Blue_Opossum

Morning of April 5, 2020. Sunday.

Dream #: 19,466-05. Reading time (optimized): 2 min.



Halfway into my sleep cycle, the Naiad factor emerges again (the process occurring similarly through most sleep cycles for over 50 years), though not with lucidity or even liminality. It becomes part of an ambiguous, surreal situation that mediates cognizance out of what would otherwise be water reinduction (virtual melatonin mediation that water dynamics represent). Such a dream (and its familiar ultradian rhythm curve) would only occur near the middle of my sleep cycle. It transitions into me dominating the precursory preconscious mechanism, in a typical farcical play. The personifications of this process are two unknown young males rather than Naiads.

The setting has the typical indoor-outdoor ambiguity. There are three rock pools about ten feet apart, with the inference of an outdoor park but inside a bigger version of the Loomis Street house (irrelevant since 1994). I watch unrealistically tiny fish swim around (typical for this type of ultradian rhythm curve). Despite being in a false version of the Loomis Street house, synaptic gating temporarily allows me to recall Zsuzsanna (though not any recall of Australia).

Other than a focus on typical water lowering dynamics (less virtual melatonin), some reinduction dynamics emerge. The process correlates with a backstory that the city council declares that the water is “acidic” (perceived as less than seven hours of sleep having passed). As a result, the mediation factor shifts my dreaming experience. I am now near a couch (instinctual awareness of being asleep). Water rises to the seat of the couch, though only inside it. Water also rises to the highest level of the rock pools. I know the city council is doing this.

A pipe connects to each arm of the couch (though I never see one) and under the floor to the rock pools. The rising water stops slightly above the couch seat. I suddenly falsely remember that my comic books are inside the couch’s storage area. I lift the seat, and there are three stacks of comic books spanning the full width (which would incorrectly imply it has a very short width). I feel the wetness at the top of the first stack only, taking all three stacks and placing them in another part of the room, which is now the Cubitis living room (irrelevant since 1978).

Even though my comic books are mostly dry and okay, the scene shifts where I shout humorously (without anger) at two unknown young men who remain passive and lean back against a wall. (Indoor-outdoor ambiguity becomes an attribute again, and even though I am in a house, a landscape is visible beyond.) I tell them they ruined “hundreds of dollar’s worth of comic books.”

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The communication (including “hundreds of dollars” as a thread of cognitive arousal, as it involves the perception of numbers) correlates with the typical mechanism of melatonin increase suppressing wakefulness, that is, the ability to read as represented by the comic books being in water within a dream signification as the couch. These same factors unfolded in hundreds of previous dreams in unique ways.)

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Morning of October 30, 2018. Tuesday.

Dream #: 18,943-03. Reading time: 2 min 38 sec. Readability score: 62.



My dream renders a mixed-up combination of a pawn shop from America, a bookstore from Nundah (Australia), and a tackle shop from America. It seems to be late afternoon. I am on my own, with little conscious self memory (even though Zsuzsanna and I frequented the Nundah bookstore years ago).

There is a backstory, and false memory, about how I had traded several packs of long bookbinding screws (at least four inches in length) for credit or to trade, though I do not recall all of the details. There are two unfamiliar female cashiers present who are in their twenties. (The bookbinding screws relate to my big stamp album binders from when I lived in Florida, though there are likely associations with similar screws I used for putting the swing set together after Christmas.)

I am carrying a winter jacket (though mostly slung over my left shoulder). As such, I try not to appear suspicious, as I also have items I had brought into this store. I consider that they might think I am taking them from their store and trying to hide them under my jacket. (This is a literal bed space strand, as subliminal awareness of the bed sheet pulling around my left shoulder.)

They seem puzzled (and express disbelief) when I infer how I had traded items previously. The shelves that had packs of bookbinding screws are now all empty. For some reason, they are to do with fishing tackle, but my dream self does not reflect upon this error. The owner is at the back of his store, but I do not approach his counter. (I perceive him as the owner of the pawn shop in La Crosse, though there are also associations with the owner of the Nundah bookstore.)

One of the women asks me if I want to buy one of the bigger bass plugs, but I respond that they are too big for the type of fishing I do (which includes striped bass and smallmouth bass for which I prefer small jigs and spoons). I then walk to the opposite side of the store. I see that they are selling magazines and comic books, though there are only a few different titles on the wooden display shelves.

I see two Casper comic books next to each other. There are a few copies of each, vertically stacked. One is $4.53, and the other is $5.64. I decide to buy them, but I am not sure if I have enough money. An unknown chubby man of about twenty (who works in the store) picks one up to look through. I tell him that I had hundreds of Casper comic books collected over thirty years and that they were usually different. I add that sometimes there were reprints in digests and suggest their size by forming a small square with my hands. I tell him about those digest stories being “backed up” in the way I would describe how I back up my dream documentation online and on more than one drive.

