maboroshi

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

It was night. I was at the top of a steep hill, probably in a suburban neighborhood. I was with a few other people, probably my age or younger. A few lights lit our field of view, more like a car's headlights than streetlights.

Something was wrong with my female friend H. At one of my other female friends' request, to make H feel better, I was embracing her from behind and rubbing her chest.

I was probably rubbing the outsidde of H's shirt. But the shirt, some kind of tan tank-top, was so thin that I could feel H as if I were touching her skin. H's chest was flat, but she had huge nipples.

The way I was rubbing H was really turning her on. But she was attributing the sensations I was giving her to my other female friend. Pretty soon H had the female friend rubbing her chest up against H's chest. Both women had really flat chests.

H was now either wearing or not wearing a dress. The dress was a vanilla-yellow, sleeveless baby-doll type dress, with a bunchy top and a slightly belled-out, knee-length skirt. The dress was made out of a fabric like soft terry cloth. It had a zipper running up the back. H now either took this dress off or put it on.

Dream #2

I may have been standing all by myself out in the desert, possibly near or right under the gas pump island of a gas station. I may possibly have been talking to someone in my head.

I was a man, probably a soldier. I wore a light brown or tan uniform. Sometimes I was black, sometimes Latino, and sometimes white.

I was telling the person in my head about having been in the CIA mind control program MK-ULTRA. At the same time, I was remembering bits and pieces of my time there, as a subject.

After having been a subject, I'd had my memory erased. But bits and pieces of my time there kept coming back to me. As they did, I would be more inspired to look for more information regarding what had happened to me in the program.

I knew I'd been tortured in the program. But I only had very vague memories of it. Most of my memories seemed to revolve around sheets of paper with a lot of small writing and bar codes written on them.

My attempts to look into my experiences may have involved looking for more papers like this. But as I searched for more information, I was increasingly harrassed. People may even have come after me and started torturing me again, then re-erasing my memory.

I told the person in my head, a woman, that it was terrible to know this stuff was happening to me. I could start to see, everywhere in the environment, where things were put up to reinforce the brainwashing I'd been tortured into receiving.

Even the smallest thing could hold a sinister message. I was apparently still working for the military. I saw myself walking down a hallway, then passing a beige-painted pipe with a caution sticker on it.

The sticker had a few different bar codes on it, around its border and in a little square in the body, in the upper right hand corner of a lot of fine-print caution text. I knew that my mind had been trained to read these bar codes instinctively. Each bar code was a small statement, reinforcing my brainwashing.

I told the woman in my head that what was even worse was that almost everybody else around me was brainwashed, too. But most people were brainwashed simply to dislike the people who had been used as subjects for MK-ULTRA, to ostracize them.

I said that at first it wasn't so bad. But as time went on, the environment became so full of these people that it was too painful to go anywhere.

I imagined myself walking into the gas station. The man behind the counter treated me nicely at first. But it was almost like some kind of infra-red bar code scanner, placed up in a corner of the ceiling of the store, activated.

Suddenly, I could tell, the man behind the counter was getting the feeling he didn't like me. He was trying, still, to act polite. But it was obvious he was beginning to feel very uncomfortable around me, and that he just wanted me out of the store.

I was standing somewhere in the dark, rubbing my forehead and eyes in misery. I was telling the woman in my head how miserable it was to have this feeling pervade the environment everywhere I went.

The woman asked me if there wasn't some way I could destroy all the reinforcing equipment that had been put up in all these places around me.

I was standing back out in the desert, in the daytime, by the gas station. I told the woman, "No. I could destroy everything. But they have so much extra stuff underground. It wouldn't be any use. They'd just put it all right back."

I imagined some kind of diagonal elevator shaft leading way down underground, to some kind of big hangar or warehouse-type area, with a lot of different-colored pipes, people working, and bright white, fluorescent lights. This was probably where all the equipment was manufactured and stored.

Dream #3

My female friend MW, who IWL works and lives at a wildlife preserve in Nevada, was visiting New York. I was living in something like a dorm room. But MW was staying with me.

