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 October 30, 2018. Tuesday.

Dream #: 18,943-05. Reading time (optimized): 2 min. Readability score: 71.



I become aware of being on the Loomis Street house’s porch (liminal space) where I have a galvanized metal washtub full of gray powder with silvery properties. It is supposed to be nitroglycerin. I had supposedly ordered it via mail-order. My brother-in-law Bob (appearing as he was in the 1980s) cautions me that the authorities might find it. I keep the washtub near the northeast corner, not that far from the porch door. I am aware of Zsuzsanna and our children at times. Our youngest son went with our oldest daughter east down Gillette Street (where there were no stores in real life, though my dream implies there were).

I read a brochure (that seems foreign, possibly from the Philippines) that claims its appearance is like that of soil to anyone who does not look at it closely. (There is no distortion in the text I read, though I do not attempt to read it the second time.) The detail is very realistic and precise, including the silver grains.

I make it into tiny “snowballs” that I throw to the porch step outside. It makes a loud sound like a big firecracker. I claim that a golf-ball-sized amount would be like a nuclear bomb, though there is no evidence of that and I make no attempt to prove it.

I have fun with it, and my tangibility is enhanced. At one point, I see what first seems like a detached arm, with a hand, crawling on the branch of a tree, grasping at a small teddy bear. It turns out to be a Halloween toy for a dog (and is mechanical, not organic). An unknown woman is looking for her dog.

Later, even though I am still on the porch, it also seems I am in an outside area. Flowering plants are present to my left. I toss some of the powder onto the sidewalk, directly in front of me, without pressing it into a small ball. A fire soon covers the area, but I stomp it out with my foot.

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This dream stemmed from an earlier one of watching Dean Norris (as the vestibular system simulacrum) and two unknown people work with nitroglycerin. There was a scene where they were climbing what looked like monkey bars (from my elementary school’s playground) or scaffolding coated in nitroglycerin. It was on a stage (like the one from my high school). A quick small fire moves over all of the structure, immediately going out, and Dean appears to be worried for a short time (as he remains vertically holding onto the bars about halfway up and to the right), but no harm comes to anyone. He talks about how dangerous it is. I am puzzled as to why an actor would seemingly risk his safety for a public service video.

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I believe that the mechanical detached horizontally-oriented arm crawling on a branch to the teddy bear is a literal bed space strand, though seems to be the only first-level one in this dream.

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