Blue_Opossum

Morning of November 12, 2016. Saturday.



I find myself in what seems to be our old apartment on Gellibrand Street in Clayfield, yet which also has the feeling of the northeast bedroom of the Loomis Street house (yet another new composite I have never experienced before). The Loomis Street living room is mixed into the Gellibrand Street hall. However, even though it looks more like the Gellibrand Street apartment I feel younger and as if it is mainly the small Loomis Street bedroom.

At one point, I hear an unknown male talking outside my door. Eventually, it seems he is mocking me, yet somehow without being directly sarcastic in his vocal tone. I am annoyed and go out to the front yard but do not yet see him. I notice that instead of the front steps there is a round boulder to have to walk up onto, which is difficult. The unknown male is now standing at the open hall entrance. He reminds me vaguely of Don K (who I had not seen since around 1982) and seems about twenty-five years old. He makes a couple comments about my difficulty in walking up and over the bolder and I feel a bit annoyed as my legs do not seem to work correctly.

He mocks me with a few more comments, a couple relating to phrases my mother used to use (such as “my old bones” and “this nutty old world”). I agree with a couple comments he makes relating to my apparently lame legs.

Still, I become more annoyed by his presence. He makes comments about details in my dream journals that I had written way back when I was only eight or nine years old (the original phrasing and writing style). I am surprised he knows all this. I get the impression he had somehow been reading my dream journals way back to 1966. I wonder if he stole any of them or any of the pages.

Eventually, I punch him out. He ends up lying on his side in an unknown area, as the setting now transforms into an unfamiliar location. When he moves, I decide to chop him up so that he cannot be an annoyance anymore. Another male appears (likely the emergent consciousness personification as it seems more passive and “closer” than a personified basic conscious self identity) and we seem to be working in a mission together. There is an advanced computer that speaks as I am trying to work out where to send the body parts.

I give the computer vocal instructions and it answers me in a loud clear voice. I give it various longitude and latitude directions though at first, what I say is distorted and meaningless. The computer keeps correcting what I say so I can repeat certain details.

“Thirty-six degrees latitude north,” I eventually say. “One hundred fifteen degrees latitude west…”

“You mean longitude,” says the computer loudly. I agree with all the corrections the computer makes, but I have no idea where I am sending the body parts as it feels I am just saying random values. I get the impression that a team will come in, take them away, and place them wherever.

“The Deuce-Berry Hoover Dam,” announces the computer. I am somewhat surprised and am not certain it is a good idea to put the remains there (as I consider the remains sitting atop the wall near a spillway, right out in the open), but I do not say anything. The other male looks on passively as I visualize the espionage team getting ready.

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A dam is a potential waking prompt as water symbolizes sleep and a dam stops water from flowing; deuce is sometimes a term for the preconscious (secondary to a more defined emergent consciousness in the final scene of a dream), berry being a play on “bury” and “Hoover” also being associated with vacuum cleaners (both a mortality symbol and dreaming conduit and waking transition symbol that has been recurring more over the last ten years); the talking computer is the personified whole conscious self (not that common a feature as here) due to only the whole conscious self having viable thinking skills.

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