It was daytime. We were in my room, which was lit by a bit of natural light coming in through the window. We were both on my bed, a pretty small bed. MW was sitting cross-legged near the head of the bed. I was laying on my stomach, my head toward the head of the bed.

At the foot of the bed, a TV was playing an episode of The Chronic Rift (a community access TV pop-culture discussion show from the 1990s, the episodes of which are now available online). I had been trying to introduce MW to this show. But I was now only half interested. And MW was flipping through some photographs.

I now had to go somewhere else, probably to work. I left MW alone for the day. But as I sat at work (or wherever) I realized that I had left MW without any keys. She'd obviously leave my room. But she'd have to leave it unlocked. There was no way she could lock it.

I got a little worried. I tried to justify things to myself. I was trying to remember if there weren't some kind of minor, automatic lock on my door, like a doorknob that always locks from the inside. But I was pretty sure this wasn't the case.

I knew that if I left wherever I was to catch up with MW and give her my keys, it would take a lot of time out of my day. And I didn't want to look bad for taking all that time out of my day. But I thought it was probably more important for me to find MW and give her my keys, so that she could lock my door.

I now saw a photograph of MW, as she stood in front of the house she was living in during her work for the wildlife preserve. MW wore a red-pink t-shirt, khaki-colored hiking pants, a backpack, and a baseball cap.

MW stood at the curb of an asphalt road. Just behind MW was the start of a sandstone flagstone path that went up a shallow slope. The slope was like a lawn, but it had tan gravel, clumps of wild grass, and cacti, instead of the conventional green turf.

At the top of the slope was a small house made out of rough-hewn, but slim, sandstone slabs -- almost like horizontal flagstones, all piled on top of each other. The house looked just like a suburban house, except that it was made out of the sandstone slabs, which gave it a weird look.

Dream #4

I may have been talking in my head, again with my friend MW. We may have been talking about where MW came from.

I knew MW came from Michigan. I saw a map of the United States and Canada. My vision was mostly focused on the northern, central part of the United States, the Great Lakes region. The map almost, really, looked like a satellite view of the United States -- but it was as if the United States were completely covered in snow -- even the Great Lakes!

I was trying really hard to remember where Michigan was. I felt at first like it must have been to the west of the Great Lakes. But I then felt like it must have been right in the middle of all the lakes, squeezed in between two of the more northern-extending lakes. I remembered that Michigan looked like a mitten. So I kept trying to find a mitten-shaped state.

I was now in a commercial jet, apparently, with MW. But we were both looking down to the ground from the plane through some kind of window or plexiglass structure in the floor.

We were at cruising altitude, i.e., about 10,000 meters. But the view was really like we were only 100 meters or so above the ground. We were also floating in one static position.

The view was of a snow-covered pine forest, with a road running through the forest. The road was pretty lonely. But a few cars did occasionally pass along it. The forest seemed dense in most places. But there were some empty spots, like clearings for very small ranches or farms. The extension of a small, wooden fence may even have been visible. It was still snowing, too.

MW and I spoke a little bit more about MW's hometown. We were floating very close to it right now. I told MW I wondered if we couldn't just go to MW's house for a little while.

But MW said it would take too much time. We'd planned to meet here. We couldn't go away from this spot. MW was talking as if we were on the ground, at an airport, with a long time between flight connections. But we didn't have enough time to leave the airport altogether.

MW and I looked away from the window. I saw the interior of the plane very vaguely, as if I were still half-looking out the window. But the plane looked like a nice private jet, with light-tan leather upholstery for the seats, and even for the walls!

MW and I spoke for a bit about how we'd planned to meet here. I knew I'd flown to this area in one commercial plane. MW had flown here in another plane, probably this one. At some point, when the planes were in proximity, I moved from one to the other.

I now started thinking to myself about all of this. At first I thought this was because the two planes had docked with each other. I thought I had come through some sort of little docking tunnel.

But then it became apparent that what I'd probably done was teleport myself from the plane I'd been on to the plane that MW was on.

As I was thinking about all this, my view drifted back down to the view of the ground. But then my view seemed to drift even farther out, up so that I could even see up along the fuselage of the plane, into the snowy, grey sky.