker. He decides not to use them and puts them down on the table. I then notice an unusual bat come out of them (they seem to be hollow now), which may be venomous and may have bitten Batman on his nose if he had looked through the binoculars. The bat’s upper body and wings are like a bat, but the rest of it has the look of a silverfish, except it is all black. It crawls around as I notice this silverfish-like bottom part of this “bat”. I consider that it seems of very odd appearance to be a bat, but soon realize that it is likely of a particular species and so thus is not unusual at all.

Somehow, we all escape. I end up going out the back door of our present house into our backyard. I no longer see Batman and Robin. I notice three bats of mostly normal appearance to the left of the door and standing with wings out on the external bathroom window sill. They all appear to have Mohawk hairstyles. They are arranged in a triangular orientation, as if in the orientation of a water-skiing stunt, two on the bottom, and one on the top with a foot on each of the other’s shoulder.

I step out through our gate, though instead of the street view, it is an alley with a high wooden fence on the opposite side (which my dream self does not consider wrong). An astounding energy and vividness develops as the Batmobile goes by to my right, to the north. It looks like a far more modern Batmobile; like the V10 Lamborghini Batmobile. I feel fantastic enjoyment as I watch it pass, looking at all the details. There appears to be another car in front of it, about a car distance ahead, which I feel is an unmarked police car from the 1970s.

From here, a train passes from the north to the south. Near the other side of the alley are a set of railroad tracks. I am aware that this must be a scene from the movie to appear differently in the movie than the overall event is being seen. The train, which seems already half-destroyed, rolls on the tracks, rotating sideways as with the essence of a corkscrew or manual drill, as the tracks seem to be pulled to the south by some sort of machine, as parts of the train and what is left of it get smaller and smaller as it goes by, and the tracks being pulled along by the unseen machine until they are not present. I can vividly feel the vibrations in the ground in my feet and lower legs. I am briefly somewhat wary of this event being so close to our house (though I mistakenly perceive that it is close to fictional parts of our house to the south and it now seems I am looking out from a long apartment block). Still, I trust the movie studio knows what it is doing and I am confident that there is no threat at all.

---

From experience, this dream may be telling me that, in exactly one year (on August 17, 2018), I will be meeting someone who played Robin in a movie, possibly in a public place such as a shopping mall (or a wayward visitor to my front door). I say this mostly based on two features, one, the appearance of three bats, which relate to long-term precognition (and in fact appeared in a dream with several layers of precognition about Zsuzsanna long before I knew she was a real person), secondly, another dream character seeming “hypnotized” by me in an eerie dance and following my cues or influence appeared in the sole dream I had of Charlie Pride - and I met him in real life exactly one year to the date after my dream. I may be wrong regarding the dynamics of this dream, but it will take a year to see if it manifests as such. (Then again, concerning the presence of the three bats, it could be many years from now to the date as with my prescient dreams about Zsuzsanna.) So, if I meet Burt Ward on August 17, 2018, you read it here first (though it may prove to be a different Robin, as Burt is now 72 years old, then again, it might even be a different person named Burt Ward, hard to say with prescience sometimes being skewed).

---

Early evening of August 15, 2017. Tuesday.



I am in an unfamiliar unknown setting, though it is implied to be a room in our present home. There is an unfamiliar tall chest of drawers against a west wall. It has a pale wooden design. There are five drawers.

Atop this chest of drawers, in about the center, is a gumball machine. The main concept is that this feature is somehow able to manifest new items in any of the drawers at certain times, more so, every drawer simultaneously, though this materialization of items like new clothes, comic books, paperback novels, games, perhaps even food items, still seems based on needing to insert a coin in the gumball machine.

I am vaguely aware of the events and the materialization, though I seem to be aware of seeing events as simulated without being directly involved, as the drawers open and close on their own a few times. I am wondering how many coins I have to activate this machine. There is no backstory or indication on what will materialize at a specific time or how to specify what one wants (though perhaps it is based on which coin is used). It may be thought-based, as such a dream implies non-lucid dream control as it is.