As I walk to the checkout counter on the opposite side of the store, he calls out, saying something about “sending backup.” The reference seems humorous or business-related rather than inferring police activity.

I reach into my wallet and see that I have solely an American twenty-dollar note, which will suffice, even though I consider the prices on the comic book covers will be more when changing to the Australian amount.

I pay the cashier, and as I get my change, I deliberately, though liminally, reset the scenario and leave without paying.

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When the emerging consciousness simulacrum (the chubby male) was talking about “sending backup,” it became a comically sarcastic reference to me subliminally resetting my dream to deliberately manipulate the function of RAS (reticular activating system) as the preconscious simulacrum in the second instance by “erasing” the cashier’s presence. I have utilized this sort of dream control and subliminal, liminal, and lucid manipulation since early childhood.

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Morning of September 30, 2018. Sunday.

Reading time (optimized): 3 min. Readability score: 58.



With my transient dream self’s presence in a non-lucid dream, when the personified subconscious loses its viable connection to both the unconscious mind and the current conscious self identity and my conscious self is virtually annihilated, there are still threads that hold logical potential to pull my dream self back into reality.

Having studied the subliminal, liminal, and lucid modes of my dream self since early childhood, most of my dreaming and waking processes have remained unequivocal. Since childhood, certain anchoring factors have maintained the foundation of the dream state by way of the virtuous circle effect, either by establishing non-lucid dream control or the presence of the emerging consciousness that brings about apex lucidity or clarity in otherwise distorted erroneous sequences. Understanding such processes is what brings about non-lucid dream control and eradication of so-called bad dreams (other than when prescience or transpersonal communication is a factor, especially when biological or health-related).

Certain aspects of the dream state may seem strange and illogical but have known explanations inherent to the dream state itself. For example, the library and bookstore settings have a dream self essence that is closer to my current conscious self identity. That is a result of subliminal preparedness for using thinking skills that typically do not exist in the dream state, modes of thought that automatically vivify and clarify my dream (as the subconscious self is incapable of discerning spoken language, symbolism, numbers, or text unless subliminal, liminal, or lucid conscious threads are present). I knew this in childhood and was able to take advantage of it.

The preparatory process is extant and dominant in this dream. I am in the Nundah bookstore with Zsuzsanna and our children as we appear now. The bookstore, as since childhood, is an anchor of my current conscious self. That is why I am aware of threads of my present life and marriage even if we have not been to the Nundah bookstore in many years in reality and its layout and appearance in my dream is erroneous in many ways. (Additionally, my focus on where we live is incorrect as is most often the case. I think of Barolin Street, where we have not lived in years, which was also in Bundaberg, not Brisbane. Once again, I find fascination with the multiple errors in specific combinations that my dreams never render more than once.)

The bookstore has new and secondhand books and a lot of comic books. I walk past a section with history books. Before I look around, I tell our youngest son to come into the store, as he is standing in the heavy rain. Our middle son is outside as well but in the storefront portico. I consider that they may want to go home, but after several attempts, I get them to come into the store. I am calling them from about the center of the store rather than near the entrance. That may be because I am subliminally aware that a door is a dream’s exit point (though can be used to trigger or augment lucidity).

I study many comic book covers, too numerous to describe in detail. I decide to buy four. The last one is a hardcover graphic novel wrapped in plastic. The price is $19.95. The cover features Spider-Man, in a black costume, with his left arm missing with some gore. The story relates to a long battle with Puma, similar to a comic book story I have not looked at or thought about for years.

I see a display with four new comic books with different titles that have a related storyline. It relates to a new X-Men series. I consider buying one but decide not to, as I would have to buy them all to understand their continuity (which would be too expensive).

I tell Zsuzsanna that the total is about fifty dollars. It is $35.94. Two are fifty cents, and another is $14.99.

I notice Christmas decorations in one section of the bookstore. I see Zsuzsanna’s baby pram near the back of the store. We will be going home soon.

Vestibular system correlation begins in the final scene, personifying as a young girl performing ballet in an open area that looks like the local library rather than a bookstore and where a few people are sitting at tables and reading. She does a cartwheel “into” me. I wake.

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There was a storm today, so my dream was correct about heavy rain coming when there has been hardly any rain for months.

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Morning of February 7, 2014. Friday.



In my dream, I am brought in as a murder suspect of an unknown teenage female. I spend most of my time in my dream standing at a counter (walking a short distance from it now and then in the same large room) of a type very similar to the local library’s but inverted (the setting already being a clue that my dream will resolve to “choosing books”); that is, forming an inward angle of over one-hundred-ten degrees (not ninety; that is, not a square angle as the counter’s division relative to the two walls is not perpendicular), spanning across a corner of a large room, though the counter section on the left is of a shorter length. There are two main (unfamiliar) male investigators that go through various role-playing and questioning sessions with me, sometimes seemingly forgetting what they were saying or doing (or planning to do). It seems that nearly a day goes by, and I spend all my time standing or walking and am even clearly aware of the tiredness in my legs later on.

