• Lucid Dreaming - Dream Views




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    The Fourth Factor

    What can I say? Some dreams just call out to be shared. I've always found it interesting to read about other people's dream lives, and now I'm giving them the same chance.

    1. The Returning Haddock

      by , 08-04-2021 at 11:27 PM (The Fourth Factor)
      Iím in a classroom Ė itís unclear at what level Ė seated at a desk in a group of at least four desks pushed together, two rows facing each other. Iím writing a poem. It isnít for the class, though: class doesnít seem to be in session at the moment, and there isnít a teacher around.

      Iíve just finished the poem Ė the first draft, at least. All I can remember about its contents now is that it was entitled something like ďThe ReturnĒ or ďThe Returning,Ē and the first line was ďSomething has happened.Ē The guy sitting diagonal from me, who seems to be somebody I know, wants to see it. I tell him that first I have to make sure itís legible for people other than me, and after a minute of looking it over and making some lines clearer and darker, I hand it to him. (The other people in the group of desks seem to be paying attention, but in a passive way.)

      He reads it and says something to me that implies that he sees the ďsomethingĒ that happened as some negative event that hangs over the rest of the poem. I tell him that that reading works Ė but the poem is (sort of) about the Olympics. Itís not actually in the text, but itís not too deeply buried. Heís having trouble seeing it, so I tell him to imagine that Iíve titled it something like ďThe Olympic GamesĒ instead.

      He reads, and then, seemingly struck by some idea, he takes out a pen (I wrote with a pencil) and writes something on the paper. He thinks I ought to call it ďDas EntspannenĒ instead. He (correctly and unnecessarily) translates this as ďThe RelaxingĒ but then also claims (and this bit is pure dream logic) that itís also a subtle reference to haddock, whose migration routes recall the original titleís idea of returning.

      Our attention is then drawn to other events taking place in the room, and I wake up shortly afterwards.

      7.28.21
      Categories
      non-lucid
    2. In Media Res

      by , 12-03-2018 at 04:58 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      Itís sometimes disappointing to wake up with only fragmented memories of dreamsóbut sometimes, trying to image what the context might have been is almost worth it.

      In the beginning of the dream, Iím walking into a building. Many people are already thereóit seems like some event is taking place, possibly multiple events. A couple men are entering at the same time as I am. One of them seems to be able to see meóalthough he doesnít say anything to meóand the other doesnít. Iím keeping track of the people who are able to see me since Iím really not supposed to be here, and Iím trying to keep a low profile.

      The space Iím entering is basically a circular building with a separate central area, although the specifics kept changing throughout the dream. The first area I walk through, going clockwise, seems to be a restaurant. I pass people sitting at tables, including one thatís occupied by dreadlocked guys dressed in Jamaican colors who seem to be having a lot of fun.

      [Note: today, the day after the dream, I was given a story to work on about reggae becoming a UNESCO intangible cultural heritageóso maybe thatís what they were so happy about.]

      There was a lot that happened after that, most of which I canít remember very clearly. But, towards the end, the space was like an auditorium, with a lecture area in the center and areas for students to sit all around it and higher up. I had put the table I had surreptitiously borrowed from Nancy Pelosi among the tables in the student area while I went and did some other stuff, but in the meantime, students had come in, including my friend Dirk. And somebody, noticing that the table is more wheelchair-friendly than the standard tables there, which have metal bars crisscrossed underneath them, has set him up with it.

      Now, I had totally been intending to give Nancy Pelosi her table back. Itís what I came back here to do. But Dirk is clearly getting some good out of it. Also, Nancy Pelosi was more of a jerk than I had expected. I figure she can just buy a new table or something.

      1.12.18
    3. Academic Weirdness

      by , 06-01-2018 at 02:40 AM (The Fourth Factor)
      I am in a small classroom in a university, but itís not lecture Iím attending here: itís a theatrical performance.

      There are about a dozen of us in the audience, as well as three dogs, two of them large ones, which is almost enough to make the room crowded. Both the main actors are here already too, in the front of the room. It seems theyíre performing ďFaustĒ- or something Faust-ish, at any rate. Both the main characters are being played by women, the title role by HťlŤne Grimaud, although itís not clear whether itís actually the pianist or just a well-known actress who happens to have that name.

      Thereís also a woman in the back who seems to be involved in some official capacity. Sheís the one responsible for checking ticketsóat least theoretically. Iím hoping that remains theoretical since I donít actually have a ticket. The prevailing system here seems to work like train tickets, where the ticket is good for a certain range of dates. While I do have one on hand, itís good for three weeks in November, and itís still October now.

      She begins by giving a short speech, which she records using a small camera. Predictably, the smaller dog, which is hers, sticks its face directly in it at one point. Things come to a halt for a bit as the audience makes a fuss over all the dogs and encourages her to get them on film. But eventually, the performance itself gets underway.

      For a while, itís just the two leads talking, but very clever dialogue. At one point, the Mephistopheles(-ish) character begins asking for members of the audience to volunteer. And, as people begin to get more comfortable, they begin to participate more. Soonówhat with the intimate space and the lack of separation between us and the performersó itís as if weíre a part of the performance rather than just observing it.

      I look out the (partially frosted glass?) wall at a man walking byóhe probably thinks this is a rather odd lesson, given that itís probably not obvious at first glance that itís a performance. But actually, he seems to be part of the performance as well. He enters the room, placing some notes and a glass with some white wine in it on a lectern, and beings to talk about philosophy.

      One of the audience members comments on the wineglass. The newcomer enters into a hilarious dialogue with them, still in a philosophical vein, all in a complete deadpan. I recall him claiming that he wasnít the same person he was a couple of drinks ago. Another half-dozen people seem to have joined the audience at some point, which is more than enough to make the room crowded. At some point, I wake up.

      After writing everything down, I fall asleep again and find myself in a continuation of the dream. I seem to have watched the rest of the performance, as well as the lecture taking place in the room afterwardsóapparently a Marxist interpretation of diabetes, which Iíve stayed to listen to out of a combination of morbid curiosity and a lack of anywhere better to be. But I have a class I need to get to soon, and I want to get some coffee first, so I gather my stuff together and cut out early.

      Once outside, it occurs to me that I donít actually know where this class is going to be held. I find my notebook in my messenger bag and look through it, but it only looks like Iíve got last semesterís schedule written hereónot this oneís. But I do recall receiving an email from somebody mentioning the classís location, so I can check on thatóbut it will have to be on my laptop, since I canít access that particular account on my phone.

      My room isnít far from hereóitís in a large building just down the street. I enter and make my way up to my room. Itís a tiny room, and unlike anywhere Iíve actually lived, but it all seems familiar and somehow pleasant. I put what seems to be my cast-iron shrine teapot on a hotplate on the top of a small, precarious-looking shelf to one side of my desk to boil water for coffee and sit down to find the email.

      According to the email, the class is taking place at St. Johnís Observatoryóso not on campus, then, since I would have seen it if it were. I pull up a map website to find out where it is. To my own amusement, I initially mistype "Kassel"óthe place I have apparently decided I amóas "Kessel" (kettle, that is).

      Based on the pictures my search has turned up, the place Iím going to is a greenhouse as well as an observatory: itís a small building with mostly glass walls, through which greenery can be seen. Iím not sure where it is relative to me just yet, though, and itís now 17:00, when the class was supposed to begin. Maybe that wonít matter so much on the first day? But then it occurs to me: Iím in Germany. Akademisches Viertel. That means I still have time to get there.