Blue_Opossum

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 November 24, 2013. Sunday.



My wife and I are on a large, old brick bridge with arches, seemingly running north and south and likely in Wisconsin. It is very cold and in the middle of winter (although in real life here, it is unbearably warm). I make it so that the large winter jacket I am wearing goes around her so that she is able to put her right arm through the right sleeve while my right hand holds her left hand (my left arm still being in the left sleeve). We are then “wearing the same jacket” and also embrace so that we are fully inside the jacket after zipping it up effortlessly. After a short time, we slowly float down from the bridge onto the iced-over surface of a lake or river. There is a feeling of great love and joy. There seems to be a vague plan to eventually see my best friend Toby T as we go north into the city and we sort of half-walk, half-float to get there.

Morning of January 2, 1969. Thursday.



This is a very vivid dream, though at one point it seems I am watching myself from a few paces south around the middle of the Cubitis hallway while disembodied; the other me looking in awe at the coat that is suspended in air (in the same area and position as if it were otherwise hung by a hanger).

I am looking at a coat in the hall closet of my Cubitis home. It is my winter coat, but it is eerily floating in the air with no hanger (though it does not seem to be worn or held up by an invisible entity at any point - the “magic” is in the coat itself). There are only a few other clothes on each side of it (but pushed to the side against the closet walls). My father is making references to this in a sort of narrative manner (seemingly only vaguely wary of the coat’s dimly glowing essence of a very pale green) as if it is important for me to learn about (he did used to tell me ghost stories in real life but I am not sure if this coat is purely “haunted” or is to be useful with its special powers). It seems to be in the middle of the night or very early morning an hour or two before sunrise. My father and I are the only two characters in this dream. I do not sense or perceive any other being.

The above childhood dream, upon present reflection for some reason, now brings back a very vivid memory of going to get my coat in the school closet in real life (kindergarten) on the last day of school, and there was one other winter coat that a chubby male student (Robert, I think) had left behind, so I informed the female teacher (“Yandell” or something like that - but I mentally changed her name to “Yardstick” in my dreams). I remember the eerie sense of “finality” and the false sense as if the coat was “hovering” there “without the boy in it”. Both the childhood real-life event and this later very vivid dream of my later childhood seemed to hold a similar mood, and the real-life memory may have been the “trigger” (though there are likely other factors). For some reason, my memories of each last day of school (regardless of the grade) seem to be much more vivid and clearer than the memories of other days, even if nothing significant happened.

See also: “Empty Boots”