One of the reasons I was brought in as a suspect was because I was “chubby”. Their reasoning is that someone who is chubbier is “naturally” more likely to overtake a weaker or smaller person.

I am eventually vividly aware that they are wasting their time to too great of an extent for it to be a “real” investigation and at one point they also seem aware of this, but I seemingly am meant to have patience as if it is a game. I have no clear thoughts on who the actual criminal might be, although I do sense he is possibly a very chubby older single male. I tend to waver between complaining in a hostile manner to expressing a patient understanding of their methods.

I am asked to write my version of something the older detective says to see if my writing matches a note the killer supposedly wrote and left near the victim in writing style as well as what I write. He tells me that I do not have to write exactly what he says but how I would naturally write my version of what he says, which is quite strange because one of the choices is to write “jellyfish” or not write it - something about writing “this is why all jellyfish should die” or write a similar phrase and leaving out “jellyfish” (there is no clue what the killer actually wrote) which will give them the evidence of whether or not it was me. However, I do not finish this test as the detectives are distracted and thus they go off on a tangent to some other concerns not related to the killing. I am also considering if the crime took place before I was born, but that reasoning does not seem to matter to them even if true.

The younger detective talks about his mistakes and regrets of the past in similar work he had done before, although does not go into detail. I start to suspect that about twenty-five percent of people in jail never committed a crime. A few times I yell at them in frustration but am also laughing at a few points, even feeling a bit giddy as if I cannot believe how incompetent they are, including with their fill-in-the-blanks mentality and overwhelming proclivity to fabricate or be mistaken in environmental or personal cues. Sometimes they seem like buffoons, other times more focused on their work. Sometimes they seem to be testing my reaction on questions that make no sense. I do get very annoyed over time and wonder why I happen to be the only one in the situation. I suppose it is possible that other suspects are being questioned or tested in other rooms, but I sense that this is somehow not the case. If it is not proven to be me, perhaps the investigation will not even continue.

At one point, I see a large cardboard box someone brings in which has a thinner purple blanket and somewhat formal-looking yellow (with white lacy trim) clothes - a shorter dress and blouse, I think. The blanket is sparsely woven of yarn (but commercially produced I assume), in a way that about twenty-five percent of it is open stitching so that you can mostly see through it, somewhat like a much lighter thinner afghan blanket. I am not familiar with the materials at all. They look like they might have been in the ground for a time. I stand there patiently but am not questioned on the materials as they may just be testing my reaction.

Later, they seem to have at least seven or eight old comic books; the same ones owned from when I was about nine or ten years old. Supposedly, I had written my full name inside each book on the first panel of each comic (which I never did in real life), near the top and in neat cursive in blue ink. They are all Harvey comics and all of Spooky the Tuff Little Ghost - with a supposedly “fictional” one (though it was real) of Spooky playing pool and cheating. I guess people interested in collecting comic books and playing pool are also likely murder suspects.

From here, my dream mostly falls into somewhat abstract thinking relating to my puzzlement over the similarity of the different comic book covers as I begin to see additional Hot Stuff covers in addition to the Spooky ones.

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What is curious is that, thanks to research, I learned something I had not known. I thought I had all issues of Spooky when I was younger - but I had been missing one (likely due to the similarity of a cover of a comic book I already had). Coincidentally, the only one I was missing had a similar gag as the “Devil Kids” one I did have - that is, the main character going through a pool table - Spooky going through in a ghostly way and Hot Stuff burning his way through. Even more intriguing and somewhat amusing - I was seemingly taught in a subtle way by my dream - about a facet of “normal” (or consensus-based) human consciousness. There is apparently another “version” of the “same” Hot Stuff cover in real life that is missing the point entirely (although he is using his trident as a pool cue, which is supposed to be the gag in this case though also seems a missed variation on the other one where he uses a normal pool cue which would likely burn up) and he is at the pool table without any significant sight gag other than the trident as the “pool stick” (with no burning in to cheat). In my opinion, the ideal cover would have been burning through the table while using his trident as the “pool stick”.

I have seen this fairly often in my life; that is, people writing, drawing, or copying the aspects of something in this way and missing the main point (although I do understand that metaphors and word plays and even certain types of sight gags or particular intent of images do not translate into other languages or even for certain types of people; for example - there is a well-known old Australian poster that conveys something different than intended - see bottom image in this post).

My dream was partly influenced by a track I was working on about a year ago where an African chant seems to reflect a set of English phrases: “Johnny not wait, ooh ooh, why wait, he wanna play pool” and including the line “patience is a virtue”. Sometimes I am amazed at how meaningful and intricate dreams are and literally revelatory (not symbolic) once you examine them more closely. I also noticed that the in-dream blanket was the same purple as the background color in the Spooky cover and the title in yellow as with the in-dream clothes.