Blue_Opossum

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 18, 2015. Tuesday.



This was after my most interesting dream of this date. In this case, it seems Zsuzsanna and I are within an “invisible” geodesic dome (one of the main settings for higher levels of communication, it seems) which is quite large. It would have to be to contain an entire carnival within. The carnival is apparently “closed”. It is late at night. There are blue lights here and there that provide minimal illumination.

My wife and I walk along, half walking, half dancing, so cheerful, not caring that no one is operating this rather odd carnival. At one point, I see a “roller coaster” moving about (though eventually actually more like a monorail) that is actually seemingly alive, glowing a sort of lighter green in contrast to the lights. A giant robotic spider “ride” walks around on its own for a short time, but is no threat in any way. (I even think I hear a human-like groan from it.) Still, there are no signs of any other people (yet).

The fortune-teller booth (from “Batman Forever”) sits in one area. We acknowledge it humorously but minimally as we go around in a somewhat circular path. We puzzle at it as being everyman. It cannot seem to make up its mind about where it wants to “go”. It laughs eerily and artificially but cannot move out of the booth as only its fake arm sways back and forth randomly. It seems “stuck” in its one sad little “role”.

The song “Bad Days” (by the Flaming Lips) plays over and over eventually and our dance-walk seems even more cheerful.

“You’re sorta stuck where you are, But in your dreams you can buy expensive cars, Or live on Mars, And have it your way…”

The watermelon scene in the music video reminds me so much of home…

“In your dreams, Show no mercy…”

Oh sure, it is an awful, terrible song, with awful, terrible music, but it is such a charming novelty and reminds me of the first couple of years I spent with Zsuzsanna.

The “fortune teller” comes out of the booth, now a real man for the first time ever, somewhat chubby and gray-haired, it seems, and dressed normally, informally. He snaps his fingers, kicks his heels, and walks up an elevated path over a hill (seemingly westward). I know that we will never see him again and I never see his face, and he never turns to look back at us.

“And all your bad days will end, You have to sleep late when you can, And all your bad days will end”…

Someone is knocking on 104. Knocking. Knocking. Knocking on the door (just like in the music video at that part of the song). Someone is knocking on our door at 104. (In real life, same number, exact time - synchronized with my dream’s residual rhythm.) It is a parcel delivery for our oldest daughter, which she soon gets.

I have slept later than usual as the real knocking on 104 wakes me.

Oh, Source, you so funny.