---

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.

---

Morning of August 9, 2017. Wednesday.



I become aware that I am babysitting an unfamiliar boy of about four years of age in the northeast area of the Cubitis living room. I perceive myself as being about twenty-five years old. It feels like it might be late morning. I have no associations with whomever the boy’s parents might be.

The dreamer does not realize that he has not lived in Cubitis since 1978, leaving when he was seventeen. He also does not recall that he lived in Wisconsin when he was twenty-five, not Florida. The memory of his three sons (and two daughters) does not seem extant, though the presence of the unfamiliar boy, who does not resemble any of his sons, may be a subliminal clue, though he otherwise has no memory of who he presently really is.

There is a huge Raggedy Ann doll sitting against the north wall near the northeast corner of the living room. I have a notion that the giant stuffed doll is somehow a mother figure for the boy. It almost reaches the ceiling. The head is unrealistically large in proportion to the rest of the doll. Time passes, and the head seems flatter (front to back) than it should be. The doll begins to sag and lean forward and the boy and I are annoyed that this oversized pie-like head may cover us. I have to push it back a few times, but when I do, the whole doll, especially the head, seems slightly thinner.

The dreamer still does not have viable memory. He does not question why a giant doll would be perceived as a “real” mother by the boy or comfort him as such. He does not even consider simply moving out of the way of the doll when it leans forward at times. He does not consider why the doll’s head gets vertically flatter when there is no discernible reason for the change. Perhaps he is subliminally aware of the weight of the blanket on his real physical body as he sleeps, and perhaps through the veil of sleep, he indirectly recalls that his youngest daughter has stuffed toys near her as she sleeps. Could this hodgepodge of current neural energy while sleeping be why such a scene is rendered? He also did have concern that his youngest son had enough blankets prior to sleeping. As a doll symbolizes the physical inactivity of someone while in the dream state, it likely is a very distorted thread of memory of his beautiful wife Zsuzsanna, combined with thoughts of his pillow that sometimes seems too flat.

Eventually, I notice that much of the oversized ragdoll is now more like a collection of blankets that fall forward at times, a couple that cover me, though I think the doll is still sitting there. It seems ambiguous, and the round face itself seems more and more like a large flat pillow I push back several times. It does not seem cold. I do not think that the boy will be harmed, only perhaps annoyed by being covered like this. After a few minutes, I am aware that Dennis (half-brother on my mother’s side) is coming into the house. He seems about thirty years old and is dressed like a biker. He wants to show me something. It seems the boy will be okay on his own, though I somehow perceive that Dennis has no interest in the boy’s well-being. I go with him for a short distance after leaving the house. I then decide to fly. Coming out from the house, it is now the King Street boarding house. I effortlessness fly north over Tenth Street South, leaving Dennis behind for now.

The dreamer’s brother had not been to Florida since 1970. Like every other dream feature, it is erroneous, completely removed from any correct timeline. Even more curiously, he walked out from the north end of the open carport in Florida yet simultaneously from the closed porch of the King Street boarding house, not regarded in real life much since 1990 and over 1,500 miles away from the original setting. There is no measure of distance in thought, but that is moot, as the two buildings were somehow perceived as being the same. The dreamer often flies in his dreams as if it was a perfectly natural thing to do. To take to the air to get somewhere else is what he has done often for many years in both lucid and non-lucid dreams, without considering physics or gravity. There is no doubt, but the dream self is not the conscious self, and the rules that dictate that flying cannot be as such do not apply, even if there was some subliminal memory that it was not possible.

