Blue_Opossum

Morning of December 9, 2013. Monday.



In my dream, it seems to be the last day of middle school, possibly not the last day of the grade but prior to a supposed spring break, involving only sixth to eighth grade classes though I seem to be the oldest and with the highest level of authority in some sort of “commander” role. The part of the “school” we are in (which I perceive as probably being only about a quarter of the size of my real school in conscious afterthought) seems more like a slightly familiar grocery store in some areas, as the larger room is set out with mostly empty aisles similar to a grocery store (and running east to west with us in the west area of the building) but also with sections within the shelf areas that have tables or chairs or openings depending on the section. The northernmost shelf, behind the end section, has a table with my computer set up and with a (fictional) 3-D printer closer to the end section.

Instead of trying to manipulate my dream in my full lucidity, I feel confident enough to remain mentally passive and see what happens (as I already had full control of my martial arts dream that came before this one). The group of students within my dream, mostly male, seems to be of a pretend paramilitary group involved in war games. However, there are no replica weapons, maps, or other aspects at my dream’s beginning point. Our teachers have apparently already left for the day earlier this morning. I continue to have the most authority though am still just another student it seems.

A seemingly familiar classmate in shabby greenish-gray loose-fitting clothing and of a dull-witted visage hands me a (I assume) replica Beretta M1934 (very dark matte blue), apparently from the tall narrow locker in a room through a doorway to the northwest corner. The trigger on the Beretta M1934 seems to be facing the wrong way (the crescent shape pointing towards the user), but I am uncertain of the implications - it would probably still work the same way, as everything else seems correct. (This event may have been influenced by thoughts on the new humidifier we bought in real life, in it having two buttons switched around relative to their functions though it still works). In being annoyed that a dream character had the audacity to try to get the “war games” started on terms other than mine, I mentally transform the pistol into a construct of nougat of the exact same shape and immediately proceed to eat the sweet, wonderful-tasting bluish-colored nougat - at least about twenty-five percent of it. I place it on my table and say “irrelevant” and tell him to go home, which he does a bit reluctantly.



Soon, I start to pull out maps from near the table and place them on the ends of the aisles. The one farthest to the south (all focus here is on the western ends of the aisles and there are at least four) is quite large, with at least six creases and is vertically narrower. It looks the most complex and colorful yet also seems to relate to some sort of Celtic legend or fantasy, possibly relevant to a recently released computer RPG, the implications of which start to bore me. Many of the students (including at least two unknown females) seem more interested in this than the other maps and supposed plans. It seems, though, the majority would still prefer a World War II scenario in the war games, although there are different opinions expressed from time to time, including from a couple students continuously contradicting themselves relative to their interests.

I try to get things going a little better, as there are only a few hours left on this last day before spring break, yet no one is really in costume yet either, so engaging in war games with only the person (with no uniform) and nothing else seems a bit pointless. I ask one person what they would like and they tell me “a blue machine gun”. I go over to my computer and start to type “blue machine gun” so that my 3-D printer will create one. This seems to be going fine as I type b, l, u - but then the keyboard blows up in my face in flame and smoke. There seems to be a clever but unexpected play on “blew” and “blue”, and I am really annoyed by this pun altering my intent. However, I keep going without wanting any of the other dream characters to notice my frustration. There is not much left of my computer keyboard and most of its keys are now missing (but mostly only as if removed for cleaning as there does not appear to be much fire damage), leaving mostly only a hollow space in its center area. The keys that are still on my keyboard and possibly usable are the ones with the least frequency, such as Z, Q, X, J, K, and a few others. I stoically pretend to type “blue machine gun” on the missing keys and mentally force the 3-D printer to come on and create the blue machine gun anyway. I test it and it is one of those toy machine guns that makes a sort of repetitive clacking sound. As I hand the toy weapon to the student, the barrel support turns black. “No, all blue, you imbecile,” I say to the toy weapon, and it changes back, but only for a few seconds, then returns to being all blue except for the barrel support area. Still, the fellow student seems very happy with it and runs off.

I go back to make more items that may be put to use but there is a small isolated adapter on the table related to the monitor and which seems to be open and exposing capacitors and wiring. It soon starts to sizzle, catch on fire, and make a lot of black smoke. I unplug everything. A few people notice my mishaps. Still - I mentally will everything to work without being plugged in while not even pretending to use the computer keyboard at that point. No one comments on (or even seems to care or notice much) me using my equipment without electricity.

I then consider if vehicles will be needed for our war games. I ask another student what sort of vehicle he wants and after seeming to think awhile on it, he says “a road”. I am annoyed and tell him that a road is not a vehicle and am not sure if anything will ever get started before this day ends.

Soon, many of the other students start singing the old Freakies Cereal song (from 1974), which for some reason, has been stuck in my head lately (relative to research for another dream). Apparently, I am now “Boss Moss”. “Make sure you spell it right!” I yell as the real-life song response phrase as they are all singing and leaving via the eastern doorway and then wandering about on the streets in random pursuit of each other. “Wait!” I yell, “that’s not very bright to say spell it right” (doing a dancing rhyme) “it should be ‘make sure you spell it CORRECTLY!’" No one cares, and most are still using “invisible” (imaginary) weapons - and falling over pretending to die and quickly getting up again and zigzagging north up the streets and sidewalks as my dream begins to break up and lose focus with the song still ringing in my head yet with a sense of the beginning of summer (which contradicts the implied season in the first part of my dream).

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.