Blue_Opossum

Morning of June 14, 2017. Wednesday.



I am in an unknown residence where there are a number of unfamiliar people, though most of them seem friendly and cheerful. I am working with mixing music (with a cassette deck) but using a commercial folk music recording and I end up playing the cassette in reverse (by the tape being reinserted into the cassette inside-out, though the dynamics are muddier than digital reversal).

Over time, I begin to hear actual words, which turns out to be “Mama always tried to give me what I needed…” with additional lyrics about the singer’s father. There is also something about fast food being “fake” or something along those lines with an additional mention of the mother.

I take off my headphones and have an unfamliar male listen and he seems to find it interesting. In actuality, the melody is based mostly on the country song “Okie From Muskogee” (Merle Haggard), though I do not realize this in my dream. Eventually, the lyrics become gibberish (back to sounding more like reversed audio), although I still listen for possible phrases.

Eventually, a chubby biker (unfamliar) with a large brown beard, pulls out my headphone jack and seems to do something to the cassette deck and I soon see it is on its side. This annoys me and, even though he is bigger than me, I start beating him on the head and shoulders with my smaller barbell (without the weights). He is not injured that badly and we somehow end up in a kitchen (possibly loosely modeled after the Loomis Street house kitchen) but I soon wake. (I am fairly certain the biker is associated with Hell’s Angels, thus is this dream’s flight symbolism.)

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The personified preconscious is not always directly associated with a discernible flight symbol (though the preconscious level itself often is) as just being the preconscious personified is inherently viable as dominant waking symbolism on its own. Ending up in the kitchen in my dream relates to mild hunger while sleeping; pretty obvious. (Plus, this is redundantly validated. Even if I was ignorant enough not to know this, it is backed up by the “fake” food reference in the song. “Fake” food would be a subliminal link to knowing that eating in a dream does not give the body actual nutrients.)

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Morning of May 5, 2017. Friday.



I am in an unfamiliar forest setting and I feel good about the imagery and location. Over time, two deer are ready to engage in a fight. There is a raccoon that is apparently some sort of referee that stands on the sidelines like a person (that is, upright on his hind legs). He seems like a real raccoon otherwise. He is standing between what looks like two wooden “walls”, possibly of natural design.

The deer headbutt each other and soon become like a sideways tornado, with hardly any discernible imagery other than swirls of color. An oversized raccoon tail appears in the swirling imagery, which could be an additional raccoon that had been closer to the deer and got caught up in their ruckus.

The deer fight within their whirlwind until there is no sign that they are still there. The raccoon referee stands without moving, looking at the spot they had vanished from, apparently having disintegrated each other. There is the usual feeling of waking symbolism, a bit more accelerated than usual, and a slight sense of amusement and clarity. The deer vanishing is a waking prompt caused by my sudden lucidity, where dream features are more easily quickly rendered or dissolved, though I did not deliberately create this effect with my conscious mind (as it was automatic).

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Morning of August 1, 2015. Saturday.



In my dream, I find myself in an unknown composite, atypical, and possibly a mix of Rose Street and North Monroe Street, though another location is added later on. I am seemingly in a house visiting people I do not really know (or recognize in conscious afterthought) at all, possibly my presence based on a friend knowing this family. There is a man and his wife, probably in their thirties and they have at least three teenage daughters. In some ways, this is the opposite of a typical imposer dream in that I feel as if I am imposing in this one (rather than people I do not know “invading” our home), which is so rare, I cannot recall the last time this situation occurred in this particular manner.

I am sitting in a cloth-upholstered armchair (not a recliner or at least not open as one) in what I am guessing is a large dining room. The large rectangular dining table with a dark brown veneer surface is longways from the wall (and against it on the opposite end) directly facing to my side of the room. It takes me awhile to realize that I am not dressed and just have a sheet around me. Still, not only does no one seem to notice, the married couple seem to be somewhat impatient or concerned about my not being at the table yet (though not angrily so; they are quite cordial and welcoming). The unknown female has apparently put a lot of effort in preparing a large meal and I feel slightly bad about not being certain if I really want to sit down with them (especially as I am only in a sheet). At the same time, I notice that there are only six places set across from each other (none on the edge opposite the wall though there would be room for one extra setting there otherwise), and this does not at all seem to be enough space for all of us (considering that there are also a few other guests around my age, it seems, though they may not actually all be staying).

I feel that the food should not go to waste, though I tell them I have to use their bathroom (mainly so that I may get dressed even though they still do not seem to care at all even though they are devout Christians). When I go into the bathroom, I am aware that it is actually the room I stayed in on Loomis Street when first moving from Florida in the summer of 1978. Through the doorway (south) is the (wrongly placed) dining room I had just left and to my right (west), instead of the door into the very large closet that adjoins the two bedrooms, it appears to be an open door that leads to a small unlit room that is also adjacent to the dining room. Also, there is no curtain on the south doorway, so I am directly exposed to people walking around in the dining room, who are seemingly becoming concerned at me not coming out yet. There is actually a toilet in the room directly facing the south doorway. I stand in this area trying to put clothes on (which were apparently absentmindedly left by another male) though people keep coming in and interrupting me, albeit either cheerfully or absentmindedly. This includes my sister-in-law Cindy (appearing as she did about twenty years ago) coming in from the west doorway and Zsuzsanna’s half-brother Simon coming in from the south doorway at different times.

Finally, the three girls come in and start yelling at each other and punching each other in the stomach. Then the mother comes in after a couple minutes and yells at all of them, and then all four of them are all wrestling around on the floor and rolling around and fighting and kicking (though I am not sure why). I decide I have had enough of this and will not stay for dinner after all and will just leave in a sheet. I have no desire to get involved in whatever issues they have with each other.

My dream’s ending was mainly environmentally scripted by at least two girls arguing outside our window (while they were walking down the footpath) when I was sleeping, as has happened in the past, thus changing the nature of my dream. The rest of my dream was likely heavily influenced by two Jehovah’s Witnesses (male and female) knocking on the door quite early around the same time period, as my wife had told me they left a paper which she immediately tossed away.

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Morning of December 26, 2013. Thursday.



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

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

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

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

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

Morning of February 27, 2001. Tuesday.



This was a strange vivid dream of someone (unknown male) attacking me with large knives and unusual-looking seemingly ancient axes, with symbols on their surfaces, somewhat like stylized adzes. I go into the backyard of our present home (to distract him from engaging dangerously with my family in any way). He pursues, but I fly into the air fairly high with little effort. A thrown weapon then misses me. I then use some sort of in-dream “magic” by waving my hand and focusing my thoughts. This causes him to clumsily rise in the air under my control and move to a different location - and I then “release” him from his position in midair and he falls onto the hard tin roof of the house next-door and (apparently in-dream) dies.