I end up in some sort of forest on the other side of La Crosse, which I perceive may be several blocks west of Loomis Street. After walking around and entering a denser area of forest by way of a footpath, I notice that Dennis is already here. He talks to a seemingly homeless person in dark apparel. The unfamiliar scruffy male is sitting at the side of the path, facing outwards from the dense trees. Dennis seems annoyed and may be impatient about something. It has something to do with the other male not owning a motorcycle as he is expected to. There is no fighting, just a conversation. It seems the other male may have sold or lost his motorcycle and is now living in the woods. I walk around and see another clear footpath that leads straight through the densest part of the forest. It seems to be afternoon and the imagery is very clear and beautiful. The path leads east and seems to continue for quite a distance. I can see an open area at the very end that indicates an urban area. Still, after walking around, I decide to fly again.

The dreamer does not question this fictional area of land. The area in real life would be within the same area as the Northside Elementary School (though the area looks much different now than when he last lived there in February 1994). He does not ask himself how Dennis apparently walked there and got there before him.

As I am flying, my focus changes somewhat. I see below me, something that is almost like a life-sized map, showing how the area originally appeared. It was mostly a marshy expanse with no trees for a long time. This changes, as Dennis had planted a number of saplings over time, until it was a dense forest. Curiously, I am aware that no one else, including members of the city council, ever noticed this change other than Dennis and a few biker friends of his. I watch the changes in the map as I turn and fly south.

Looking down on a slowly animated life-sized map superimposed over the bird’s-eye view of the land below does not seem unusual to the dreamer. It is like a visual historical view displaying the changes over time, not following the rules of real-life perception. He does not fly back down to investigate or consider that if he did, he might be in the original treeless marsh as it supposedly was years previously.

I am now aware that it is nighttime even though it had been afternoon moments before. I do not find the change unusual. I am aware of a missile lighting up a small area of the sky to the north, over what I perceive may be a small island, but I still consider it as a threat even though it seems far away. My wife Zsuzsanna now joins me as we run southward. The buildings around us start to shake. They seem to wobble and waver unrealistically, somewhat like exaggerated jelly motions. I think we can escape. We run over the tops of buildings, over the roofs of commercial buildings of various heights, no attention to how tall they are. It seems effortless but annoying. I get the idea to take cover in a boiler room of a commercial building. I sense the ceiling may collapse, but it does not, though there is still shaking. We end up near a breaker panel. I have a fading idea about possibly resetting the main breaker, as if that might somehow make the building more suitable to hide in.

The dreamer’s memory seems more viable now as he recalls Zsuzsanna. There is even a thread of recent memory about North Korea’s missile launches, but little else. His focus on the breaker panel reveals a subliminal awareness of the neural energy within his mind, yet not fully realizing why this thought emerges in the last seconds of his dream or whether it symbolizes “deactivating” his dream, increasing his neural energy and expansion into whole consciousness, or both.

---

Morning of August 7, 2017. Monday.

Dream #: 18,494-02. Reading time: 2 min 40 sec.



I am sitting on the floor near the southeast corner of the living room in the Cubitis house. The layout is different. My attention is on the front door and a fictitious area north of the kitchenette.

I am aware of my father on the carport (though I do not see him). (My dream self does not remember he died in 1979.) He does not enter the house. He slides several objects under the door (which would have been impossible in reality). I see them as well as hear their movement. There are at least three open-end wrenches, presumably different sizes from a set. There are other items, like a couple of flat pieces of metal. I think he wants me to put them in the hallway closet, as he no longer has space for them in the shed.

I have two irregular stones that seem more like crystals at times. Although mostly opaque, they sometimes seem transparent, becoming glassy when I tap them together. Some facets are reflective and shiny. They have a bluish tint for the most part, though I notice that one looks gold at a later point.

I think I can make a fire. I strike one stone against the other, sometimes doing this when one is on the floor, other times while holding them. They sparkle, and some areas catch fire.

Light gray tendrils of smoke and small flames are the results at least four times. I get a folded piece of notebook paper and hold it near one stone as I hit it with the other, and they burn for a time. The paper catches fire.

An orange tabby cat no longer than my hand rests on my right near a burnt area of the floor. It moves a short distance from the smoke and flames. The small fire is close to it but does not hurt it. Its tail traverses an area of the floor that had burnt moments before. It does not show signs of fear or injury.

---

Dreams are mainly a result of co-occurrence with the status of being in the dream state, resulting from subliminal environmental monitoring, enigmatic space, and autosymbolic waking processes.

My dream self sometimes instinctually starts a fire to activate consciousness, a goal stemming from the status of being in the dream state (and being instinctually aware of being asleep), NOT a factor from waking life. My extent of dream control has no association with being “lucid.” My brief dream self identity is not a model of waking life identity. In this case, there is no recall my father had died. There is in other dreams, a factor unrelated to the implied time or any recent thoughts I may have held in waking life. It is because, in subliminal space, my dream self does not have practical access to either my unconscious mind (or its legitimate memories) or my real identity.

This dream also includes wall mediation (another regular event of being in the dream state, NOT a cause from waking life status). A wall (and related features like doors, windows, and fences) is a concurrent virtual division of various levels of liminal space and enigmatic space, though is more likely with an environmental factor like less intrusive noise. The tools from under the door are another association with achieving consciousness, of which the preconscious (reticular activating system) is the foremost dynamic.

The stones become transparent when closer to initiating consciousness (starting the fire) to remind me my dream is an illusion but still controllable by instinct.

Cats sometimes appear with wall mediation (with many specific examples of this in my dream journal), as a virtual anchor in liminal space; and in childhood, a summoned virtual witness to the dream state when lucid. In this instance, the cat is a tiny version of Tiger (a cat from my childhood when I lived on 611 North Monroe Street in 1967). One of the photographs from this time features me sitting in front of the front door, holding him.

---

Morning of August 6, 2017. Sunday.



I am wandering about in Arcadia, looking for someone or something. I am in a state of instinctual dream control, without lucidity.

I am certain that I am looking at a rendering of a real location in Arcadia, as if I was assuming to be looking at a full scale model. It is the south area of Tinsley’s IGA as it was in the early 1970s. Even though I am certain that what I am looking at is “perfect”, there is a line of post office boxes extending out through the parking lot from the building. This post office wall is missing the post office box doors so as one can look directly through the structure. It does not seem wrong to me at all despite the odd distortion.

My mind wanders to thoughts of former schoolmates and neighbors, but there is not much cohesiveness.

Looking through a restaurant window, I notice a female of about thirty sitting at a round table. I am certain this is my former neighbor. Also present is an unfamiliar male and young boy who I think might be her husband and son. She notices me and comes out to the front of the restaurant. When I talk to her, she says she does not know me. She says, “My name is Angel”. I start to consider that she had changed her name so as never to be associated with me later on in life, which does not really bother me (even though I do not yet have any viable current conscious self memory).

An unknown young male is soon present and says, “Your obsessions with each other in youth no longer have any purpose.”

Somewhat annoyed by this imposing stranger, I vertically twirl my middle finger. Over time, a white tornado descends into the parking lot, coming down directly upon me, but posing no threat. (I watch it form from the beginning, as clouds begin to slowly spiral in the sky above.) Other people are tossed out of its path and yet I find it amusing that others might think it could pose a threat and I consider they are jumping out of the way on purpose without realizing what it really is. I then allow the tip of the tornado to enter my mouth.

“Don’t eat that,” advises someone a few minutes later. The tornado remains white and fluffy. I continue to remain in the area, not remotely impressed by the essence of the tornado, realizing that I create the patterns of weather. (Again, no lucidity is present - only subliminal threads of knowing I am the creator of it, yet not realizing or remembering what a dream is.)

I eat a lot of the tornado as its form continues downward, and it has a mix of bread and mild chocolate flavor. Again, someone else says that I should not be eating the tornado. I notice that some of what I had been eating is more like a cottony rope and I spit some of it out. I decide that I may not eat any more even though I was going to just to annoy any strangers who thought I should not.

Alec Baldwin, the actor, probably about forty, comes along and looks down cheerfully at the remains of the tornado. “I’ll eat that,” he happily says. I embrace my wife Zsuzsanna and we walk off together, though I still do not catch on that I am in the dream state even after eating most of a tornado.

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Optimized 1 minute 30 second read.

Saturday morning, 5 August 2017.

Walking in Northside La Crosse (features Silas Weir Mitchell)

Dream # 18,492-02.





There are a few repeating scenes where I walk west in daylight down a sidewalk on Sill Street, on the south side of it, in La Crosse, Wisconsin. I had turned right at Loomis Street and am near the intersection at Wood Street.

I am nude except for a blanket hanging down, wrapped around my shoulders. I feel no embarrassment or sense of displacement.

At times, I see the actor Silas Weir Mitchell walking on the opposite side of the street, about a quarter of a block behind me. He appears to be happy, but we do not meet. I get the impression he knows I am only out for a walk to pick up something to take back to the Loomis Street house (even though my dream self does not focus on what it might be).

I consider checking the contents of a green dipsy dumpster in the parking lot of a Country Kitchen restaurant (not a real-world setting). I wonder if it might contain something valuable someone had discarded. Instead of going near it, I circle it from a distance and return to where I was.

Because I am "walking with intent," I sense there are many other people in the area even though I do not see them. Silas does not appear in this location.

---

Causality details:

The names Silas and Sill underlie a typical dream state hodgepodge, both beginning with "Sil." I do not corrupt this detail by pretending it has "meaning," only television influence.

Celebrities occur in my dreams as personified protoconsciousness primarily because dreaming encompasses a similar state of sensory deprivation as watching television in waking life, with minimal attentiveness to my real-world physicality, cognizance, and immediate environment.

Ultimately, that is also why "walking with intent" sometimes brings about the sense of having an invisible audience, associating the dream state with being in a television broadcast or movie.

Minimal "slope navigation" occurs in the parking lot scene caused by my vestibular-motor response to REM sleep. A parking lot corresponds with a lucid thread signifying a stage of liminality between dreaming and waking, similar to what it represents in real life.

---

Morning of August 4, 2017. Friday.



In my dream, I am apparently living in the middle apartment of the east side of the second floor of the King Street boarding house, an impressive mansion that was part of a tour, but not that great on the inside.

Still, it seems that an unfamiliar male has taken residence in this apartment. I am not fully sure of what the situation is, though I do know that I am a vampire. That is, I am a pretend vampire for a time, and I am using some sort of technology to exist as such. The technology is apparently unseen by the “real” world I live in. (It is of a lifelong recurring theme of using invisible technology that exists in another dimension to bring about whatever is to occur in my dream, though which I usually incorrectly see as being my real world.)

I show this male and a couple of his visitors how I have fangs and how I can levitate. There is an unknown male with me, though I eventually assume that he is my friend Eddie. We both seem to be about twenty-five years old. Eddie cannot seem to decide if he looks the most like Christian Slater or Stephen Geoffreys and consequently acts like both in an overacting vampire pretense. He seems amused by our act but eventually does not say much other than agree with my own pretense, which is more serious. We are wearing cloaks and are ready to fly through the night sky of La Crosse.

Time seems to have passed and I am now seemingly on my own, flying in an unknown region, seemingly late at night.

I see the preconscious below, walking along with an unknown friend, an unfamiliar male of about the same age. I decide to fly down and see what is going on.

The preconscious, an unknown male of perhaps thirty or more, seems happy to see me, but he tells me that my flight did not look as if I had been flying regularly. I do not get angry, as I know it is an illusion anyway, though which he does not perceive as such. His friend wants to see my fangs, and I will them to grow out.

He has a gift for me. It is supposedly my favorite food; a bunch of “stone grapes”, from a supposedly very rare plant, which looks like a normal bunch of grapes other than being thorny and more woody and having no discernible grapes on it, only small seed-like features that are very crunchy. I put it up to my mouth and eat the entire bunch, feeling my teeth gnaw through it, but I do not taste anything other than a slight tree-bark flavor. I know that no human being could eat this, but it is apparently a very thoughtful gift and I thank him. Still, I know that this hidden technology of mine (which is phased within another dimension, only operable by me) only makes it look like it has gone past my teeth and into the back of my mouth to swallow. He does not realize this. He does not know that it phases out of existence once it goes past my teeth. There is no way I could have actually eaten anything like this anyway, but I do not want him to be disappointed or disrupt his faith regarding his belief in vampires, or cease to trust me in my vampire guise.

He kisses me lightly on the right temple, in affirmation of a long-term friendship, and I wonder if I am just a creature to show off to a friend of his every now and then, perhaps once or twice every several years. Apparently, being friends with a vampire like me has given him a status of bravery and strength, but I consider if I am seen as just a “pet” to brag about knowing. Still, I hold no anger.

---

Morning of August 4, 2017. Friday.



I am not of my conscious self, though there are a few threads in which I am aware of a few facets of my identity. I am not sure of my implied age; perhaps it is only about twenty. Mostly, I am only aware of my mother. My mother has recently died. However, I think I can talk with her by initiating some sort of will.

The scene is distorted and my memory is askew. My mother is in the baby cot of our present address, though the baby cot unrealistically accommodates her full height. I do not see it as my present address (even though it is) as I have no discernible memory of my conscious self’s present living location. I speak to her, trying to will her eyes to open, on thought alone. It seems to work at times, but is she really okay with this act, or is she angry at me for “waking” her? Holding her eyes open by my mental will alone eventually seems a bit strange.

I go into a room that might be considered to be my room in Cubitis, last seen in 1978, although I have no memory or viable association with Cubits and the room is different anyway. I realize that keeping my mother’s remains in the box from the Barnabas Collins “Dark Shadows” board game is proving to be problematic. I do not even consider that, realistically, my mother would never have fit in this little pretend coffin of cardboard. By way of a false memory, I know that other people are known to keep the bodies of the deceased around their house. It is not unusual; it is a tradition, and yet, a part of my mother’s remains have leaked from the bottom of the box, like acid from an old battery, reminding me of my Kenner Easy-Show movie projector being ruined by leaking batteries so that I could no longer repeatedly watch the same short Thor and Flintstones cartoons on my Cubitis bedroom’s south wall. (My mother had told me to throw out my movie projector, which had been a combined birthday and Christmas gift from my older sister Carol, and to not touch the leaking batteries that had ruined it.)

The gore may be toxic and I am concerned that I had better not eat or touch my face or mouth until I wash my hands, so that no decaying syrupy gore poisons me. I spend a very long time washing and rinsing my hands under the bathtub faucet. The light is bright and I am actually in our present home, though I am not my conscious self and I have no clue to my real life status. I still have to find a place for the Barnabas Collins cardboard container with the plastic lid, which contains my mother’s remains, even though it is just a little box. I have to bury it somewhere. It is in too poor a condition to keep in the open now.

There is some sort of temporary offset dream, where I find myself living on Barolin Street. Two unfamiliar men seem to think that I have taken their truck. They come in through the back way without even knocking. Apparently, the truck was at the front of my house. I certainly did not steal it. I was not even aware of it. These imposers annoy me. They come back a second time as if I had put it back and taken it again. I certainly had not taken it and tell them so. I do not even know what it looks like.

I have to take care of my mother’s remains in the little Barnabas Collins “Dark Shadows” coffin. Her whole body somehow fits in there, with room to spare. She is on her back in this toy coffin from a board game that I had not seen in real life for many years. I decide to bury it inside a set of concrete steps in the Loomis Street backyard, which is also somehow the Cubitis front yard at the same time. The small set of steps does not go anywhere in particular.

For seemingly a long time, as long as it took me to wash my hands, I dig with my hands in the sand. I feel the sand flowing through my fingers. I do not question how a step in a set of concrete steps could be or become sand, but this is where I will bury the toy coffin.

I dig and dig with my hands, and the oblong hole keeps filling back up, not being quite deep enough for burial. Still, I persist with confidence.

The concrete steps have somehow separated, and have transformed into, or have always been, small cardboard boxes of mostly paperback Gothic novels. The area of the ground I had been digging in looks untouched, and it is now normal soil. Will this work out?

---

Morning of August 2, 2017. Wednesday.



Actor Jensen Ackles features as my dream’s only known character but my dream self does not associate him either as an actor or as the Dean Winchester character from “Supernatural”. He drives for a short time and parks his car. He remains cheerful and is not involved in any of the mishaps. He watches the strange traffic events for a time.

I am in an unknown area looking at an unfamiliar street. There is a vague association with the Loomis and Gillette Street intersection in La Crosse.

I see a car that seems to be a replica of a Ford Model A. I expect another car to crash into it but this does not happen. Instead, the car inexplicably turns onto its side yet is still somehow moving through the traffic as such with no apparent surprise or concern from the unfamiliar driver. This event puzzles me.

Eventually, when I expect other cars to have mishaps, they do. At one point, someone drives their car on the external wall of an apartment building, about halfway up, defying gravity, and likely trying to get past the chaotic events on the street. It moves along horizontally with its wheels somehow remaining on the external wall.

In the last scene, I try to summon a car by will, knowing it will be mine. I see a white van, but I am not sure I want it to become mine, as I am envisioning a fancy car to show off to a few unfamiliar dream characters who are standing around near the curb. After some strange cars go by at times, some of them missing major parts, I eventually get into one when it stops. It turns out to be a 1940s Roadster that is only about half of its correct size. When I am in it, I can barely fit, but I still drive along until I wake.

---

• I know this dream is unrelated to waking life for a number of reasons. Firstly, it is of a type of dream I have experienced since childhood and which stems from my interest in demolition derbies. This dream type also always occurs with a specific subtle form of lucidity, and the understanding of causing events with anticipation or focused expectation. It occurs when my dream self is unaware of being in the dream state, yet a subliminal thread of my conscious self identity understands that it is a dream, and thus is obviously focused on the nature and response of the dream state rather than waking life.
• The summoning intent and understanding in the last scene is typically more a factor of semi-lucidity and full lucidity, though I am closer to waking in this case.
• Jensen Ackles is the personified RAS precursor here, but does not become active, as my dream self subliminally initiates the waking transition.
• In many of my non-lucid dreams since childhood, cars are often too small for me to get into. A car in my dreams is typically an autosymbolic rendering of my real physical body as subliminally perceived in sleep, so as a result, the attempt of getting in a car creates a factor of ambiguity. That is evidenced here when a car still moves about on its side to indicate a connection to the fact that I am sleeping on my side at the time.
• This dream type, in which very little of my conscious self identity is extant, is more likely to hold more of the factor of instinctual dream control, which validates that dreams are more about the level of unconsciousness and the dream state itself than waking life (other than when prescient or as a literal carryover from waking life).
• An intersection is autosymbolism for neural gating in the dream state, metaphorically representing the choices of either continuing the dream or waking. Typically, as here, the street representing the direction of sustained dreaming is more likely to have dream-based autosymbolism (the car on its side as a reference of me sleeping on my side).

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Morning of August 2, 2017. Wednesday.



I am with my wife Zsuzsanna. We are with several unknown people. In the first scenario, we are in some soft of unusual park. There is an unfamiliar female, dressed somewhat like a carnival fortune teller, who supposedly understands things about rare creatures in the area as well as how to use certain herbs for health. Still, there is a point at which I decide to leave with the others without any of us really interacting with her. She tells me about how I had changed my mind about asking her something after I already gained my own information about something. It is not really patronizing; just an observation, I think.

I had taken the remains of two witch snakes that had died of natural causes. They are mostly like a snake other than having the miniature head of a Halloween witch. There is a painting of one in some sort of brochure, which I mention is not realistic because the head does not look right, being too cylindrical. An unknown male seems to have a different opinion, claiming that is how they look when alive.

I take the fangs out of the upper part of their mouths, though I arrange them as pointing upwards, front down on a surface. Each creature has three teeth, it seems, though I first think that there had been four. It seems that another male might have lost a couple when the surface was tilted, and they slid off, but after there seemingly being at least one with four teeth, it looks like only three from each. I mention how it seems that one witch snake was older when it died, due to its fang-like teeth being cracked (with thin lines) vertically, in the back.

Our group ends up walking in an unknown area, though it eventually resembles the grounds of my old middle school in Florida on the north end. I talk about how each tooth could be sold to superstitious people as some sort of object for healing. This seems amusing to me and I think I might be able to make a lot of money but then I consider that people might only be willing to pay twenty dollars each as another male gives advice and seems to agree.

I then talk about how we can create the “same” fangs to have a potential to make more money. I mention how if dirt is placed in the mouth of a clam that a tooth would grow from that location. (This is actually some sort of distorted memory relating to how pearls are formed in oysters. There is probably also a second layer of distortion based on the phrase “pearly whites”, referring to teeth.)

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Morning of August 1, 2017. Tuesday.

Dream #: 18,488-02. Reading Time (optimized): 2 min.



I am with several people on an unusual little island at night. I walk around in a paved area. A small canal divides most of the island about one-quarter in from the side opposite of where I stand. There is at least one big brick building that blocks my view of the ocean on my right.

Zsuzsanna and our youngest son are eventually with me. We go over to the canal. I notice that the ocean on the opposite side of the island, which I can now clearly see, has whitecaps (though I do not focus as much on the waves on my left side). An unknown girl talks about it publicly, relaying a concern that makes me consider if the waves could eventually cover the island. The island’s isolation contributes to this concern but not for long.

I look into the depths of the canal and see a shadowy shape that I soon see is a shark of about four feet long. I tell Zsuzsanna and our son to watch, and we cheerfully look into the water. I soon notice other small sharks as well as a little dolphin, which is surprising, as they do not fight. They do not look real and make me think indirectly of CGI. We share amusement in watching these creatures in addition to several tiny fish. The more active area of the ocean remains off to my right, behind the big building, but some of it is still visible through the end of the canal and surrounding area.

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Zsuzsanna remains on my left, correlating with our sleeping positions. Additionally, this is one of many dreams that lack definition or attention to my left in contrast to a clear focus to my right, which is subliminal wakefulness anticipation (as I sleep on my left side, my right more exposed to my environment correlating in the dream state with its concurrent monitoring).

For over 50 years, water has been a consistent factor of natural melatonin mediation and ultradian and circadian rhythm in correlation with my sleep cycle. The unknown girl is a subliminal reminder of the Naiad factor from high-level dream state induction, though here has transitioned to the RAS (reticular activating system) mediation stage. She is “warning” me about the high waves, a warning about not sleeping too long, the island being the dream state.

I was aware that I was at least partly responsible for creating the ocean creatures, but with no dream state realization. The eradication of the unintelligent hype equating lucid dreaming with dream control is necessary to understand the processes and dynamics of awareness in all modes of dream space. The ambiguity of whether they should be sharks or dolphins (with both appearing without incident) reflects the dual nature of RAS mediation and simulacra transitions, from REM and non-REM sleep induction to consciousness reinitiation.

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Zsuzsanna had a dream with the same content in the same period, including the CGI association with ocean creatures. It happens regularly, with too much matching detail to be coincidental.

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